“Will you calm down? I took all my blood to Newman’s.”

Me so happy

I probably shouldn’t be blogging right now.  My mind is threatening a meltdown.  The upcoming concerts I’m anticipating are wreaking havoc on my ability to remain calm.  My thoughts are running at warp speed, so there’s little chance I’ll stay on topic today.  If glimpsing someone else’s mindmap in raw form disturbs you, this is your signal to bail.  You’re welcome.  🙃

I wish people would add links to their blog on their WordPress profiles.  I can’t believe I’m going to be in the same space as Beyoncè and Jay Z.  Damn.  My hands are shaking again.  What the hell?  I can sense my mom’s spirit scolding me for being a fangirl.  (It still stings.)  I used to get in trouble for loving people too eagerly.  Is it weird I so rarely relate to others on a physical level?  Survey says, duh.  (+10 for consistency.)

If there were an awards ceremony for being weird, I’d be getting lifetime achievement props (while grinning at the wrong camera via satellite.)  Dammit.  😁  Be good at whatever you do.  My dad told me that when I was bawling because the neighbor kids told me I don’t play right.  After that, I took pride in how well I organized all the Barbie accessories; (/acceptance speech).

OMG, it's almost time!

I heard a cutoff bit of commercial by Autism $peaks yesterday.  I equate the organization to a bumper sticker that reads; Your kids’ autism paid for my kids’ education, rehab, and bail! Sigh.  People are very human.  Regardless of how holier than thou, we believe ourselves to be, we still opt to be naughty whenever the opportunity presents.  Most of us merely restrict our behaviors to that which we’re confident we can commit without consequence or shame.  (It’s just that some don’t seem to feel shame at all.)

The naughty gene is universally present in warmbloods, it seems.  At least those I’ve managed to observe.  We despise this in others despite possessing it ourselves.  Human and hypocrite are synonyms.  Society determines the threshold of tolerance in all instances.  We reset every time we awaken.  No wonder it’s so arduous for me to see people. They continuously change before my eyes.  I haven’t trusted vision since I was 11.

A Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin continues to dominate my reading time.  I purchased the first seven seasons of the HBO series recently, and I’m reading and watching daily.  When the series strayed from the novels, I got out of sync, and am now much further ahead with the books than the series.  Reading is much more intense for me.  Yay.  I learned how to marvel at the FX when things get all stabby, instead of getting triggered.  (I’m pretty sure I long-blinked through the beheading scenes, though.)

Those with no shields experience joy more easily.

There’s an underlying theme to the characters resembling a priest who broke faith before ever taking vows.  Reading of the human condition in such varied and well-developed imaginings tickle me all the way through.  George R. R. Martin sees people very well.  My mom’s spirit is already scolding me for fangirling over it.  I want to scream; it’s impossible not to love people when you honestly see them!  Hello!  And on top of everything, Fleetwood Mac is coming to Sioux Falls!  Those seven words are playing on a non-stop loop in my head in Stevie Nicks’ voice.  Yes. There’s a dance to go with it.  💜  I’m off to beat my drums with sticks.  ✌🏽

 

“Just because a hospital gets a grant to study DNA doesn’t mean they’re creating a race of mutant pigmen.”

colorful marbles

I lost my rhythm.  I’ve been silent for a while, processing.  It becomes an all-consuming task when I lose my groove;  (I hate being in this state because it’s so vulnerable.)  It’s like suddenly being thrust back into your five-year-old skillset, while still trying to function as an adult.  I can’t mask my autism or PTSD symptoms from stranger danger when like this.

The universe is reminding me I’m disabled.  It feels like an unnecessary smack-down.  My resulting attitude pretty much determines how long the reminder will last.  Yay (sarcasm).  Fortunately, when I can’t talk, I remember how to listen well.  I pick up on things I likely wouldn’t have, otherwise.  I caught some wisdom while hearing Gettin’ Grown with Jade and Keia podcast, yesterday.

It struck me my relationship with Jade and Keia is fascinating.  I’ve listened to well over 100 hours of their podcast.  Since I don’t participate in social media, I’m not part of the conversation.  My perspective interests me because on virtually all the episodes so far; I think they’ve been nearly exhausted and running on their last spoon when they record, (busy/many jobs.)  DNA molecule

Based on what I learned in the Army, I understand how sleep deprivation and physical exhaustion can combine to remove all social and emotional shields.  I think it results in a very genuine, heartfelt podcast.  It’s as if they stand before their audience naked every week, and it’s why I trust their sincerity.  I don’t need to judge them as they’re not posing.  No ace bullshit detector required.  I like that.  (Especially since mine kind of sucks.)  🙃

I’m delighted by the information and wisdom I acquire by merely listening.  I appreciate the spontaneity and thought language resulting from extemporaneous speaking on the podcast.  (Especially knowing Keia is a scholar used to defaulting to scholarly linguistic rules all day.)  One thing Keia touched on this week was how we tend to reject in others what we dislike within ourselves.

We're all connected

It jumped out at me and said, boo!  I’ve been thinking about it since.  I need to program a delay for some think-time before rejecting anyone for anything in the future.  Then I need to figure out if I’m projecting.  And knowing me, while simultaneously pondering whether or not theoretical psychology (projecting) is bullshit.  Heh.

During this recent processing time, it’s occurred to me I may care too much.  I fear I might be taking life too seriously of late.  As far as I know, I’m stardust with delusions of selfhood.  Most evidence I’ve gathered so far informs me we’re all connected.  I’ve spent my life building on that same model in search of answers to a question I still don’t know how to ask.  I think I’m finally beginning to understand how to hear, though.  (That seems a significant skill to master before asking anything, eh?)  Yay.  I’m off to practice.

“Well, this is a little awkward, isn’t it?”

awkward dogs

I’m going to borrow a segment from my favorite podcasters, Jade and Keia, of Gettin’ Grown podcast, titled, Honesty Box.  Here we go.  I’m doing this because I know what I’m about to share is generally considered oversharing in society.  I decided life is too short to conform to society’s model of typical.

Oversharing is an invented concept to describe being open in a manner others may find uncomfortable to witness.  If they see it as awkward, it’s likely because they’ve learned it’s the expected reaction.  Oversharing has a negative connotation resembling an insult.  Many seem terrified of being accused of this social crime.  I’m more interested in grokking the status quo of privacy in general, as it appears to be an endangered concept.

I know I’m naked.  I suspect (and hope) others who are highly sensitive to the energies of others have accepted this knowledge by age 40, too.  I don’t use energy worrying what I share online might be socially awkward.  I was born into an energy crisis, literally and figuratively.  Conservation and I go way back.  (Inside joke with disabled people.)

I low-level analyze everything I observe.  I’m convinced it’s a symptom of being human.  I could give a lecture on light and dark colored car trends in the parking lot adjacent to my balcony, for example.  I’ve been studying the patterns since I moved in.  Because I’m alive and I notice.  (No lecture, I promise.) 😂  thumbs up, like

I low-level study trends on my blogs, too.  Such as variations in numbers of likes and comments between topics, writing styles, etc.  It’s mostly a subconscious observation, but I’m aware enough to ponder what I’ll do with the data.  Do I want people to like my posts?  Or, more to the point, what does it mean when someone does?

When I click like on someone’s blog entry, it means more than one thing.  It says I support the author, and read, watched, or viewed the information presented.  It means I like the author.  If you shared the same information in person, I would tell you out loud.  (Even though people react in surprising ways when someone says, “I like you.”)  That’s all.

The embarrassing part is the fact I assume everyone else does it for the same reasons.  I suppose I could require people to agree this is what they mean before clicking in the future, but that seems like a lot of work to stop getting likes altogether.  😂  I feel a surge of joy when someone clicks it on one of my entries.  Sometimes, I do a little dance.

Elon Musk from Wired Magazine

It makes me happy because I see it as a deliberate connection with another human because it’s their will.  You knew I was weird.  🙃  I don’t know of any like-bots running rampant on WordPress, so I know they’re genuine.  I haven’t seen this discussed before so I’m glad we had this talk.  Hopefully, you’ll share your thoughts in the comments.  💜

Tangent:  Elon Musk was trying to be a hero when he sent the mini-submarine to Thailand.  I think accusing him of doing it as a publicity stunt is vile.  (He’s a celebrity.  He can’t do much without publicity, eh?)  Humans were in mortal danger.  Instead of doing nothing and feeling helpless, he did the best he could manage in a short time.  He has resources and wealth to make action possible, and he chose to act.

Elon Musk behaved like Ironman and Batman because it was his will.  He doesn’t get credit for the rescue, but the potential loss of life was reduced to one Navy seal, (much respect.)  He still took extraordinary measures to assist.  He behaved like a hero.  (More like Deadpool after quoted comments, but hero.)  Cheers to Elon Musk, a hero in waiting.

“He’s even curtailed his auto-erotic activities.”

Woman reading the news and shouting, "That baby was mowing the damn lawn!"

I need to stop reading the news.  It’s killing me.  I don’t know how I slid back into my old habit of perusing and cross-checking multiple sources online a few times a day.  It doesn’t matter.  I need to refrain entirely for a while.  I looked at my face in the mirror today.  I’m not very visually oriented, probably because my vision sucks.  I usually glance without seeing, but today, I saw.

I look like I haven’t slept in a few days.  I’m dehydrated, nauseated, and depressed.  I’m also excited about upcoming concerts, hella resilient, and an expert at functioning despite discomfort and despair.  I sometimes wish I could find solace in sleep at these times, but it’s no friend of mine.  Instead, I must push myself to engage in specific activities until the issue resolves.  Fortunately, I’ve had lots of practice.

It used to frighten me whenever I felt this way.  I resent how long it took me to overcome the fear.  Now, it annoys me at most.  I’m usually reasonably good at training my brain to do what I want, but sometimes, I need lots of repetition before it clicks.  Fighting off depression is one of those times.  It took a long time to train myself never to presume humanity in others.  It was painful to learn, but not nearly as much as not knowing better.

I forced myself to practice my drums earlier.  I love to play, but when I’m depressed, it’s incredibly difficult to make myself do it.  I had fun, just as I knew I would.  There’s a new mix of Solo by Clean Bandit, ft. Demi Lovato.  I hated it the first time I heard it, but when I accidentally played it again, I discovered I love it.  I also enjoyed drumming to Ghost by Jaden Smith.  depression

I’m rehydrating so that I can hit the treadmill later.  Running in place is remarkably helpful when I’m so low.  I used to be able to throw a pity party and wallow a bit before I fought my way out from under a mountain of despair.  Eventually, I reached a point where I recognized feeling sorry for myself is also hysterically funny, which ruined it.  Heh.  (Pretending Wanda Sykes and Jerry Seinfeld were riffing off my negative thoughts did the trick.)

Now I work it out as quickly as possible and get back to my life.  I slept beneath my weighted blanket last night.  It felt like cold water and central air after crossing a desert.  M is out of town with his cousins, geeking out over the world cup.  They were astonished I can’t name a single team and wasn’t confident which sport.  I told them I enjoy watching sports exactly as much as they enjoy listening to me talk about AI.  I’m a wee bit embarrassed to report they grokked that immediately.  😂  (Noted.)

It was hot yesterday; my pink Puma’s melted.  I thought I stepped in some gum or something.  Then I realized the soles of my shoes were sticking to the concrete and melting off.  They were old enough the white treads were turning a bit yellow, but damn.  So I threw them away and ordered a new pair.  (I have a one out, one in policy with most things now.)  New shoes are almost as mighty against depression as viewing I’ma Be Me by Wanda Sykes.  🙃 💜

 

Puma sneakers

“I repeated the words, cashmere, cashmere.”

woman yoga-boarding

I have a new favorite word;  repeat.  It’s going to make me awesome.  Even though I reside in a nation where the evangelical right is more loyal to 45 than any god, big corporations have more rights than citizens, humans are considered illegal, and mercy is only for the wealthy, I continue to be.  Despite everything, I still experience moments of joy.

Since I have limited control over my life, I’m especially willful over the parts I can control.  I want to be an incredible person in my own eyes.  I notice incredible things about other people all the time.  Like artists who can paint or draw so realistically, I think it’s a photo.  Or musicians who master their tools and create music that moves me.

I want to find the words to express my thoughts and imaginings.  Words that relate to others what I mean more precisely, not almost.  I hate almost.  So I’m going to practice and repeat until I do or die, knowing I’ll improve.  Repeat is my mantra.  Over and over, as many times as necessary to earn what I want.  Thanks to my tendency to hyperfocus, I plan to fail as fast as possible until I succeed.

balance

I love words, but we’re kind of in an abusive relationship presently.  Unfortunately, writing and speaking require playing Hide-n-Seek with my vocabulary.  (It’s like I forgot my scientific calculator on trigonometry test day, and the teacher advises I use scratch paper and hurry up.  True story.  😂)  I usually end up recalling the simplest approximation.  I don’t want to settle anymore with words.

At least I discovered it makes my writing more translator friendly for international readers.  Heh.  (I’m addicted to finding at least one good thing about a shitty situation.)  Repeat has been my friend in life.  If I can fail at it, Repeat will turn it into success, eventually.  I don’t always call on her reliable superpower, though.  Only when I want something badly enough to trade for time.

tape recorder

Pete and Repeat were in a boat.  Pete fell out.  Who was left?

Repeat.

Retro regrets:  When I was 9, I got put on Time Out for 2 hours for parroting that joke absentmindedly for I don’t know how long, (before my mom lost her shit.)  I quietly recited Mary Poppins, including the songs, during my punishment.  😏  I also have Oliver!, Rent, Mamma Mia!, and Grease memorized.  (What’s the deal with exclamation points in musical titles?)  I’ll take, Things Alison Does When She’s Offline for $300, Alex.

I’m off to beat my drums with sticks.  I’m having a blast playing Black Vultures by Halestorm.  (Soon, I plan to do it without having to pause and resync my timing because I got too excited.)  Repeat, make it happen.  💜