“Well, let me tell you something about George. He is fast! He can run like the wind!”

I’m miss M.  I’m not used to missing people who are alive.  I’d like to list these feelings on eBay.  They’re freaking me out.  Cheaper than free.  Heh.  It snowed briefly, this morning.  I set my thermostat at 68° F, and the heat is kicking in every few hours.  I had an incredible run, sorta.  I should have thought it through more thoroughly before I left, but the first half was so fun.  It’s ridic windy here right now, relative to what’s typical.  I had the wind at my back initially, and it was like running on the moon,  (I think.)

The gusts are nearly constant.  If you’ve never done this before, it’s worthy of your bucket list.  Unfortunately, I had to turn around to get home.  It was bad.  Cut to me crying in the shower, vowing never again to go running without checking the weather first.  My ears are still burning.  But I felt like the Bionic Woman, so I’m calling it an excellent but trying experience.  I’m off today, so I began catching up on my show.  I’m still only watching one show:  Better Things.

The birth of wind spren, by Unabashed Autist Inspired by the Stormlight Archives novels by Brandon Sanderson

 

It’s too advanced for me to binge watch, turns out.  So I’m taking a break to process between episodes.  This is how I roll.  Plus, I can’t watch this show during quiet hours because it makes me laugh out loud.  The episode I just watched made me cry.  Then laugh, then cry again quietly (so I could hear the song at the end.)  Once again, I have questions.  But I realized something.  It’s not my mom I wish was sitting beside me when I watch;  it’s Pamela Adlon.  (I’m presuming she’s got other shit to do, though.)

They don’t let anyone who can’t act be on this show.  This is an outstanding policy.  There won’t be any episodes you can skip.  I like knowing this up front.  It’s unbelievable how much they manage to pull off in 28 minutes.  I hope they’re paying the actors and writers obscenely because they’re earning it by bringing it.  Watching people be so great together makes me happy, even when the story makes me cry.  I’m off to start the next episode.

Once, to a dog. He licked himself and left the room.

My left ear hurts.  I’m running a low-grade fever and just spent several minutes trying to remember why I entered the kitchen.  I also sound like Peppermint Patty, so I think I have an ear infection or something.  I’ll run it off tonight.  I didn’t sleep well last night.  I had stress dreams I forgot immediately after awakening, but the anxiety lingered.  I converted it into hyperactivity.  It’s better than feeling anxious, but the cost will show up tomorrow when the bruises appear.  I’m stuck in walking like I just learned how mode, so I’m bumping into everything.  I’m moving like my toon in World of Warcraft.  (I suspect I hold some sort of server record for most times dying from accidentally falling off shit.)  I’d better burn this off while running outside.  Staying on the treadmill while running is out of reach today.

I prefer running outside. However, the mosquito situation sucks when you run on bike trails that hug a river.  I have repellant, but it reeks.  I guess that’s better than skeeter bites.  My imagination usually suggests I may have bed bugs when I’m covered in skeeter bites and itchy while falling asleep, (despite my weekly linen rotation and daily bathing routine.)  My imagination is an asshole.  As an African American, I’ve never had head lice, but I’ve heard all about it.  (Most African Americans have square hair follicles.  North American lice affect round hair follicles.)  I guess it’s worth having hairs so thick they can defy the wind.  My imagination fucks with me about lice, despite this.  Hell yeah, I rub oil on my scalp to prevent itching from dry skin.  Still, my imagination has the gall to suggest I may be suffering from trichotillomania.  Ass. Hole.  🤣

I’ve been painting on my new iPad Pro with the Apple pencil.  Dear Wacom, thanks for everything, but I’ll no longer be needing your tools.  My iPad Pro made your company obsolete.  I’ll always remember our time together over the years before this innovative smack-down occurred. Buh-bye, now.  P.S.  Microsoft Surface line, too. Tut tut.  There’s an app that utilizes the iPad Pro as an outstanding wireless drawing tablet for your Apple machine.  Other apps allow you to use it as a standalone drawing tablet that far surpasses existing (consumer) drawing tablets.  As an Adobe Creative Cloud user, the Photoshop app was free, (included in rental.)  I got an outstanding drawing/painting app for $4.99.  (In the App Store, look under featured apps for the iPad Pro.)  I’m donating my Wacom to a public school art teacher.  (It’s still an excellent learning tool.)

I’m going to purchase another iPad clamp holder like the one I got for my drum kit.  It will allow me to adjust the position of the iPad as I paint, so it’ll replicate an easel on my desktop.  Actually, I think I’m just going to use the one I have now, and add a Bluetooth adapter to my drum kit.  I only use it to play along with music, so a dedicated resting place (for my phone) is unnecessary.  I forgot how easy it is to spend several hours painting.  I have a quirk that won’t allow me to listen to music while I paint.  I’m starting to think it’s a feature rather than a quirk because it prevents me from painting for too long.  Yep.  Going with a feature.  I’m having caffeine withdrawal.  (It took an embarrassing amount of time to figure out why I’ve had a headache for two days.)  I might have to do something I never thought I would do.  I might have to start drinking coffee. (It’s the only non-retail source of caffeine I can acquire.)

I like the smell of coffee beans, but I don’t like hot beverages.  (Not even hot chocolate with a gazillion marshmallows.)  It means I’ll have to acquire a taste as an American.  This is against everything I stand for!  It doesn’t make sense to repeatedly imbibe something that isn’t immediately delicious in a first world country!  Why have taste buds at all?!  (Calm down, Alison.)  Iced sugar water with enough coffee to prevent headaches, it is.  Sigh.  Dear Mountain Dew, I’ll always remember our time together.  You should divorce Pepsico and buy back all your stock.  Employee owned businesses are edgy.  Peace, out.  I should make a cape with my remaining Wonder Woman fabric.  Yep.  This is happening.  I’m off to make the ultimate empowering playlist for my run later.

 

This woman hates me so much I’m starting to like her.

I just realized I haven’t watched anything but Stevie Nicks documentaries and live concerts on DVD in a while.  Typically, I only allow myself to listen to music when I’m exercising because it’s the only way to get me to do it.  Lately, it’s all I do in my free time, but it hasn’t been long enough to mess up my exercise bribery scheme.  Whew.  (I don’t have a Plan B.)  I guess tomorrow will be a long run, and that’ll be my only music fix for the day.  I’m going to listen to In Your Dreams by Stevie Nicks, and The Open Door by Evanescence, and Tuesday Night Music Club by Sheryl Crow.

If it plays longer than my route, I’ll keep listening while I stretch.  I’m already looking forward to it.  I’m going to feel like Wonder Woman.  I’m off Prozac for the rest of the summer.  Or, I guess I should say until it snows.  So who knows, but as long as I can run outside.  I don’t like to run for more than an hour at a time on the treadmill, but I can break it up.  After my fall last winter, I’m too paranoid about falling again (on the ice outside in the snowy weather, where my imagination has assured me in advance I’ll die miserably.)

Note:  In my particular case, if I eat wisely, and do four hours of cardio per day, I feel exactly the same as when I take 20mg of Prozac per day, (minus the side-effects.)  If I do two hours of cardio per day, I’m uncomfortably close to frustration overload 24/7, but I can survive.  Less, and things go downhill quickly about two months after my last dose.  I’m weird.  Don’t try this at home.  Besides, finding out how many hours of exercise it takes per day to be the best me possible is exactly as fun as it sounds.  So do what’s right for you.

The thing about Prozac is this:  It interferes with creativity, sex drive, and for some people, appetite.  In my case, no sex drive, (and I started taking it soon after I realized I even had a sex drive.)  If you don’t know your sexual identity yet, don’t take Prozac.  I was a late bloomer.  I thought boys were gross until I met my ex-husband at nineteen.  If anything, it decreases my appetite when I’m initially adjusting.  It also makes me extremely sleepy for the first few weeks.  Others become overeaters for the first time in their lives.  It’s mean like that.

I want to turn off my Muse-repelling force field known as Prozac so I can do some artwork and find out the rest of this melody that keeps haunting me.  I don’t have it as bad as some.  I can ignore the urge to create if there’s something I’d rather do.  The Muse is a gentle whisper in the night for me.  For some people, she’s also a bitch with handcuffs.  But they’re usually outstanding at what they do so it might be fair.  I’m not sure how much choice they have in the matter.  They’re probably too busy being awesome to care.

I’m feeling balanced again, thank goodness.  You’d think after years of coping with PTSD I wouldn’t get so freaked out every time I hit a rough patch.  Nope.  I freak out every fucking time.  I imagine it’s like being in a fire.  No matter how many times it happens, it’s always alarming.  Plus, I think my mind lets me keep most of those times in short term memory.  Yay brain.  I finally let M. help me adjust my drum kit.  It was noticeably leaning because I loosened something I regret, and it just happened.

I was still playing on them after a few adjustments (without fucking with the rack.)  Now that M. helped, I’m a bit blown away by how much difference it makes.  It was worth the kick in the nuts to my ego.  I got over myself immediately after I started playing.  I’m starting to get pretty good.  I’m almost confident enough to start creating my own beats.  I only lack the practice hours.  My stamina is better, my timing is my strongest skill, and I rarely drop sticks anymore.  The part on my fingers where I lost the skin before getting gloves is calloused, but it’s barely noticeable (compared to what strings do to fingertips.)

I’m so happy to be feeling better.  I got busted singing twice today, but I tend to do it constantly when I’m happy.  It’s almost as good as the relief I feel after passing a kidney stone.  It’s a shame they can’t bottle the post kidney stone feeling and sell it as a drug.  On second thought, maybe it’s a good thing you have to suffer intensely for a while before you get to experience it.  It makes it addiction-proof as fuck.  I just cracked myself up.

I’m off to finish deep cleaning the carpet while listening to the rest of Al Franken, Giant of the Senate from Audible.  I love him.  I probably look silly laughing for no apparent reason every few minutes, but it’s excellent.  It’s helping me cope, and teaching me a lot about politics (in a way that doesn’t make my eyes glaze over.)  I forgot how powerful humor can be in learning.  If you want my full attention, make me laugh.  It’s my favorite thing to do in the world.

 

Cosmo Kramer. You ARE the Assman.

I had a productive day.  I’ve been overwhelmed for the past week or so.  Obligations with flexible due dates taunt me with temptations of procrastinating.  Instead, I took care of some early.  I’m just waiting for the relief to kick in.  I’m getting excited about my upcoming vacation.  The hardest part for me is exiting the airport.  I’m bringing my noise canceling headphones, which will help.  It reminds me of the obstacle courses in basic training.  I feel the same urgency, hyper-alertness, and potential peril until I’m back outside.

I still have a few things to catch up with.  I’m talking myself through an incident earlier in which I accidentally dropped my Kindle Paperwhite from my balcony.  I was well into The Witching Hour by Ann Rice.  I can still read it on a computer or tablet, but it’s not the same.  Fortunately, I didn’t get the flagship Kindle model which is ridiculously overpriced.  I ordered another one, it’ll be here next week.  It’s not a devastating event.  I can go a few days without reading and not expire.  (My feelings are getting on my nerves.)

I don’t know why my hands stop working spontaneously at times.  I have a recurring nightmare where it happens in slow motion while I’m holding an infant.  I’ve always been this way.  It’s frustrating.  I compensate by using pockets, backpacks, and I have a wheeled cart I use for packages and groceries, etc.  I use the rubber bumper cases meant for children on my tablets and phones.  Otherwise, there would be no point in owning them.  Sadly, it wasn’t enough protection this time.  I think my brain forgot to continue holding it because I was so absorbed in the story.  Sigh.

Damn.  Now I have to do something I didn’t have planned.  I would very much like to continue describing how utterly stuck I am, but instead, I’m going for a run.  It’s my quickest reset button.

Do you have any conceivable reason for getting up in the morning?

I’m not having a good day.  (It’s not over yet, and of course I’ll decide later that it’s a good day overall, but for now, it sucks.)  I find it disturbing that far too often, I’m as amused as I am offended by some of the things I read online.  Earlier, I mentioned to a friend a protest against Steam for hosting a game in which you organize slaves on ships, Tetris style, and listing it as an educational game.   They refuse to remove it.  Fuck Steam, this is offensive.  Unfortunately, my initial response was laughter…  Shit.  I laughed for half an hour.  But I still think it’s offensive!  I just don’t know how to process this information in a manner that isn’t hilarious to me, and I feel incredibly guilty about it.  This is the kind of day I’m having, so far.  Sigh.

At least it’s Friday.  Not that I physically went into work this week.  I was barely able to check my snail mail.  I just don’t want to leave my apartment.  There’s a reason I have a job that allows me to work remotely.  I dabble in agoraphobia.  Meaning I have the diagnosis, but in my case it’s not severe enough to call a disorder.  I acquired it after my brother died.  He was my anchor to this world.  My best friend, and the one person on this planet that I trusted without hesitation.  Even more than my Mom.  I was his sidekick growing up.  We got in a lot of trouble, but had loads of fun in the process.  He had Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, which in his case meant he was unable to foresee the consequences of his actions.  He used to make me laugh so hard, and he always defended me when other kids bullied me for having brown skin.  That alone made him my hero.

After he died, it was like having the rug pulled out from under me.  I was lost, and I was afraid I’d never connect with anyone on that level again.  I’m not afraid anymore, and I did manage to go on, but it was one of the biggest challenges I’ve faced so far.  I suspect it left me so numb, I didn’t fully process the loss of my parents and younger sister over the next five years.  Grief is a weird thing.  Recovery is cumulative and slow, but full recovery is a futile goal.  It becomes part of your baggage.  It was a relief to recognize I’m not failing at grief, I just needed to adjust my expectations.  It was the type of trauma that can lead to agoraphobia, but as I progress in recovering from loss, the severity lessens as well.  Whenever it resurfaces, I panic a little.

I remember too well what it was like to be locked into my home.  I’m not locked in now.  I’m just having to put forth extra effort in order to leave.  There’s a huge difference.  I’m also struggling with my frustration tolerance level.

  1. I’m stuck on several quests in WoW.  Usually, this means I’m too overwhelmed to be playing, and need to just step away, and calm the fuck down.
  2. I dropped my new insurance card, and spent 43 minutes searching for it.  (The ceiling fan must have caused it to float about 8 ft. from where it normally would have landed.)
  3. The man who parks next to me in the underground parking garage keeps parking ON the line, making it difficult for me to avoid dinging his car with my door when I enter.  (But I was too chicken to put a note on his windshield.)
  4. Something hurts, but I’m too agitated to narrow down where the pain is coming from.

I can’t remember what I should do to dig myself out of this pit before it becomes bottomless.  I’m going to go for a run.  It’s too hot, and the worst time of day, but I know I’ll feel better when I get back.