Juliet Brando
@sliderulesyou
Writer. Artist. Abominatrix. This is a place of comedy, cats, and silliness, with occasional hand-made imp-based jewellery and oddities.
Tony Blair, emerging once again to give you some unsolicited bad advice.
Polymer clay atrocity progress: "Ah, Mister. Bonk, I've been expecting you."
Some of you probably realised what would happen after I posted this last night. Of course I had to start building a polymer clay atrocity. How could I not?
Political thread: Quiet night in with my girl, working at the laptop with her by my side. I love how she cuddles her cat toys to go to sleep, like they're her teddy bears. She never mauls them, except for the ribbons on a stick...
I don't know how much time she has left since her diagnosis. It might be months, but I'm devoted to every moment with her. Also, in other news, Farage is a grifting bullshitter.
I know it's petty and ridiculous, but sometimes you just want to reply to a Reform troll at their level. Don't judge me. It's nearly 3am and life has been tough.
My little girl listening to her bedtime Terry Pratchett story. She likes routines, and depends on them - insists on them. They make her feel safe. There will always be the nature/nurture debate about what makes humans neurodivergent, or anything else we are...
Polymer clay Egyptian Goddess latest. Her base layer of paint is on.
I can't sleep when it's a full moon and my brain is loud, even with a cold and the most bloodshot eyes that ever shot blood. Stayed up all night with my little cat, and waited for sunrise. This is what Hastings does at this sunrise when May happens. Hundreds upon hundreds of us.
Another polymer clay Egyptian Goddess is manifesting around a wire frame.
My little girl listening to her Terry Pratchett bedtime story tonight. Sometimes the realisation that her time is so limited hurts me like a physical pain, something dark and heavy in my veins that slows my words and dims my eyes...
My Lady, listening to her Terry Pratchett bedtime story earlier. She seems a lot more like herself now. (I haven't really talked about it on here, but she's in palliative care now - no more operations, just keeping her as happy as possible. She is my heart.)
Finished polymer clay abomination. "I have looked upon all the universe has to hold of horror, and even the skies of spring and flowers of summer must ever afterward be poison to me." - HP Lovecraft
Today I learned, as I curled into a rotted husk. She was 43. Harold was 47.
Tiny Niece was singing an impressive rendition of Starman by David Bowie earlier, after having washed her face with this:
How's your mental health, Juliet? Me: it's twenty to six in the morning and I'm doing base coats on these guys.
If any younglings ask about life in the '90s, get them to watch "This Life" on iPlayer. It's like a time capsule, buried precisely 30 years ago in the Blue Peter garden-