“Happy, Pappy?”

Happy

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.

Whoopie Goldberg in The Color Purple

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!  💜

“No, it always has to be explained to me, and then I have to have someone explain the explanation.”

Off Switch

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.

“It was more like a full-bodied dry heave set to music.”

For the music

I’m sad about the passing of author, Ursula LeGuin, yesterday.  Today is Virginia Woolf’s 136th birthday.  I decided to spend the day listening to Lorde.  I’m not done yet, but it’s been a soothing day so far.  She’s one of my healing sisters, along with Stevie Nicks, Beyoncè, Amy Lee, Sheryl Crow, Agnetha Faltskog, and Aretha Franklin.

They’re who caught me up through their music when I was (barely) enduring a period of devastation.  Losing my parents and closest siblings, divorce, surviving rape, etc.  All leveled me.  I can’t really wrap my head around the concept of such powerful bonds with people I’ve never met.  It’s too abstract.  (Much easier to just cherish it and enjoy the music.)

I’ve come to an important decision.  The next time Stevie Nicks or Fleetwood Mac tour, I’m going to go.  I’ve imagined it and tallied up the known consequences as well as potential unfortunate situations.  If they all happen, it’ll still be worth it.  (If nobody shoots me,) it’ll be an incredible experience.  (That’s the only thing I can think of at the moment that would utterly ruin it.)

I’m not going to let autism or PTSD rob me of this experience.  (Because hell no.)  I already know it’s not possible to die from being too happy.  So it’s all good.  Whatever I have to pay afterward (stapled to the floor) will be worth it.  Depending on when, I’ll either be going with M. or his sister, S.  Hopefully both.

I have noise canceling headphones to wear when the band isn’t playing.  Also, dark tinted glasses if it’s an outdoor show, or they flash bright lights at the audience.  I have lots of pocket-sized fidgets and anxiety focus figures.  Mini Tina (From Bob’s Burgers) is my favorite.

Tina

She’s only 2″ tall.  I also have a 24-Karat-Gold:  Songs from the Vault keychain from the Stevie Nicks website.  I love how it feels to hold, and it’s always cool.  I used to have a tiny Garnet from Steven Universe, but I lost it.   (I love cartoons.)  Now I want to watch Hey Arnold!, or Rocket Power.  Heh.  I’m off to read.

 

 

“I want you to have this job, of course sodomy is a prerequisite.”

My prodigy is blowing my mind on a near daily basis.  She’s been having fun testing my memory.  I suspect she’ll grow bored of this soon.  I’m humoring her because I used to do similar experiments.  The human brain is so fascinating.  I used to “test” the foster babies as a kid.  My parents would inform me of their condition, and I’d design an experiment to determine its accuracy.  I remember when Angelique came to live with us.  She was taken from her family on the reservation due to abuse.

She had a traumatic brain injury as an infant and had a few surgeries.  She turned out to be far brighter than reported.  She had the most contagious laugh, too.  Full belly laughs, followed by post-laughter chuckles.  I loved hearing her laugh so much I became her personal slapstick comedian.  I feigned tripping and falling over invisible objects in front of her playpen while she watched and laughed her ass off.  Then I’d laugh at her laughing.  It’s an awesome auditory memory, and sometimes I dream about it and wake myself up from laughing.

I’m getting excited as the date approaches when Stevie Nicks performs in St. Paul.  Yesterday, one of the officers in my Resistance group flew over me, and I estimated the time and mentally sent a hug into the sky to embrace her.  (I know, I’m a doof.)  I believe we’re all connected and can send love and comfort through our spirits (?) to one another at will.  I remember doing this as a child, but I had an elaborate ritual.  We had a hill in our back yard, and I’d lay on top on a blanket and look up at the stars while sending love and comfort to heavy hearts.  It’s also how I cope with knowing there are people suffering on this planet at all times.

J.K. Rowling is demonstrating why she’s the Queen of the internet, and I love her for it.  Welp, I already did, but more if possible.  I’m reading another Thomas Hardy novel titled, Far From the Madding Crowd.  So far it’s hilarious.  I think I like old school smart asses the best.  They don’t just write the funny part, they build up to it with ambiguous words, so you’re not sure if it’s intentional.  That makes it funnier to me.  Probably because the few times I’m funny it’s usually an accident.  I’ve been acquiring more hilarious people to follow on Twitter recently.  They’re like an investment in my future moods.  I just cracked myself up.

I’m getting ready to go entertain some cows with my violin.  I’m going to the same spot I did last time because the land owner invited me back.  He came up while I was playing, (startled the shit out of me) and complimented my playing.  He has some bison on another field, and I’d love to see how they respond to my music, (but they scare me.)  I do like to stare at them from the other side of the fence, though.  They stare back and usually win the stare down.  In person, they’re powerful and intimidating.  I bet one of them could help me break my high school track record in the 400 meter.  Heh.  I run faster when I’m terrified.  A Drill Sgt. discovered this when I was in basic training.  (He didn’t know I was unaware of the existence of blank M-16 ammunition and decided to motivate us by firing it behind us.)

Unfortunately, I kept running all the way back to the barracks and refused to come out of the latrine until my buddy caught up.  It’s funny to me now, but at the time I totally thought he lost his shit and was trying to kill us all.  (There are some movies I regret viewing prior to serving.)  I’m off to test my ability to play while afraid.