Is the Stigma *THAT* Bad?

I seem to be the only person on the planet selling Schizophrenia Sucks!, Fuck Schizophrenia, and Team Schizophrenia merchandise of any kind. I could possibly trademark the terms for use on crap like shirts & mugs. A concept that is crazier than I am.  Is the stigma against schizophrenia that fucking bad these days?

But why not be that fucking mercenary? I've got so many Amazon ads on Crazymeds I already feel like Jean Genet on the Marseille waterfront.  I'd still sell Team Schizophrenia stuff at cost, like I do now.  

I have a vague memory about getting a trademark on something, then making it available for use by the public, just to prevent someone from getting a trademark so no one else could use it.  If that is real and not a figment of my increasingly-unreliable memory, I'd do that for Team Schizophrenia.  As much as I dislike awarenessitis, apparently most people do need to be bitchslapped into the awareness that the mentally interesting, especially the schizophrenic, are not significantly more violent than everyone else.  So I wouldn't want any local organization doing a little fund- or awareness-raising to be prevented from creating Team Schizophrenia shirts if someone else wanted to corner the non-existent market of schizophrenia-related merchandise.

Updated: Crazymeds Is no longer Down

And now we're back up.  Yay!  I <3 lunarpages.




The entire Crazymeds site is currently down.  The problem appears to be at LunarPages, as their website is too swamped to let me open up a support ticket and the support lines, both toll-free and the real number behind it, are busy.  I can't even bring up nameserver info for Crazymeds, so something is hosed bigtime. 

Free at Last?

Day Whatever +1

No longer snowed in.  

By 17:30 yesterday a day's worth of rain and a temperature above 40°F melted enough of the snow around the truck to get me down there with a snow shovel and a few buckets of very hot water.  I managed to extract the truck and drive it down to the berm that's alongside the road.  That fucker is still about two feet high.  I collected the newspapers that had piled up, what mail made it into the box before it wasn't accessible, the package fish oil, which was left behind the mailbox.  Had I made it down there sooner I probably wouldn't have noticed it, as the plastic bag it was wrapped in was just peeking above the snow.  The website of the place I bought it from was less than helpful, as it shows the order as yet to be shipped in the first place.

Able to take out garbage.  Hoarding was a lot better before TV made it cool.

Today I broke through the berm.  It took several attempts, but the truck eventually made it through/over.  I picked up the mail and got some food.  The postmaster was surprised to see me, given how buried my mailbox is and how much snow was piled up in the driveway.

I-90 is open again.  I'll get my meds tomorrow.  I called in my refills and it sounded extremely chaotic at the pharmacy.  With the interstate closed for a day and a half and that being the only pharmacy serving half the county, I'm not surprised.  One more night on short rations for topiramate.

At Least I'm Not Alone

Day Whatever

I-90 is closed in both directions from the Idaho border to Tarkio due to intermittent avalanches.  There's black ice, heavy slush and assorted other road hazards associated with lot's of snow alternating with rain and relatively warm temperatures the rest of the way.  Tarkio is about half-way from Saint Regis to Missoula, and the name of the alt-country band Colin Meloy was in before The Decemberists.

Even if I were able to get my pickup to the road I'm not sure if I could make it to Superior via back roads in order to get meds.  The snow may melt enough for me to extract the truck and get to Saint Regis and pick up some groceries.

I'm just getting too caught up in what I'm doing to worry about crap like that.

Stir Crazier

Day 6 or 7

In answer to a couple of suggestions.

Delivery anything is not an option, I've got stuff waiting for me at the post office, but I don't know how long they'll keep it.  Just as I cannot get out, no one can get in.  There is now about two feet of snow piled up along a 700-foot looped driveway.  Plus there's a berm near the road - created when the snowplow clearing the road goes by - that may be even higher.  The guy who used to plow snow for me, who had a nice, big Kubota tractor, dropped off the grid and I'm incapable of finding someone else to do it.

Having more supplies wouldn't be the same.  That scenario would be just like any other time I go two weeks without leaving the house, not seeing or talking with anyone, and not dealing with the Internet.  This is very different.  As my truck and trash bin vanish beneath the snow and I'm forced to eat food even less appealing than what I've been living off of during my 18-year-long permanent Lent with its ever-increasing list of denial; and there are full trash bags next to the kitchen garbage can as if I've graduate from pack-rat to hoarder; and the cats are going stir crazy because there is too much snow even for them; I'm now inspired to work on things like the books no one will read, one of which I've been writing on and off for 20 years.  These things, and others like them, have always been pushed aside because my life has gotten in the way.  Now that I've reached the point of really not caring I can work on them, along with, and not instead of, Crazymeds, which is no longer making enough money to support itself, let alone me.

Creative types know the drill: those bitch muses with their perfect timing of getting your juices all hot and bothered right before someone in your life needs (or is just especially insistent upon) you for something that is, or seems to them, to be extremely important.  Or your life makes demands of you along the lines of doing something that pays the rent or seeking medical attention.  Which choice do you make?  Pablo Picasso probably was called an asshole by numerous people, especially the women in his life.  The list of artists who suffered for their work is endless, and most of them not only died young and broke but remain anonymous to this day.

Knowing the likely outcome and not caring is very liberating.

Cabin Fever

Day 5, or maybe 6 of being snowed in.  While 12 inches of snow hasn't been a problem for my pickup, 16 inches was.  It's been sitting in a snowbank for the last however many days and I think I've managed to fuck-up the transmission.  After much digging and applying cat litter only the passenger-side front wheel and driver-side rear wheel were doing anything.  Running low on meds.  Been out of milk since Thursday?  Really feeling the lack of fish oil.  The idea of dealing with people is repugnant.

On the plus side, I'm getting a shitload of work done.  I should do this more often.