Photoshop

This is technically the first image I've ever Photoshopped. I used to do a little editing in PaintShop Pro, but for some reason, on the old computer it couldn't handle the large file sizes of images from the Canon PowerShot. No matter: Picasa handled most of the minor fixes I wanted, like cropping and minor contrast adjustments.

But from time to time an otherwise interesting image is marred by distractions. This aster stalk alongside the Eramosa River had another distracting plant in the background that I could not eliminate by adjusting my physical point of view. Against such a complex background, I doubted whether I would be able to remove it, but was amazed at how easily Photoshop handled it, much more intelligently than the old shareware version of PSP could have.

There's a lot to learn with this software.

The new computer is set up on the desk, the old one moved to the floor nearby where I can transfer files at my leisure. I've been using the 512 MB CompactFlash card, and moving the card reader back and forth between computers. The USB ports are all slow. Transferring half a G worth of images takes anywhere from 7 to 18 minutes on each computer, so this is going to take a while. But everything essential has already been moved.

Sleep disruptions continue. I got about three-and-a-half hours last night (4:30 to 8:00), but I still don't feel it. Weirdness. I saw Dr. J. yesterday for the last time until February. On her advice, I'm going to try adjusting the mirtazapine dose from 45 to the maximum 60 mg. This will be the third time we've tried it. I've never been able to handle the side effects, but just increasing it for a few days seems to hit a reset button. Maybe it will be enough to get my sleep back on track.

I was glad to see sunlight behind the curtain when I woke up this morning.

Money

I arrived home this afternoon to find a cheque in the mail. My application has been accepted as an independent service provider to care for "Luke", and I have received payment for the first three afternoons I worked with him. It isn't large, but equivalent to what I've had to live on for one week after the bills are paid.

It's almost a quarter of what I made on sales of the chapbook, which required hundreds of hours writing and printing. The artist's life is a labour of love; I do love it, and don't intend to stop pursuing that path, but by comparison this is easy money.

Still challenging of course. Figuring out how to involve and socialize an autistic 13-year-old is stretching me. It's not a profession I ever dreamt of, or even wanted. But I feel good about it. Ironically I am being paid by the Community Mental Health Clinic, the one agency that helped turn my own progress forward two years ago, after nearly a decade of falling through the cracks and finding no adequate support for my recovery.

This is practically the first time I've received an hourly wage since 1995. The gratification is intense. Probably I could get addicted to earning money.

Ten years ago I was crushed and burned out, lost in my failure to perform according to people's demands. I will never again take a job that stresses me to that point. But after years of scraping and fearing life might not be sustainable, I approach work from a different perspective.

This is for me.