“Under no circumstances is ink to be used in this office!”

I had to break down and buy something that probably makes money for the evil Koch brothers.  They own practically everything, it seems.  Nevertheless, I hope they get nada from today’s purchase.  I ordered prescription eyeglasses online again.  (I’ve given up on getting in at the VA.)  At least I’m a more informed buyer now.  I know they’re practically disposable in quality up front.  I’ve decided I’m okay with that.  🙃

I’m still waiting for prescription eye drops to replace my glasses.  I’m willing to settle for frames filled with a projected field.  In fact, I’d accept the same solution from me-powered false eyelashes.  (Perhaps a nano piezoelectric generator powered by blinks?)  Now get to inventing it, dear geniuses!    Please and thank-you!   💜  I picked some funky frames.  Partly because I refined my search until there weren’t many remaining to choose from.  Partly because I love colors.  I almost got some kelly green frog-eyes frames.  I chickened out.  I got these:

When I turn 50, I’m going to get rainbow glasses.  There’s this unwritten rule about surviving to age 50.  Once you get there, you get to throw off a lot of ridiculous crap you’ve carried around for no good reason.  I think it’s a fabulous prize.  I’m already making a list of things I’m not going to concern myself over from then on.  I. Can’t. Wait.  I’ve gotten the impression throwing off before age 50 results in people referring to you as eccentric.  (I can’t afford to double down since I already hold the title from autism*.  Therefore, I’ll wait.)

I’m pretty sure whatever lies beyond eccentric is too likely to involve involuntary commitment.  America is intolerant.  I still think we can collectively outgrow it.  I hope so.  I’m biracial, but one of them is African American. Therefore, I’m African American.  I’m autistic.  I’m a woman.  I have PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.)  I’m a humanist.  I’m pro-artificial intelligence with ethical caveats.  I support LGBTQIA.  I believe your gender is what you tell me it is, (not what I’ve been trained to assume.)

The cool thing (to me) is even though I’m eccentric, so are a lot of other people I love.  I feel excited when I meet someone who matches me on something.  I feel equally happy when I meet someone who doesn’t.  It feels like discovering something awesome.  My little sister, Heather, was practically my opposite in many ways.  She was loud and outgoing.  She felt comfortable talking to strangers and didn’t take any crap from anyone.  Even though she was a year behind me, I looked up to her when we were growing up.

I now know she looked up to me when we became adults.  (I still feel remarkably good about that.)  Whenever I think of her, I smile all the way through.  I guess it means I’m no longer grieving her loss, but celebrating her memory.  Or something.  I connected with my (chosen) sister Laina Eartharcher earlier, and it got me thinking about sisters.  I have an older sister close in age with Stevie Nicks.  She was already a mom when I was born, so I didn’t grow up with her.

My parents sent me to stay with her family during school breaks, (too many bullies in our neighborhood.)  I did note some things she seems to have in common with Stevie Nicks.  They both interact in a paced manner.  They don’t rush to respond, they think first.  (I’m trying to learn how to do it automatically, too.)  I usually reply as if speed matters.  It’s because my mind is going faster than I can talk, and I’m tangent-prone.  It would be better if I automatically stop and think first, rather than throw out the first thing that fits, (so I can hurry up and get back to thinking about other stuff. )  🙃

I’d better go practice my drums before quiet time.  I haven’t gotten any complaints, but I use sound isolating headphones while playing.  I’m not sure if it’s loud enough to disturb anyone, but I’m not willing to risk it.  ✌🏽

 

*I’m okay with people referring to me as eccentric when I know they’re trying to avoid saying autistic, (for some reason.)  I speak only for myself in this regard.  Eccentric has a positive connotation to me, (but I prefer accuracy.)

“George and I will miss your company.”

 

With all the infamous misogynists being called out on their horrific behavior, I’ve been feeling lots of things.  Anger, of course.  I’m also proud of the people who are coming forward to share their experiences as a result.  Since humans aren’t too keen on allowing their fellow humans to maintain their free will, I figured I’d create a solution in keeping with this mindset, (even if it’s just art.)

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if nobody had to worry about being objectified and abused by others?  Where such behavior had swift and clear consequences?  Where seeking justice for such treatment resulted in justice rather than further attacks and retaliation?  Where shame is assigned to the perpetrator rather than their victim?  I want to live in that world.

p.s.  You can click the image to view it at full size.

 

“So now you’re going to keep going out with her for spite?”

I had an incident while on break at work today.  It involved a bee.  I’ve been stung before (as a kid.)  It was more alarming than painful.  I’m not allergic.   However, for some reason I behave as if being stung by a bee will instantly lead to my painful death.  The bee buzzed close to my ear, then hovered near my head.  That was all the signal I needed.

I ran to escape, and it followed me!  I changed direction.  Still in my space!  So I started zig-zagging.  Any coolness cred I once had is now history.  (It probably wasn’t much.)  My co-workers began shouting advice.  “Stand still!”  “Swat it!”  “Something something Periscope!”  Sigh.  It finally flew off without stinging me.  It must have decided my offense wasn’t severe enough to die over.

I’d like to think it was messing with me to amuse its friends.  “Hey Ethan, see that human over there?  Go give her a flyby, then stick to her like glue.”  Followed by Ethan and friends laughing.  “Look at her go!  This is so going on BeeBook!”  Okay, I’ll stop.  You’re welcome.  🙃  We have four mini trampolines at work now.  I squeed when I saw them.

It took so much willpower to refrain from lining them up and experimenting.  Musical mini trampolines, anyone?  I’m going to Sky Zone this weekend to work out my temptations.  It would be embarrassing to get fired from a job over mini trampoline shenanigans.  I went to the park near where I grew up yesterday.  I was going to put an ad in the paper to give violin lessons, but it requires talking on the phone, (which irks me in 2017.)  So I made a sign, printed out some contact cards, and headed out.

 

I played for an hour, and several people took a card.  I have two students so far.  Yay.  A woman asked me if I teach adults, and I told her to take my card.  It never crossed my mind to teach adults.  She emailed me already.  We’re meeting Thursday.  I’m excited.  She’s probably in her fifties.  She asked how long I’ve been playing, and fluffed my ego a bit.  She has beautiful hands.  I think she’s going to fall in love with the violin.

I’m off to visit our new dog.  Tallulah is staying with a friend of M’s while he’s away.  They have a huge backyard and a husky for her to play with.  I’m a little jealous.

“All right, shut up the both of you! You’re making me nervous.”

I finally slept.  I had some interesting dreams that stuck with me upon waking, (leading to daydreaming.)  I dreamed of building a city in the sky.  It looked like a giant bubble.  Its skin was able to reflect or absorb light, making it solar powered.  When it absorbed light, it helped block sunlight from reaching the poles and stored the excess power in batteries used on the planet’s surface.  Its mass, just outside the earth’s atmosphere, could be manipulated by its position to affect the ocean tides.

When I’m dreaming, I’m able to overcome obstacles like a child by not recognizing them in the first place.  It’s convenient.  (I suspect we all dream in our child minds.)  Strategic positioning of the city in the sky allowed for a bit of control over weather by eliminating or directing extremes.  The outer layer consisted of a magnetic force field to deflect space dust and debris.  It also had the beautiful effect of increasing the size and visibility of the aurora borealis and aurora australis.

The city in the sky handled all manufacturing and fulfillment.  (Amazon was the first company to relocate in my dream, of course.)  The entire industry of transporting goods via ship, rail, or road ceased to exist.  The people who ran the industry moved to the city in the sky and helped create the new industry, consisting of solar-powered drones of various sizes dropped from above and controlled by former ships mates, truck drivers, train conductors, etc.

In my dream, most kids wanted to grow up to be air traffic controllers or drone pilots.  Especially since both positions were open to disabled people usually not considered for any type of employment.  The abundance of clean energy helped end wars.  Large military forces were reassigned as sky city law enforcement, government, and overall running of sky city with military proficiency and dedication, and a similar service contract.

Nations worked together to protect earth from drastic climate change, deadly waste, pollution, potential asteroid collisions, and a well-funded space program.  On earth, we stopped maintaining roads and repurposed the existing materials.  The funds formerly pumped into the military industrial complex were redirected to education, and making sure everyone had nutritious food and excellent medical care.  Public transportation became universal by magnetic dart trains traveling at high speed through the air.

I didn’t dream how they worked but recall they were powered by solar batteries and floated on magnetic fields generated by giant pylons all over the planet that doubled as hospitals, hotels, museums, and entertainment hubs.  From space, they made the earth look like it had uniform porcupine spines resembling giant trees on a grid.  Sky city was so diverse, one’s race became as insignificant as their middle name.

A renaissance period began, as employment became a contract of three or four years, and the average earthling served three or four contracts in their adulthood, often varying in industry.  People had more time to spend with their families and friends.  Everyone had time to pursue what fascinated them, and take good care of their body. Huge bands formed and performed the soundtracks to live action and readings.  Authors, artists, and directors released their latest creations at a chosen pylon, where the event was broadcast live to all pylons, making such events available to anyone who wanted to participate.

Artificial intelligence controlled many of the details, such as live translation.  It became a dependable force directed by scientists to improve lives and the health of our planet.  It policed corruption and prevented it before it could take place.  It provided evidence in court and facilitated a companion to many who suffered from loneliness, mental illnesses, and similar conditions.  It helped level the playing field for many disabled and infirm.  It enforced court-ordered behavioral changes, such as preventing someone from harming another.  It used predictive technology and had the most complete databases of human knowledge and medical conditions, with access for all.

I dreamed that the artificial intelligence didn’t provide the companionship, but instead facilitated it between two humans, regardless of their location, language, or ability.  Your companion was a real person you could meet if you were so inclined.  Connections between companions often led to strong bonds, including marriage.  There was more, but that’s all I remember.  There was still sadness and strife in the world, of course.  The human condition.  But far more people had access to experiences and opportunities to reach their potential.  Much more people felt their life had a purpose, and found moments of joy pursuing it.

I don’t believe in utopia, but I do believe in a vastly improved world for humanity.  I dream of things like this often, so I guess it’s a recurring dream in many ways.  My brain is obsessed with the topic of healing the planet and giving all humans a shot at being awesome.  People fascinate me even more than computers.  Probably because they’re so much better, it’s not a fair comparison.  Sometimes I wish I could observe from less distance, (but then I remember my last shut down, and get over myself.) 😂  I’m off to beat my drums with sticks.

“Moops? Let me see that!”

I’m having a zombie day.  I didn’t sleep well last night.  I probably got about two hours of sleep.  This insomnia streak has reached the point where I can only comprehend simple commands in real time.  The Depression Monster is peeping in the windows, but I’m just waving the bird.  M. is going to Puerto Rico and a few other islands to help out.  On his way out the door, instead of blowing me a kiss, he released the Kraken of all farts.  It was at least three Mississippi’s long.

I had to use my dwindling supply of Febreze.  He’s all mine, girls.  🙄😂💜  I’ll admit I laughed while Febrezing.  Mostly because the sound made Amelia Bedelia run for cover.  I finished reading, Sleeping Beauties, by Owen and Stephen King.  I enjoyed it immensely.  It never ceases to amaze me what King can convince me to believe in.  (Good thing he’s not a cult leader.)  I won’t mention spoilers because I think everyone should read it.

This is the second author team that wrote so seamlessly together you can’t tell there’s more than one author.  James S. A. Corey is the other.  I’ll be thinking about Sleeping Beauties for a long time.  It’s a thrilling tale, a reminder, not all men are evil, another reminder that an awful lot of them are, and an ethical conundrum.  I’m going to have to reread it, probably as an audiobook, because I don’t retain information as well when I’m not sleeping.

When I read his book about a walking contest, I was simultaneously trying to pull off four hours of cardio per day.  It made the story so intense to have sore legs and feet while reading it.  It’s the ultimate novel to read after completing your first marathon, assuming you have a wicked sense of humor.  It’s called, The Long Walk, by Richard Bachman, (Stephen King’s nom de plume.)

I took down my Halloween decorations, (creepy window.)  It blocked too much light during the day.  I’ll reinstall it the night before Halloween.  I went to work at 4:30 AM because I was up.  I work 5 hours a day, 4 days a week.  I sought this job to give me time to work for The Resistance.  I spent far too much of that time trying too hard to be neurotypical.  Habits are really pissing me off this month.  I’m going to think of another one and abandon it out of spite.  (I rarely pass up the chance to behave like a five-year-old when it hurts no one.)  Wish 45 used that stipulation.

I’m not missing Prozac in the least.  I had no idea there was a connection between being creative and being strong.  It’s an all-encompassing strength.  I think I finally get the Suzuki Method.  I thought I got it before, but this is a more profound understanding.  I guess lots of you already knew this, for me to pick up on it while so overtired.  I’ll say it for you.  Duh, Alison!  You’re welcome.  🙃

I have an idea building as a creative outlet, but it will require some new skills to realize.  Yay.  I should probably retake English 101.  It’ll be the fourth time.  I have a grammar retention difficulty.  (Only 1 duh per post, sorry!)  I should just resign to taking the course biannually.  I enjoy it, so there’s that.  I don’t retain grammar because it doesn’t interest me, which is odd, considering how much I long to be understood.  And that whole thing about the written word being my preferred method of communication.  Sigh.  Yep, biannually it is.  I’m confident J.K. Rowling would approve.

I’m not going to build another startup company.  At least not this year.  I’m going to use my time to teach violin to four-year-olds.  I got an excellent deal on 1/4 and 1/2 size violins.  I buy most of my stuff directly from China, these days unless it’s food, (direct from local farmers.)  I’m boycotting everything touched by the Koch brothers.  My food bill is more expensive, but everything else is usually less.  Pistachios are costly.  I should look into growing them.  They’d make a good flour, I bet.  I can buy them from Turkey if necessary.

I’m not a member of the “Buy American” movement.  I don’t want most manufacturing brought back to America because I like breathing and clean water.  I love them, in fact.  I also concede to the point I shouldn’t be able to own more than one computer, television, or so many electronic gadgets.  The reason I can afford them is that they’re grossly underpriced.  They’re grossly underpriced because the people manufacturing them are indentured servants, and China thinks anti-suicide nets are a better investment than a livable wage and health risk reduction and compensation.  (Short-sighted as Americans, eh?)

I buy from China because they’re moving forward (however slowly) from a horrible place in history.  I can’t say that about America.  They’re stepping up quality and design one small company at a time.  They’re out-innovating Apple and copying their design philosophy.  They’re also valuing sound design more than in the past.  I have a hand-held computer that looks like a Nintendo 3DS and functions as well as a mid-range laptop.  (I’d best not say what I recommend them for¹.) 😇

(¹I just said that to make you imagine.)  💜✌🏽

 

 

“You see those two ladies I’ve got showing? Do they look scared?”

Dear Universe, I get it, damn.  I’ve officially quit caffeine.   I’ve been made aware of the foolishness of continuing to imbibe any substance that hurts me if I forget a dose.  What I’d like to know, is how long the withdrawal headache will stay until I’m forgiven for this oversight?  At first, I thought I should run it off, (my usual cure-all.)  Then I remembered dehydration would just make it worse.

I’m quite familiar with Motrin from the military.  “Sucking chest wound?  Here, take a Motrin.  In fact, take two.”  If one dose doesn’t end it, a second dose would only add hurling to the mix.  Sigh.  (My body hates pain remedies, which sucks because I hate pain.)  I haven’t slept in a few days, which probably isn’t helping.  I can’t help it, though!  I’m in the middle of a book¹ where falling asleep is considered a death wish!

I had a blast practicing my drums earlier.  I upgraded my hi-hat trigger and will use the old one as a splash or something.  Another perk of electronic drums.  I had to go against the instructions to install it, which irks me.  Yamaha 3-zone cymbal triggers vary depending on size, but the instructions are only for the smaller model.  I figured it out, but damn.  Would it kill them to add a paragraph to the manual?  (I’m cranky from a headache. 😂)

I played along with Mary Jane’s Last Dance by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers until my hands were numb.  It’s my favorite song right now.  I’m also digging Attention by Charlie Puth.  (He’s the first male voice to impress me since Bruno Mars.  Before Bruno was Michael Jackson.  Okay, I’ll stop.  Deleted four more.  Heh.) American Girl always evokes memories of Silence of the Lambs.  I wish I could unwatch that movie.

It was like An American Werewolf in London for me.  My older siblings went on and on about how great it was, but wouldn’t tell me the story, (probably because I was the Queen of Nightmares.)  So of course, I sneak watched it, was horrified, then began seriously thinking about time travel for the first time in my life.  (So not the last.)  All of this could be prevented by a new law requiring all scary movies first be released as a novel.  Just saying.

I’m starting to miss some aspects of Twitter.  Mostly the hashtag gamers and my Resistance sisters.  I liked having at least one belly laugh over a tweet per day.  It’s changed my role in the Resistance, too.  Aside from my one-woman protests, the rest of my activity will consist of sending money to Democrats running for office.  I used my AI to determine which candidates will most benefit, so at least it’s fun.  Many of them are running for office for the first time.  That’s wicked cool.  I’m off to figure out that bass riff in Attention, by Charlie Puth.

¹Sleeping Beauties by Owen and Stephen King

 

“I’m buying the Frogger machine. Now the torch will burn forever.”

It’s a melancholy day.  I’m sad Tom Petty has passed.  I’ve been listening to his music all day.  The massacre in Las Vegas has me in a full body clench.  I don’t understand how anything could lead to such an act.  Nothing is more precious than life.  How can any circumstance negate this fact?  There are no words or gestures of empathy to soothe.  Just the ugly, pervasive knowledge it’s only slightly more horrific than the last massacre.

I refuse to be inured to violence.  I’m pretty sure it’s not possible in my case, anyway.  I still have nightmares from allowing curiosity to get the best of me regarding Game of Thrones.  I read the books.  I should have left it at that.  Instead, I watched it on HBO, up until The Mountain crushed Prince Oberyn’s head.  That scene really messed me up.  I haven’t watched so much as a clip since.

Other extremely violent scenes bothered me, but that scene annihilated my curiosity for the story.  It may have been a cumulative factor.  I don’t watch anything violent, now.  I’ve exceeded my tolerance for life.  I don’t care that it’s acting.  I’ve seen my best friends head beaten to a pulp by her raging husband.  I know what it looks like in reality.  I know what it smells like in reality.  I wish I could forget.

I’m tired.  I finished reading the Mists of Avalon series.  It reinforced my atheism.  I’m reading Reckless:  My Life as a Pretender by Chrissie Hynde, presently.  I’ve only just begun, but am already delighted I’ve found that for which I didn’t realize I was searching:  A woman’s perspective of the time period I’m studying.

It’s well written and so descriptive, I sat on the floor and drew horses with child Chrissie Hynde, while we discussed the state of humanity, (in my imagination.)  I walked with her all over her vast childhood domain in Ohio, and observed intensely with her (without shame.)  I met her parents through Chrissie Hynde’s eyes and understanding.  (It prevented any automatic dismissal based solely on their political inclinations.)

I also grew up in white America.  I too benefitted from white privilege and feel compelled to correct any tainted views born of a sheltered childhood in racial isolation.  (You don’t have to be of Caucasian descent to be tainted by white privilege.  Growing up in America more than suffices, which is kinda the point.)  I’m still learning how to broaden my perspectives to an inclusive and righteous viewpoint.  I don’t allow myself to feel resentment for having to relearn how I think.  (It’s just disguised overwhelm, anyway.)

I visualize it internally as removing a dam in a river one pebble at a time.  Walking into the river, bending and picking up a single rock, then returning it to the shore calms me.  It’s a favorite meditation.  It reminds me the journey is as important as the destination.  I’m girl crushing pretty hard on Chrissie Hynde.  😂  It makes me happy to spend some time in her head and recognize she’s brilliant and thoughtful.

I know songwriters are storytellers.  I just struggle to believe any interpretation of lyrics that don’t come from the mouth of the writer.  Most songwriters don’t tell their fans what the songs mean to them.  It used to piss me off, but now I see it’s more a gift.  What it means to the listener doesn’t have to match what it means to the writer.  It took a while, but I got here.  🙃

I know Chrissie Hynde’s story has darkness ahead.  She foreshadowed, plus I know a bit from interviews.  It helps when I can see it coming.  I’m a bit surprised how well I handled the darkness of Mists of Avalon.  I do feel betrayed by the author for inventing unnecessary horrors that could have been omitted without affecting the story.  If it doesn’t drive the plot, why bother?  Why hurt the reader for no good reason?

It hurts me when creators use violence as a spice.  When I put myself in their figurative shoes, I can’t fathom a positive cause.  The seeking of an edge through violence is to writing what Axe cologne is to frustrated virgins.  Rape is violence.  It’s the act of forcibly stealing someone’s free will.  It’s still barely a crime and becoming less so thanks to the Predator in Chief and his Merry Misogynists.  I guess the book series upset me more than I realized.

I thought I would get past this inner fury from having my free will dominated.  I thought it would lessen and fade over time, like most pain.  I see now it was wickedly unreasonable of me to expect such.  I live on a planet where rape scenes are considered entertainment.  Where the average adult is so numbed to acted violence, they don’t seem to feel despair over the reality.

I’m long past harboring a desire to fit in on earth.  (The thought alone made me laugh out loud.)  I cling tightly (internally) to those I meet on this journey who are also horrified by the horrors of life.  Knowing I’m not alone is comforting.  Alienation feels a lot like homesickness.  I’ve just never been home.  Too bad it doesn’t lessen the longing.  At least I know it’s a state of mind, not a location.  I’m pleased to share the path with Chrissie Hynde.

“Excuse me, do you happen to know the gentleman across the hall?”

M. got a dog.  We’re dog people, now.  Dog people who happen to be owned by a cat.  I have no idea what breed other than mutt.  She’s medium-sized and 14 months old.  Her name is Tallulah.  Yep.  I picked it.  I’m a habitual nicknamer.  I’ve been calling her Tallulah-Hula-Loo.  (Say it!  It’s fun!)  Amelia Bedelia knows I mean business if I use her full name, but she also responds to Emmy, Purrminator, and Sir-Sheds-A-Lot.  M. usually calls her, “Get Down.”

Amelia Bedelia hid from Tallulah until we stopped encouraging her to come out.  Then she approached slowly, tail swishing.  Tallulah closed the distance, sniffed her, then licked her.  Amelia Bedelia smacked her on the nose, held her paw like she had another one loaded, then lay down.  (They cuddled all day on my bed.)  I imagine Amelia Bedelia was thinking, “Bitch, you don’t know me!  Do you need a remedial lesson, or are we good?  Right, then.  Let’s go guard the bed.”

M. took Tallulah to the pet store to get supplies and food.  I remember when I brought Amelia Bedelia there on her way home for the first time.  She was a teeny, tiny, timid, furry mess, but she let me carry her around the store without trying to make a break for it.  She cleaned up wonderfully and traded timidity for sweet and sassiness.  She grew, but she’s still tiny.  I love her so much.

I told him to get me a little shovel because I’m not picking up fresh ones with a mere plastic bag separation.  I know it’s irrational, but I don’t care.  If the aliens are watching, I want them to at least see me using a tool while serving Dog.  (First impressions, and all that.) M. wants to move in (officially.)  He has some beautiful furniture.  I have the electronics, art, and linen covered.  I’m mentally preparing myself for the changes.

He lives in a one-bedroom loft right now.  He has no art at all.  It’s probably partially due to his long working hours.  I guess I haven’t been inside very many homes because I thought everyone had some art.  (He’s a good singer and dancer, so I didn’t let it freak me out too much.)  He likes my art, which works for me.  M. teases me and says my decor style is carefully-arranged eclectic.  In reality, my decor is Geek Chic.  Basically, it’s lots of musical instruments, gadgets, and screens.  Oh, my!

I balance out the action figures with books and art and use a lot of colorful LED lighting.  Everywhere I look, there’s a reason to smile.  I should just call it, “Happy.”  I’m off to wait for the dog to return.  And M.  🙃

“It’s like I’m Neil Armstrong. I turn around for a sip of Tang and you jump out first.”

I deleted my Twitter account a while ago.  It wasn’t a difficult decision.  The reasons for continuing got beat up by the reasons for not.  I may add a contact page to this blog as a bridge for those who wish to stay in touch.  To me, experiencing Twitter is almost the same as sitting (in the corner) in a huge room filled with people who are all talking at the same time.  It was easier than in person, but not by much.

I’m laughing at myself because I wouldn’t willingly spend so much time sitting in a huge room filled with people talking offline.  First of all, unless there is cake, forget it.  Secondly, it would be a rare event for a short duration, (as long as it takes me to eat the cake, duh.)  Unfortunately, it was like quitting an addiction.  Now that I’m clean, it’s clear it was a bad idea. (Don’t worry, I’m not going to shame everyone else into quitting Twitter and act like Tweeting around me is shortening my lifespan.)

 

M. went to see about a dog at the Humane Society.  (I wanted to accompany him, but Amelia Bedelia won’t allow me to have pets.)  Walking out of the Humane Society without a pet is cruel and unusual. Thus I can’t imagine him returning without a dog.  There are dogs there he can take home for a small fee, and he doesn’t have one. I’m so excited, knowing he could return at any moment.  It’s raining, or else I’d probably be outside waiting (like a person who doesn’t have a puppy.)

I caught up on my show, Better Things, earlier.  I’m still smiling.  I haven’t laughed so hard in some time.  This is a graduate level show (for me.)  Pamela Adlon is doing Tom Hanks level acting.  (This means a good part of the story is conveyed superbly without dialogue.)  There’s no laugh track, which is awesome.  I have to pay attention because while it’s only 28 minutes an episode, it requires about an hour of thinking (after watching).

It’s the first show where I long to have my mom beside me to answer my questions as we watch.  I’m sure some parts fly over my head, but I’m too delighted by how much I do get to be upset.  I want to adopt Frankie.  She’s the new Darlene, only funnier, which is no easy feat.  (She’s nothing like Darlene, aside from being hilarious and adorable.)  I missed some dialogue due to loud sounds outside, so I’m going to watch again on my iPad later.

It’s probably better I watch it alone.  As much as I miss my mom, I recognize the conversations the show evokes should remain in my head.  (Turns out, there are some things I’d rather not discuss with my mom, were it an option.)  I just heard my mom’s voice in my head say, “I’m not your friend, I’m your mom.”  I haven’t heard that one in ages.  😂😂  It used to play along with, “I’m the adult, you’re the child.”  Good times. 🙃

M. must have stopped by the pet store first, as he’s not back with my his our dog yet.  I feel empowered from watching Pamela Adlon’s character politely but firmly refuse to physically greet someone against her will.  I’ll be studying how she did it later.  She did all kinds of fantastic boundary enforcing already this season.  I’m blown away by how much useful information they manage to pack into 28 minutes.

I wish Hollywood would make more movies starring women between ages forty and eighty.  I want to write a letter, but I don’t know who I should address.  I need to see women my age, and older than me, coping with life.  I need to watch them interact with the world while dealing with things like menopause, hormonal imbalances, and relationships/breakups with a significant other.  I want to know how our bodies change during this time, by watching lots of different women aging normally.  I don’t want to see actresses who have personal trainers, a chef, and a plastic surgeon on staff to lie to me.

I want the truth.  I realize this is why I stopped watching TV and movies altogether for months now.  It’s so rarely worth my attention now.  Thank goodness for Better Things.  Take notes, Hollywood.  If you want to continue trading money for entertainment, start making movies that center on real women over forty.  Otherwise, I’ll see ya when the next installment of Star Wars is released. Hm.  Feels too subtle.  Dear Hollywood, mature women in movies = $$$.  Nailed it.  (Pumps fist.)