“Every two minutes, ‘Who ate the top of my muffin?!'”

romantic road

I depleted my recent candy acquisition.  I see a mouth full of cadaver donations in my future.  I hope lots of people who avoided sweets all their lives choose to donate their teeth when they die.  (Thanks in advance.  😁)  More candy arrives tomorrow.  Heh.  I have to admit to a fascination with having dead peoples teeth in my mouth.  It’s a Stephen King novel waiting to happen, yo.  Imagine what Jordan Peele would do with it.  I may even take a stab at it.

I believe the above paragraph qualifies as a warning against reading further.  I’m having a cognitive kaleidoscope kind of day.  I would elaborate, but it’s presently beyond me.  It involves thought loops that spontaneously capture my attention.  After the first few rounds, I start playing with it.  It’s mental jazz or something.  I’m not really into it, but I can hang.  (This paragraph counts as an example.)

I know why this is happening; it’s a fragmented focus.  The Depression Monster has been low-level messing with me for a long time, and I’ve been ignoring it.  Sometimes it feels like walking across a minefield.  At any moment, I could buckle under a mountain of despair atop me out of nowhere.  An interruption to my ability to do more than exist while questioning why.  Thinking about it seems dangerous, so I don’t.

there are no rules

Instead, I double down on known counteractants.  Exercise and laughter are most potent in my experience.  Both are difficult to attempt when depressed.  They’re the last things you feel like doing.  But they help, so I usually manage.  It’s brutal because the necessary effort is always astonishing.  I can’t even bitch about it, because I know I’m more skilled at living with chronic depression than in the past.

I have a deep sadness about the state of humanity on my back, as well.  I feel horrible over the massacre in New Zealand because the atrocity was deliberately committed by a fellow human, resulting in the loss of fifty of us. We are less now.  I hate reminders of our collective insanity.  I don’t like thinking about impending self-destruction on a species level.  I’m too literal for this game.

I sighed when I read Aunt Becky was supposedly arrogant when appearing in court recently.  It would have been weird if she wasn’t.  We all know she knows she’s merely the one who got caught doing what we all know is so common it’s a freaking tradition among the privileged.  Character stopped counting in America at a point I’m unable to pinpoint.  Perhaps it never really mattered.  I still believe Mr. Rogers knew what he was talking about, though.  (Despite all the evidence supporting Dr. Ford’s theory of the human intellect being like peacock feathers on Westworld.)  And on that cheery note, I’m off to read.  ✌🏽💜

“For I have seen the nipple on your soul!”

why so curious?

I’m in a weird mood.  I’m having fun with it.  It’s probably vibrations of joy and contemplation from the recent Fleetwood Mac concert I attended.  It takes me a while to process everything I took in that night.  I’m also a bit stingy about sharing what I experienced.  (I’ll work on that.)  Here’s a gem:  After singing Gold Dust Woman, Stevie Nicks swirled into gold dust and faded to black.  The FX was so ingenious, I was compelled to turn and ask the nearest person, “Did you see that?!”  😆

I caught up on a few of my TV shows.  I can’t wait for season 6 of Grace and Frankie to begin (next year.)  I had a blast binge-watching it.  I started over with Westworld.  Season 3 airs soon, and I need at least one more viewing first.  The show is lush with depth and detail.  I’m learning so much about music from the soundtrack.  When I heard the instrumental cover of Nirvana’s Heart-Shaped Box by Ramin Djawadi, I gasped from being smacked by genius.  (It’s on Tidal.)

everything is connected

Now I need Amy Lee to record this song.  Just her and a magnificent grand piano of her choosing under a foggy spotlight.  And when you think it can’t get any better, enter Beyoncè singing the chorus and moving however the music takes her.  Their haunting harmonies on the next verse hold us hostage until Jay Z walks in and starts freestyling, and the beat surfaces and swells.

Freeze on a 360° image that slowly pans around, revealing all three artists in an intense moment of complete release.  Then resume at normal speed as they all meld into a beautiful, painful explosion of music so powerful it moves the world.  And finally, cut to me in the ER, and a doctor is yelling, clear!  Because my heart would explode like a heart-shaped box.  Heh.  Weird mood, indeed.  🙃

We got a fair amount of snow and some freezing rain on top.  It was knee-high on my balcony, yesterday.  Today it’s melting away, resulting in several icicles forming about a foot in front of (and above) the door.  The temptation to jump up and slap them away is more significant than I’m willing to admit this far into my forties.  Wait.  Dammit, ego!  Lay by your bowl!  I’d do it if not for the icy landing zone.  (I’m newly considerate of my hips years old.)  I’m off to band practice.  💜✌🏽

“You sprayed him in the eyes with Binaca?”

my workspace

Oofda.  So much has happened in my world recently.  I’ve been processing things internally, leaving me quiet and still much of the time.  I watched Leaving Neverland and the Oprah interview that followed over two evenings.  I had to take several breaks to walk around and think.  I slept the night horribly between viewings.  My spirit was unsettled, (and sleep is when we ignore our bodies and exist only in the spiritual plane.)

I’m not consciously aware of how but during that unrestful night, I worked out a significant understanding of how to cope with loving humans.  In many ways, the universe has been providing repeated opportunities to address this issue.  I’ve been shying away.  It’s incredibly complex and often uncomfortable.  Hearing Oprah share her wisdom in a repetitive, heavily stressed, and urgent manner finally got to me.  (I can be pretty thick.)  😑

I didn’t want to hear it.  I didn’t want to process, absorb, sit with, over-analyze, adapt, and finally grow from it.  It’s ugly.  It hurts.  It hurts in ways I can’t even articulate.  It’s hard work, too.  I have to train my brain to adapt, and it requires a fierce focus.  I hate intensely focusing on lessons that frighten, disturb, and drain me.  (Adulting sucks; this wasn’t in the brochure.)  I wanted loving humans to be black and white; not a gazillion shades of gray I didn’t know existed.

woman painting

I asked myself why.  It turns out; it’s because I fear trauma.  I’ve spent half my life healing from PTSD, thus avoiding it seemed an ideal strategy.  I was wrong.  Hiding from what I fear hasn’t worked out.  Ever.  (Wait.  Except for horror movies.)  I’m grateful for Oprah.  I love her; she’s one of my favorite teachers.  She taught me Michael Jackson was a human being all along.  Two people told their story and showed us how pedophilia slithers in and devastates.  I believe them.  The cracked facade displaying a man as a god shattered into a million tiny pieces.

Now I will gather those pieces and build them into the real man.  He looks, moves, and sounds the same.  (Many positive attributes remain intact.)  However, he also profoundly hurt some children.  He broke a taboo that creates ripples of suffering known to wreak havoc in the lives of many for generations.  He lied in our face.  It will take time for me to sort out my feelings.

Japanese candy

Loving people is hard because we’re each a universe of complexity and individuality.  All good or all bad are imaginary concepts, no matter how much we want to believe in them.  The child within us wants clear heroes; in whom we can invest our love and admiration without fear of pain.  Reality won’t play along because humans don’t work that way.  Loving is complicated and hurts like hell sometimes.  Forgiving is a choice and process involving growth, new perceptions, and scars.  It’s so gray, we all have to figure out for ourselves where to go from here.  So much of being an adult is recognizing how childlike we are and consciously compensating (when necessary.)  Thank goodness for candy.  💜✌🏽

“I don’t know about you, but I’m getting a hankering for some Doublemint gum.”

whale kite

 

Welp.  I didn’t wait for spring to begin rearranging and organizing my living space.  I’ve suffered far fewer minor injuries than usual in the process.  Being present in my body helps, indeed.  Who knew?  (So many people I won’t bother to list them. 😂)  If not for repeatedly reinjuring the same spots, I’d be pain-free right now.  I haven’t purchased a bunch of storage containers (yet.)  Using what I already have is proving sufficient, so far.  Yay.

In the past, I’ve always completed this task in a single day (lasting into the wee hours of the morning.)  This time, I’m using a tailored version of Marie Kondo’s method.  It involves a lot of thanking inanimate objects for their service before donating or tossing them.  I’m only keeping things that spark joy™.  The process makes me happy enough to cancel out the anxiety over making a huge mess, then slowly unmaking it.  Mostly.  Music helps with what remains.

I’ve uncovered a lifetime supply of velcro cable ties.  (I didn’t realize I took cable organization so seriously.)  I’m collecting them in a laundry basket until I’m done setting up my home studio/playroom.  Knowing me, I’ll spend at least a day making all my cables look pretty at some point.  Even though I recognize I’ll forever be adding and swapping out equipment as my synthesizer obsession grows.  (It’s a sickness.)  🤣

seek no approval

 

As I’ve stated before, I’m very literal.  Whenever I rearrange my physical possessions, I spend the time also mentally processing and discarding false presumptions about the people in my world.  I’ve always been like this.  As a child, I substituted my space with Barbie accessories and the multilevel mansion my brother built me out of wood scraps.  I would spend hours trying to wrap my head around the complexities of relationships and communication while lining up tiny plastic shoes and reupholstering cardboard furniture with glue and quilting scraps from my mom’s stash.

It’s funny how little we change in some ways as we age.  My main focus is on tweaking the lighting and flow of furnishings.  I’ve eliminated several things I used to bump into as I move about my space constantly.  (I’ve accepted I’m likely never going to be very good at controlling my avatar.)  The sofa is history.  I’m a floor sitter.  All it did was get in my way.  M has a beloved recliner for gaming and watching TV.  I have a floor cushion.  The gaming computers are in the living room, now, and the chairs can be turned around to provide guest seating if necessary.

I’ve never owned a dining table.  The kitchen island suffices for that.  The dining room isn’t a room;  More like an afterthought near the kitchen.  I put my drum kit there, instead.  I couldn’t stand having it in the small bedroom.  It felt too closed-in.  Now it’s perfect.  Music is the heart of my home.  Everything is centered around creating.  I can already tell it’s working as I’ve thought of a new story and have half composed a song in my head.

swings in the snow

I have two novels in progress at the moment.  It surprises me, as I expected to only work on one at a time.  The stories are unrelated, but my process seems to entail learning from one and using the new skills in the other.  As I bounce between them, it’s occurred to me I’ll likely produce several incomplete books I’m not ready to finish yet.  I have to dream them first, and much of dreams birth from experience and observation.

I’m delighted by how much joy I’ve found all around me.  I used to roll my eyes at sentimentality, but it turns out I’m one of them.  Heh.  I have a pile of things I no longer want to own, but love.  I’m going to photograph them and store the images in the cloud before purging them.  It’ll be fun to browse through the photos years from now and remember all the stuff I’ve loved at various points in my life.  (Good thing my new camera came with a photography tutorial.)  😂 I’m off to beat my drums with sticks.  ✌🏽💜

“Do you know how much mental energy I expend just trying to picture women naked?”

sloth

I’m recovering from rapid energy depletion.  My washing machine broke.  It resulted in two maintenance visits in my home on consecutive days.  The first visit included the head of maintenance, as well, whom I suspect is hard of hearing.  In any case, he speaks loudly.  He’s quite friendly and chatty.  He even tightened my door handle on his way out when he noticed it was loose.

Regardless of how cool he is, I can barely remain in my body when he’s near.  I have a fingernails-on-chalkboard-level reaction to him, against my will.  I managed to exchange polite greetings (while standing in front of the balcony door, debating about fleeing outside.)  The second visit was just the maintenance person, who replaced the faulty part and confirmed it worked in about twenty minutes.  Yay.

I had to lay down for a bit afterward.  I have a rule about no naps during the day, ever, (because it sabotages my sleep routine.)  But all the energy I was planning on using for the rest of the day was gone.  I crashed as soon as vertical and stayed there for two hours.  Then I got back up and told my pets we’re performing an official do-over.

doing laundry

It’s not a ruined day; it’s just a time-shifted day.  (The difference is whatever I make of it.)  I decided I’m going to switch things up a little.  Now that I’ve been watching TV daily, I’m reading less.  Naturally, I’ve decided I need to prioritize which shows to keep (and dump the rest) because this doesn’t work for me.  I recently purchased an HBO subscription, and have a few new shows I’ll continue watching, along with (Game of Thrones when it resumes.)

Westworld is my new favorite show, in the meantime.  The soundtrack is my favorite part.  It’s by Ramin Djwadi, who also scores Game of Thrones.  I love the theme song;  it’s a composition lesson to me.  The show is well written and performed.  Noticing the well thought out details in the script is like finding easter eggs in video games.  I’m completely enthralled.  Another show I’m keeping is called High Maintenance, (also on HBO.)  The last is Grace and Frankie on Netflix.

The wind has been calling me, telling me it’s time to read The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss, again.  Just thinking of it feels like coming home after a trying day.  I’m looking forward to spring because I plan on rearranging my living space to suit my lifestyle better.  I’ll be using a lot I learned from watching Marie Kondo on Netflix.  I love her; she’s a joy virus.  (Never thought I’d use those words together!)  I’m off to read. ✌🏽💜