I’ve been so isolated sometimes I’m convinced I don’t have any at all, but then… I have been really letting it hang out on Facebook. I’ve got nothing to lose. I think it was either that or a complete freak out and I’m more interested in keeping my shit together.
Today was emotionally draining though
After two more equally lengthy & vicious nastygrams and several ignored calls, I got a comment from my NH friend who’d previously offered to go pick up the easel. It turns out she’s got both a corporate discount and an amenable shipping department at work. My last estimate from UPS was $600. Cathy thinks she can get it down to about half that.
I’d asked UPS to wait until tomorrow for my decision, but called them back immediately to tell them to hold it until Saturday. Apparently my mother had suddenly shown up, as they were preparing to close, saying she wanted to ship after all. These poor people stuck in the middle! They’d all been informed. Oh mam you don’t need to ask for anyone in particular. We all know about it. I then had to call her back & have an inane argument over the fact that she is not not allowed to pay for it. She’s to leave it. She’s out of the equation. End of story.
Hopefully I’ll be able to get it back together! I just couldn’t let it go. I’ve owned very little in life and I’ve been willing to let most of it go, but this was different. Part of me wonders if they gave such an inflated price because there was someone working there who was interested in taking it. Betty was trying to give it away!
The easel is symbolic of coming full circle
Whatever the fuck happens, I will get the bones of that easel out here to Portland. I never thought I’d do this. I don’t even have any oil or acrylic paints, not to mention all the other pile of supplies I’d need. I’m just going to give all the fight I’ve got left remaining into really, finally, being an artist. It won’t last long if the universe doesn’t throw me a goddamn bone already, hence the magical assistance I’ve been preparing.
I don’t think I’ll actually bother reading a book on narcissistic mothers. Not immediately anyway. I’d rather think about what I’m working on: the next illustration, the servitor, the next area of study in hermetics.