I hope those celebrating are having a blast this Independence Day. In case you missed it, Sheryl Crow is releasing her final album in 2019. After that, she’s only releasing singles. Stevie Nicks is going to be on it. I’m grinning like Oprah just adopted me. 😁 Just a quick flyby before our gig. I’ll be back to regular posting this weekend. ✌
I’m floating on anticipatory joy. Soon, I’ll be attending a Fleetwood Mac concert. It will be at least a few months after going to see Beyoncé in August. (!!!) I don’t know when or where exactly as the show is a gift from M. I can barely contain my excitement. It’s intended for my birthday next month, but he knew it was too big to keep completely secret.
M understands my preference for mental preparation. And my need to jump up and down whenever I remember what’s coming up. (No wonder I love him.) I feel like I just finished a 200-meter dash. I had to let the cable person in my home office earlier to upgrade my internet. They’re gone now, but my body hasn’t caught up.
This room is my happy place in the universe, so I hate feeling anxious in here. At least I’m recovering more quickly than Amelia Bedelia. She’s still hiding in her fort atop her climbing tree. She probably won’t come out for another hour or so, then reluctantly forgive me for allowing a stranger in her space.
The Depression Monster is pouting in the corner. Heh. (Stay there, asshole.) Wakanda Forever! I watched Black Panther in Playstation VR yesterday. The immersion was incredible. I forgot I had a body until it was over. I took a half-hour break in the middle, then resumed through the end. That’s a new record for me with an action film. (They usually require several short viewings.)
I’m going to do it again with The Color Purple next. It’s a movie and novel that affected me so profoundly; it’s part of my journey. I have fond memories of watching it often with several other women in the barracks while I was in the Army. I discovered I’m not the only one who says the lines verbatim while it’s showing, (practically by compulsion.) None of my Army buddies ever told me off for doing it, and many said them with me.
I remember when Whoopie Goldberg did standup comedy. My sister Heather and I watched her specials on HBO religiously. She was the first black woman we encountered that we could relate to as teens. She showed us our isolation from other African Americans didn’t exclude us from the experience (or the jokes.) We were right there with her all the way, laughing uproariously.
Robin Williams, George Carlin, and Eddie Murphy also left us quivering in puddles of giggles on the floor. Good times. Remembering has calmed my anxiety. Yay. I’m off to practice with my band. Hopefully without grinning like I just won the lottery. I need to find my war face or something. Squee! I mean, huah! 💜
I had a busy weekend, spending most of it practicing with my band. We played two songs I created, and I’m thrilled by how much they liked them. I would have strutted around like I’m Stevie Nicks or something, but it was also my first time singing while drumming. I was pretty anxious about it because I figured it would take months of practice before I could pull it off.
I’m surprised to report I pulled it off to some degree. The fact that I regularly sing to myself has finally paid off. Instead of getting odd looks from strangers, I managed to provide backup harmonies with a headset mic. I’m sure it helps that I know the songs better than anyone else. Heh. I used a poem I wrote as a teenager for the lyrics, (but only until I rewrite it.)
The poem is horrible, so I’m not going to share it. I was going through a descriptive phase, and my subject matter mainly consisted of things I thought were delightfully revolting. I was like a stereotypical boy for most of my childhood. Watching my big brother swallow worms or goldfish on a dare was probably my favorite hobby; as well as the subject of the poem to which I’m referring.
He had god-like status in my eyes, and I wish he were still alive, so I could tell him I’m in a band, and I miss him. He’d think my playing the drums is lame, but would still be impressed. I suspect my band leader reminds me of Steve, a bit. He’s somewhat mean but funny about it, so I don’t mind. I’m content doing anything if I’m laughing through it. It’s what most appealed to me about serving in the Army. It’s full of should-be comedians.
When we did the gross song initially, I was able to sing but not loudly enough. Plus, I dropped a stick and had to get up to retrieve it. It led to a lesson on always having extra sticks close at hand, and not losing them while playing. Emphasis mainly on the last bit. I need to adjust my kit at home to mimic the acoustic kit’s positioning. My muscle memory finally kicked in so I need to be mindful. While I was up, I turned up the volume on my mic because duh. 😂
I’m supposed to work on not grinning like I just won the lottery while I play. My band leader demonstrated what I looked like, much to my amusement. At least he didn’t tell me I should audition for Disney; which is the feedback I received when kicked out of my first band, years ago. I didn’t understand what “sing edgy” meant. Thank you, Adele, Stevie Nicks, and Amy Lee. Now I know. 🙃
Incidentally, that band broke up a year later over an argument about whether or not Hootie and the Blowfish sucked. Heh. (I think Darius Rucker is talented.) M. has been planning our trip for next month. We’re going to visit as many pinball machines as we can find. We’re both obsessed with the game and highly competitive when playing on PlayStation 4. I prefer the old-fashioned version, though. The digital version is wicked distracting with all the animations (that sometimes get in the way while playing.)
He hasn’t managed to beat my high score on the Family Guy version. I must still have a part of me that’s amused by fart jokes because it’s my favorite table. I also like Thor. I doubt they have real versions, though. M. is an excellent photographer, so we plan on documenting them as we go. I can’t wait. I’m off to beat my drums with sticks while not smiling.
I figured I’d better do a bit of damage control after my recent ravings. I know many who read my blog are neurodiverse brethren who are younger than me, (literally, not the bullshit way allistic people measure age by time. I mean you who haven’t yet processed as much data as I have because your neural pathways are beautiful, and there are no shortcuts. Why use numbers to map a path never taken before? 😂) I’m assuming I freaked some of you out, and I’m hoping I didn’t trigger you closer to a meltdown. (Yes, I think all ND have them. Oops, you knew. My bad.)
Everything I said is rude. It’s not something I could have said to someone in a conversation, aside from the author of the letter. (That would have been borderline abusive.) I feel no shame for airing my feelings with wild abandon on the internet. I didn’t break any laws in America, even though you may have cringed as if I did. I’m sorry you couldn’t reach through the screen and figuratively punch me while you read it. It was uncomfortable to read; just as it was to write.
I share the way I do because life is terrifying for everyone. I don’t want you to miss any joy. I suspect we all get roughly the same amount, but the twisted, horrible part is, we usually don’t notice. We’re so preoccupied with licking the many, many wounds we collect along the way. I visualize this literally in my mind. We rarely look up to see the joy floating by. I’d love to see that as art, hint hint. 🙃 (Seriously, I’ll trade money for it. Take the risk and talk to me in comments about commish.)
I love it when I get a Life Skill hint from someone else. It’s like getting to move three steps forward in a single move. You may have seen me mention how floored I am by how many Life Skill hints Stevie Nicks shares, on occasion. (Heh, I can’t believe I typed “on occasion” with a straight face. I can deadpan now! I’m finally awesome! 💪🏽😂) My point: I drop them too because I love you. (Hope that didn’t make it weird.)
I know when I express rage my aim is so sloppy it’s offensive. I’m working on it. If I hurt you, I’m sorry. Look up. Here comes a hint. You’re incapable of rejecting a compliment/external encouragement. No matter how you feel about it, or react to it in real-time, the part of you that handles them accepts it at face value. The next three times you think of a sincere compliment to someone, I triple-dog-dare you to tell them. Secondary hint challenge: Sincerely complimenting, and encouraging those around you is nerve-wracking as hell until you start organizing the feedback data. (It’s why I’m ridic bold.) There is only, and will only ever be one you. That alone makes you (F-box button) incredible. Build on it just because you can.
Start right away, eh? It’s because sincere compliments and encouragements to people are like hybrid mattresses. They absorb and reflect back twofold, and sleeping on them is fabulous. (Shup, I’m analogy challenged. 😂) If it doesn’t click now, save it for later, it’s my best hint. It’s ghetto Prozac, and consequently, an excellent reason to maintain a friendship with a hip-hop enthusiast. Hip-hop builds you up. It’s why Slim Shady makes you feel giddy. You’re welcome. (Bonus.)
Guilt bonus for parents of autists because I’m hard on you: Autisms only cause is Nature. She’s just doing her thing, experimenting with the complexity of our species’ CPU’s. I suspect we might get multicore processing someday if we don’t ruin everything first. She’s the original and only scientist with authority on this planet, and we’re still at her mercy. Despite that, we’re in an abusive relationship with her, and you know it. Let’s all do some damage control, and work on it. Peace.
p.s. Lily, I’m merely not done yet, I haven’t forgotten. Thanks, you lovely lit geek. You’re awesome. 💜
I accomplished a great deal yesterday. Today, I’ve barely managed to pull off the mandatory tasks. I squeaked by with incredible effort. I can’t believe it’s early evening. I feel it should be around 2 PM at the latest. So much for my plan to turn in early tonight.
My off switch has never worked properly. Once I’m engaged in a task, it’s difficult to stop. I’d like to believe I have a bit of control over it, despite evidence to the contrary. I haven’t definitively determined what triggers it to become worse. Not even close. I have two hypotheses; both discouraging. Sigh.
I love being completely absorbed in what I’m doing. It’s like stepping out of time, letting go of everything, including my body, and focusing only on what I’m doing. Leaving that state makes me want to weep. But I’ve accepted I must, often. Not doing so often enough is the equivalent of living under a rock.
I’ve learned it’s not the way I want to exist, much as I love it. It murders my ability to socialize, for starters. (I’m always going to regret not finding out about Stevie Nicks sooner.) There are excellent reasons to check in with the rest of the world on a regular basis, and I’m absolutely interested.
The thing is, acknowledging the world outside my head is borderline sadistic. There’s a shitload of pain out here, and I’m unshielded. I don’t have the experience in coping necessary to navigate without rivers of tears; so I tend to retreat when I sense I’m failing and have no clue what I’m doing wrong. (I despise that feeling.)
My decision to attend a Fleetwood Mac or Stevie Nicks concert in the future is turning out to be an effective retreat deterrent. (At least when it’s voluntary.) I need to stay connected, so I’ll know when they go on tour. I already had the terrible, awful nightmare where I discover I missed out because I was too distracted to get tickets. I woke up and immediately began bawling like it really happened. I’m such a doof. Heh. But it was horrible!
I’m going to work out a new time management strategy. I keep adding new things, but there are still only 24 hours in a day. My bad. This is my reward for bragging about my math skills, eh? The universe is hilarious (sometimes.) I’m off to read.