Death

No one can prepare anyone for what a dead person looks like. They look very still and waxy. By waxy, I mean opaque horrible pale yellow, nothing like candles or waxworks, its a colour that cannot be described unless you've seen it. Still, like a doll or a model, something completely inhuman, totally foreign to look at. Still, under white sheets, not in pain anymore, not in anything anymore. Between existing and not existing, somehow still there, like a shell.

I stayed at home today while my parents went to visit my Grandpa in hospital. An hour after they returned, we were in the middle of dinner when the hospital called and when we got there, he had died 5 minutes before. The nurses were lovely. He passed away with no pain. I couldn't cry but I nearly did when they put his slippers in the plastic bag for us to take away. A huge, ridiculously green Marks and Spencers bag full of useless lumpy Things that are no use anymore, all of them coated in a fine greasy film of dead skin cells.

The last time I saw him was on Friday. I helped him to drink some water then. He seemed unhappy but not in pain. He'd been determined not eat for many months. The ward was ful of moaning, yelling, groaning, puffy red or skinny yellow old men. He hated it. And now, he doesn't have to be there anymore.

Purple Bling Trainers

Well. I've spent All Day tidying amd sorting and sifting through beads and glitter, buttons, paints, pencils, pens, glue and diamante, boxes and tissue, Sterling Scrap, Sterling non-scrap, all manner of Storage, badges and screws and pins and tools and.... the workshop doesn't look that different. My mind feels different; I feel as if I have a purpose, and somewhere to work so that IS good.

In the middle I had to stop for a creative breather, so I thought I'd post a picture of my latest creation; Purple Bling Trainers. I painted the graduated stripes on them with acrylic paintages ago and added the glitter today. I mixed purple, fuschia and silver hologram "sequin dust" which is like coarse glitter, and some very very fine fuschia and purple glitter, so fine it's a bit like eyeshadow powder, together and sprinkled it thickly over a layer of purple Appli Glue.

Hooray! better than cake. I'm covered in a thin layer of fine glitter. So is the floor. and the chair. And the table. Hee.

Don't Go Into The Cellar!

I remember a TV program called "Rentaghost" with such star characters as Miss Nadia Popoff who randomly transprted herself all over the world when she sneezed, and Claypole the Jester. Nearly every episode ended with one or all of the characters covered in soot after going Into The Cellar.

This is my cellar; well, my bit of it anyway. And I Can't Go Into it! It has a low ceiling (too low for my height and I'm only 5ft 3) and an enormous mess. boxes that should be shut are open; the stuff is in a total state. Trays of half thought about work are lying all over the place. Like all the thoughts lying about in my head. Brightly coloured but disconnected. Open things that should be shut. Stuff spilling out.

It also has the constant hum of the electricity meter in it. An oddly comforting sound. It also has all my kitchen stuff, all my ornaments, shoes, and everything that there is No Room for in my bedroom, in a huge pile at the back collecting enormous black spiders. Trying to work in it is becoming impossible because I can't find anything. At all!

Tidying it is of course possible, enjoyable even, but I'm feeling unable to start. And what, you may ask, are two cartons of Soya milk doing on the table? Resting. I say they are just resting. Resting until they have the energy to be put away in the Cellar Cupboard, waypost of Rice Cakes, and final grave of Cassis and bright green Freezomint Liquers, one third full, still stickily sat there.

It's been said that if I was a super-hero I would be Inertia Woman. When I turn up, all the baddies just go "Ah.... I just don't really feel able to do it today. Come on, henchmen, let's go home for a quick nap, hey, why not make it a long nap. I've totally lost track of what we were doing anyway"

First post. Questions.

Chocolate should rule the world! Purple things are vibrantly delicious. Biscuits are tiny pleasures.

Computers are great distractions.

It's hard to mend jewellery when I'm not really sure where my workshop is yet. Do I have a work shop at all? Do I have my own space at all, even in my head? Do I have a work ethic? Is this avoidance really a symptom of Depression or do I just... not want to mend jewellery today? Is there anything wrong with having a day off? What is jewellery anyway? Am I bothered?

Today I'm all questions.