“He can heal leopards.”

synthesizer chess

I’m in a weird mood. 😉  I’m so glad it’s finally cooled off; it means I can sleep under my weighted blanket again. I’ve been moving things around to prepare for winter.  I rearranged my synthesizer rig so I can experiment while sitting, standing, or bouncing on a fitness ball.

It’s modular due to often adding more, and changing out which ones are hooked up.  My brain insists I audition a gazillion different sounds and note my favorites before I can even consider creating.  I have a strong need to know what my equipment can do before I allow it to become part of my music.

It amuses me to have such a tedious, time-consuming methodology as an amateur musician.  You’d think I was preparing to create an epic symphony or something.  I imagine if I live long enough to master this process, I’ll probably use my hard-won skills to create the definitive sound of a Gigantosaurus fart. Or something.  🙃

mystery island

Afterlife interviewer:  So what did you do with your life?

Me:  (beaming) I’m the one who decided what dinosaur farts sounded like after they were extinct.

Afterlife interviewer:  (pause) Cool!

Me:  IKR!

Gettin’ Grown podcast this week (Daddy Lessons) was fabulous.  Hey Fran Hey, from The Friend Zone, and Crissle from The Read were guests.  I loved their explanations of what healing means; how it’s an ongoing process that requires maintenance (forever.)  They were also completely open about father-daughter relationships.

I laughed so hard despite the emotionally charged topic.  I have no idea how these (chosen) sisters managed to make it so funny, yet incredibly helpful in understanding my dad relationship.  I’m happy I found these podcasts.  Crissle and Kid Fury have a TV show now!  (FUSE, Oct. 11th, 11 PM.)

I can’t wait.  😆 I added two more podcasts:  3 Questions with Andy Richter, and Conan O’Brien Needs a Friend.  I highly recommend all these podcasts.  However, don’t listen to them in public unless you’re comfortable laughing your ass off in front of strangers, who don’t know why you’re laughing.  (Based on experience, I can’t stress this enough.)

Welp, I’m off to play with my synthesizers.  Those dinosaur fart sounds aren’t going to make themselves (anymore.)  💜✌

 

” It has come to my attention that some people here think that the use of drugs is something to laugh about.”

This video is for a short story by Andy Weir (The Martian and Artemis.)  It’s been on my mind since I first viewed it.  It aligns with my beliefs but goes beyond where I stopped imagining.  (When I realized I couldn’t find out what happens after death without dying, my interest plummeted.)  Andy Weir has a fabulous imagination.

I have a more organized understanding of why I view others as I do, now.  My transition to full auntie has surprised me in some ways.  I thought I would suddenly become a little cranky and say shit like, get off my lawn, (even though I don’t have one.)  I was looking forward to having no more damns to give.  I was wrong.

It’s the opposite.  It’s no longer possible for people younger than me to irk me.  When they make mistakes, my reaction varies from an inner chuckle over the memory of when I made the same mistake, to me cheering for them for taking a risk and making that mistake.  It’s weird and fun.

sky gazing

Just the other day, I saw a young person make a mistake, and I remember thinking they must be creative.  Heh.  Full auntie rocks.  Also, I have more awe for (good) active parents.  I still feel wrapped in the mesmerizing vibe of Fleetwood Mac from the concert in February.  I hope it never goes away.

I got a concert BluRay of Evanescences’ Synthesis Live a while ago.  The formerly scary (to me) audience has transformed into one where I’ll probably be the weirdest present when I go.  Yay.  (Even though I know, I’m going to bawl the whole time, just like at the Beyoncè show.)  I don’t care.  I’ll bring tissues.

If you heard someone shouting, yes, repeatedly, yesterday, it was probably me.  Or some other Gettin’ Grown listener.  Chef Jade and Dr. Keia are back.  😆  I missed them and am proud of them for demonstrating excellent self-care.  (Tell me, show me, sing about it, they all help me grow.)

I read I’m Telling the Truth, But I’m Lying, by Bassey Ikpi recently.  (Recommended by both The Read and The Friend Zone podcasts.)  It’s essays that describe the experiences of someone coming to terms with mental illness.  It’s as intimate as thought and highly relatable in a manner that allows you to feel safe enough to observe up close.  When it ended, I wanted it to keep going.

It reminded me we’re as much alike as different, and left me feeling hopeful.  Definitely worth reading.  I hope it becomes mandatory reading for mental health professionals.  I’m off to get ready for date night.  I’m dressing up for the first time in ages, so this should be interesting.  Heh.  ✌🏽💜

p.s.  I’m obsessed with The Office now.  Until further notice, titles going forward will be quotes from that show.

“Yeah. They should make a movie about all the Hindenburg flights that made it.”

negative self-talk

I got gently course-corrected by The Friend Zone podcast this week.  It related to how I identify healing, what it means, and my expectations of life after that.  (I’m reasonably sure I’ve established my propensity for over-excitement.)  I’ve since re-evaluated, sat with, and reigned in my expectations.  In a way, it’s a relief because my expectations were kind of lofty. 🤭  I’m grateful; (imagine how much time this adjustment will save.)  The assignment this week is to counter each negative thought with five positive (before sleeping) to train away negative self-talk.

It sounded like a lot to me at first.  But I tried it, and it’s fun.  I’m enjoying it as much as a video game that doesn’t depend solely on hand-eye coordination for advancement. 😶  It unlocked a new level in life, too.  Now, I am suddenly able to recall lots of good memories from times in my life when traumatic memories used to block them.  It’s fracking awesome!  I knew I had a ridiculous amount of fun while serving, but couldn’t trace it back to very many specific memories.  Now I can, and it began from thinking of positive things to counter negative self-talk.

The timing was excellent, as I didn’t make it north to visit my sister.  I was busy mentally tearing myself into ickle bitty pieces over it when the airshow shut me down for a while.  (Even though my sisters’ response was so kind, it made me cry.)  I was repeating my old habit of jumping in with both feet like my life hasn’t been a cautionary tale advising the opposite.  I forgot. 🤭  (My body remembered and activated all the alarms.)  I’m one of those people who have to experience the lesson to grok it, half the time.

Boxer dog

My level of interest determines how quickly I learn, which is as much a blessing as a curse.  If I’m interested, I learn so quickly people behave differently around me ever after.  (It’s weird and fascinating.)  If not, I’m no longer surprised by people assuming I’m intellectually challenged based on how much repetition is required for me to learn.  (I went from my ego being in intensive care to no damns to give rather quickly in that regard.)  It also strengthened my asshole detector; bonus.  Sometimes, I wish I could control this by faking interest, but so far, nope.

I did make it to Denver, even though I just had a meltdown recently.  Flying is a lot easier than driving for me, and TSA is part of why.  I know it’s weird, but I like TSA in Denver and Sioux Falls.  They help make it possible for me to travel alone.  I was an inch from bawling over the slightest thing and still managed to maneuver an international airport by myself without shedding a single tear.  The app on my phone failed to load my boarding pass.  Seconds before I tilted my head back and just crumbled into a most pitiful pile, a TSA person stepped in and gave me clear instructions on how to resolve it.

And when I did step one then promptly got lost, another TSA person stepped in like they were in a relay race passing batons. They even wrote me a note, so I didn’t have to stand in the long ass security line twice.  I know about the services that prevent this, but I need the time to mentally prepare for following all the instructions without holding up others.  (I’m so much better at it now than when I first started traveling again.)  A TSA person pulled me aside and told me exactly how to behave (body language) when in line so that I would stop getting all my bags scrutinized.  She didn’t have to do that, and I’m thankful.  It makes me wonder if they get training for interacting with neurodivergent people.  (It seems like they do.)

I was able to speak aloud at the time, but not much beyond lots of nodding and showing my phone screen.  I know a lot of people are annoyed by TSA, but to me, they’re helpful and pleasant.  (At least in Sioux Falls and Denver.)  Guitar Hero is teaching me how to use weed as a creative tool.  (I can tell he was a hippie because he has a lot of rules about respecting pot.)  I’m loving every minute of being calm in my body.  It’s a lot like coming up for air after staying underwater a little too long.  I’m off to introduce him to Solange. 😆💜✌🏾

“And you’re gonna need it.”

feet showing under covers in bed

Aunty Extra

Welp.  Healing is hard.  It takes a lot of energy and mindfulness.  I didn’t realize it, but living on autopilot for so long has consequences.  I’m having to train my brain to be present without exhausting my energy levels at an alarming rate.  It’s rocket science, yo.  This level has a lot of work involved.  I feel surprised every time I get a moment to catch my breath (thanks, Solange) and look back at what I just accomplished.  It’s not a comfortable feeling;  more like, whew!  I don’t have time to over-analyze everything while zoning out anymore.  It requires me to trust my values and make decisions before I feel confident in my choices.

It’s another part of adulting that wasn’t in the brochure.  I’m relieved my love of speculative fiction comes with the bonus that most epic sci-fi and fantasy novels are also ethics training guides.  (You still have to do the work of understanding the symbolism and lessons interwoven into the story, though.)  In my case, it means rereading and or viewing after thinking about it for a while.  I often have to listen to my favorite podcasts more than once to take it all in.  I love this quirk because they’re always funnier the second time.  (My epitaph shall state:  She lived her life on CP time.)

Speaking of podcasts;  I want Crissle West and Kid Fury (of The Read podcast) to read my life when I pass.  (I set up a savings account just for this purpose.)  My funeral is going to be hilarious and healing (assuming they agree to do it.)  I’ll leave them a note, a recent decent photo, and the keys to my apartment, and let them snoop through my stuff (and kiki until they feel like they get who I was.)  Random peeks at my journals, going back to age four will probably more than suffice.  (Good thing I had access to a typewriter, but my spelling was phonetic-ish.)

adorable child

I want it to be for the people who grew up with me.  The kids who went to school with me and played with me as a child.  The neighbors who were part of my village and accepted me as a child in the community.  The teachers who stood out as exceptional and excellent.  The people who perhaps didn’t treat me well, but since evolved into better people, and want to heal from past mistakes — my village.  I’m very attached to Sioux Falls.  I’ve traveled and lived in other countries, but when I got to choose, I came home.

I recognize this is a wee bit morbid, but I still have PTSD.  One of the symptoms is being hyper-aware of my impending death.  (And every single time someone murders a transgender woman, I have to claw my way up from the floor and somehow convince myself I can handle living on a planet where people do such fucked up things.)  When I stop having a blast planning my funeral to amuse myself, I’ll know I’ve healed.  Until then, I’m good at managing it.  I’m no longer treading water;  I have the upper hand with depression and anxiety now.  They can only challenge me, not own me, which is a blessed distinction.  I celebrated hard and long, heh.

Depression: Whatever, bitch, you still have to fight me off, even if it no longer takes all your resources.

Me:  Look at you, so sassy.  Don’t interrupt when adults are talking, please.

The Friend Zone podcast logo

This week on The Friend Zone podcast was their 200th episode.  It was so good.  I mean it’s always good, but this week was special.  They were openly vulnerable to the degree you couldn’t help but love them to pieces.  It’s so rare when people you don’t know IRL are publicly unshielded like that.  Part of you can’t help but slide into protection mode and start daring anyone to criticize them in any way, (because you’re unbelievably poised to correct any such shenanigans with a thoroughness likely to result in mild emotional trauma for anyone feeling lucky.)  That good. 💜💜💜

I’m still stunned these babies (to me) are teaching me so many things for which I didn’t even know to wonder.  My life is more joyful since I started listening to their podcasts and trying the things they introduce, reading the books, and doing the homework.  I need to get busy paying it forward because I’m building up a deficit.  I signed up for Daily Harvest after Fran mentioned it thrice.  (3 times is magical to me, thanks to Patrick Rothfuss.)  I’ll update when I get my order.  It’s as if the universe witnessed how preparing a whole chicken ruined my ability to eat meat, and said, I got you.  Yay.  I’m off to beat my drums with sticks. (Excellent way to recalibrate my brain when I sense an impending meltdown.) 💜✌🏾

“He’s a regifter!”

french bulldog

It’s been a challenging week.  I think my dietary changes have messed up my executive functioning.  The red flags consist of:

  • Excessive wandering (Exhibit A: Fitbit data indicating 20k+ steps in a single day without leaving my apartment)
  • Sudden inability to complete basic quests in World of Warcraft due to complicated instructions
  • Unexpected difficulty in recalling how to respond to simple internal messages like nature calling
  • Increased rigidity requiring time-consuming self-talks on being reasonable
  • Excessive frustration from minor failures, even though I know, intellectually, they’re helping me succeed, eventually (Yep. I’m Komma Kamelion)
  • There’s more, but this is discouraging, so enough already

I strongly suspect my brain needs me to eat sugar in the form of fruit daily.  The only things I crave are water, protein, sugar, fat, and salt.  (My body doesn’t usually ask for anything more specific.)  I eliminated sugar a week ago today.  Ever since I’ve been thinking about mangoes, bananas, and pears; it seems to be the only thing my mind can hold on to at the moment.  Everything else is annoyingly just out of reach.  (Including my grammar, no doubt.)

bowl of fruit including mangoes

I’m convinced I need to acquire some fruit and rectify this situation.  I’m using an app called Carb Manager.  It’s deep with helpful tools (premium version) to track my intake and develop a food plan tailored to my particular body.  It allows me to determine my goals in several categories.  Five stars.  It’s like having a friend who’s studying to be a dietician in my phone.  Everyone in my social tribe is striving to be their best self.  The support and information sharing helps tremendously.  I’m going back to gummy vitamins and supplements, too.

I’m sending others to attend The Beyoncé Movie (aka Lion King) on my behalf (due to excitement regulation issues.) 😆🤪🤭 Sending local friends is easy peasy.  Then I tried to buy tickets for friends of a friend in another state.  Unfortunately, Fandango sucks so severely; it made me wonder if the company is just a front for some illegal activity.  Enter Fandango scam in any search engine, and you’ll see.  So shady;  my bank automatically won’t authorize transactions from Fandango.  Period.  Wow.

Fandango complaint

In my head, Crissle West, (First of Their Name), from The Read podcast, responded with a read so scathing, hilarious, and spot-on.  Then (I imagined) she ordered the CEO to take a naked Walk of Atonement down Internet Street until they emerge open-mouthed wailing while covered in shit, feet bleeding.  (I also imagined) Kid Fury was ringing a bell and yelling shame the whole way while wielding a shield to keep the flying filth from touching him.  (Just like they did the Goodwill bitch from Illinois this week ((who since got a clue.))) 😂🤣😭

walk of atonement

Congrats go out to Gwendolyne Christie for submitting herself for an Emmy and getting nominated.  That was even cooler than beating the Hound so thoroughly he decided to embrace karma.  I’m thrilled by so many nominations; it’s ridic.  I’m off to beat my drums with sticks. 💜✌🏾