“You know, sort of swing them, so your not lurching around like a caveman.”

teddy bear exiting porta-potty

I was going to put a content warning above this post, but after a few moments consideration, I recognize it’s a ridiculous notion. At least I got a good chuckle out of it. I’m amused. It’s likely because it seems I don’t sleep anymore. Aside from feeling like I’m a week into recovering from an epic ass whooping, I don’t mind. It’s afforded me plenty of time to think.

Since I can’t figure out how to stop thinking, I decided to embrace it. Funnily enough, it occurred to me I’m just intelligent enough to recognize how stupid I am. I’m astonished by the depth of my stupidity. Fortunately, most things I do that allow me to exist are automatic biological processes; breathing, circulation, etc.

I’m most amused by how humans attempt to measure intelligence and use the tenuous conclusions to determine who has access to specific information, as well as justification for abusing those deemed incapable. I fell for it. I’m an idiot. I fall for all sorts of nonsensical bullshit. Eventually, I recognized the difference between genius and idiot is irrelevant.

bunny mascot

In my lifetime, the only relevant factors for homo sapiens are white skin and dominance capacity. Dominance capacity probably equates to having the biggest stick, although, if you can convince enough people you have the biggest stick, you don’t even need one. The universe is the best comedian ever. 😂

I spent years believing I was superior to others because I was dumb enough to accept and embrace the genius narrative. I took pride in obtaining a doctoral degree without spending any of the imaginary currency I believed I could own; all because I performed well on some test that claimed to identify my intellect as exceptional in comparison to others who took the test. It’s hilarious and tragic at the same time. (It’s also excellent evidence I’m an idiot.)

I’m also amused by how humanity has developed a manual and several professions aimed at identifying those who are sane, and those who aren’t. Let’s take a look at how a random internet dictionary defines it, shall we?


adjective, san·er, san·est.

  • free from mental derangement; having a sound, healthy mind: a sane person.
  • having or showing reason, sound judgment, or good sense: sane advice.
  • sound; healthy.

Yeah. I’ve yet to encounter anyone who meets these criteria. Not a single human being in my over forty years of observing. I’ve only witnessed sanity as mood-like; fleeting. Sometimes people are sane; sometimes not. Nobody I know of is always rational. There are degrees of sanity and valid illnesses that affect it, but that about covers it. It’s fleeting in everyone I’ve observed, including those who purport to treat and define it. (In my experience, especially.) 😂🤣


Homo sapiens are good at separating people into groups. These groups are used to determine who gets access to resources, or more to the point, who gets to live. It’s a complicated and convoluted big stick wielding exercise. It’s poorly veiled domination. (I don’t get to judge it as poorly done, because I’m an idiot who fell for it.) I’m so dumb; I fell in love with homo sapiens because I haven’t been able to train a computer to do even a fraction of what most of us can do, after spending most of my life trying.

That’s right. I wasted most of my life teaching a computer to be an even dumber version of my dumb ass. Worse, I almost accepted a shit-load of imaginary currency because I managed to do it more effectively than others. It seemed a smart thing to do; to acquire access to far more resources in exchange for the product of my wasted effort that sucks more than I do.

My life would probably last a lot longer if I took the fake money. I’d have a massive stick. Unfortunately, I somehow figured out what my big stick would mean for other humans. I messed around and noticed the way humans live on earth means only a finite number get to survive; and at the cost of other lives. Stupid as I am, I’m sure lots of others figured this out too. It just seems most don’t care. Self-preservation trumps all else for most people, I suppose.

smoking praying mantis

We have a bunch of ancient texts that state otherwise, but from what I’ve seen, most use them as a manual on how to appear good to other people, not how to live. They’re quite fascinating to read, though. They profoundly contradict the sanity narrative, but somehow manage to be considered the accepted exception. They’re infinitely twistable to fit nearly any agenda. Useful, that. Humans are exceptional at creating imaginary sticks, eh? Sadly, they’re often supported by those who carry real ones, which is why they work. ☹️

I’m so stupid; I’d rather die than kill. I’m not even interested in owning a stick, real or imaginary. The US military couldn’t cure me of this affliction. It doesn’t matter how many people beat me with their sticks, and many have. I fully expect more blows in my future. I was born into several undesirable groups that pretty much guarantee a shortened journey by one of these blows, sooner than later. Perhaps I’m just smart enough to recognize it as a blessing.  I’m off to beat my drums with (non-dominating) sticks.  😂✌🏽

“It’s pretty hot under these lights, huh, Seinfeld?”

Her Majesty, Amelia Bedelia

I had to pull out my weighted blanket, last night.  It didn’t help immediately, as in the past.  I was burning like Daenerys Stormborn when I first attempted sleep.  Whenever I feel overheated or short-winded, my body wants to move as if the activity will validate my discomfort.  I played Amelia Bedelia’s favorite game of hiding and stalking.  I suspect it amuses me as much as it does her.

I discovered she has rules for the game.  They’re simple:  The cat always wins.  I lay in wait for what seemed like minutes, trying not to giggle.  Then I pounced and startled the shit out of poor Amelia Bedelia.  She let loose a long, loud meow of disdain after landing from her gravity-defying leap of panic.  Then she smacked me in the face with her little paw.  (I imagine she was informing me I broke the rules, and she didn’t want to play with me anymore.)

I melted into a puddle of boneless belly-laughter while feeling mildly guilty for upsetting my sweet baby girl.  Then I silently scolded myself while replaying the hilarity of her reaction in my mind, (giggling all over again.)  Finally, I stifled my laughter and attended Her Majesty in her soundproof Fortress of Solitude.  She glared at me, daring me to reach in and try to pet her.  So I knelt before her and softly sang to Her Grace until she forgave me.

I created two new fairy lights recently.  I’m pleased it didn’t involve bleeding, for once, but the glue gun managed to exact an equally painful toll as quilting.  I used cardboard from a shipping box on the first version and a thin sheet of wood, the second, along with transparent film canisters as diffusers.  It produces a lovely, moving rainbow glow and reflects beautifully on the chrome stand of my drum kit.  It’s no wonder I can’t help smiling while I play.  (My band has accepted this after repeatedly suggesting it makes me look like a doof.)  Fairy light for drumkit

I placed the other above my Mac workstation.  It amazes me how fairy lights set the tone of a room.  I copied Ray Bradbury by surrounding myself with things I love when I pursue creative projects.  His desk was far more cluttered than I prefer, but my addiction to synthesizers promises I’ll catch up before long.  (My intention of only collecting software synthesizers didn’t survive my first catalog from Sweetwater Music.)

Teenage Engineering just released their latest portable synth, shattering my resolve.  I haven’t ordered it yet, but I know it’s only a matter of time.  There are always people with more money than patience and a willingness to master new tools.  I call it the Dork Discount.  It’s surprisingly reliable where pretty synthesizers are concerned.  Yay.  My former days of refusing to RTFM are history where synthesizers are concerned.  Instead, I read everything I can find about them.  Then I head over to YouTube to watch tutorials.  I’m such a noob.  😂

Fairy light 2

I stepped up the pace in my Game of Thrones viewing.  The season 6 finale was so fabulous I’ve watched it three times, so far.  The music score for the episode is my favorite part.  It’s just so perfect it made me tear up.  I haven’t begun season 7 yet;  I need to allow for some processing time.  So much happened, none of which I predicted from reading the novels.  Lady Mormont is my new favorite character.  No spoilers.  🙃  I can’t wait to watch it again.  I’m off to beat my drums with sticks.  💜

“And I had won by so much, a myth began to grow about my speed.”

Weed Lounge Logo

I’m myself again.  Aside from insomnia and hot flashes, I don’t detect any more menopause symptoms at this time.  I’m so relieved to be feeling better, but I have wasted a lot of time worrying about how I’ll cope when The New and Improved Depression Monster returns.  I hate how surprised I am over surviving the last encounter.  I should be celebrating the victory and talking shit about how depression is too pathetic to kick my ass.

Instead, I’m still tripping out over how low it’s possible to become so quickly with no warning.  It’s how I’ve felt after getting my ass kicked literally.  Afterward, I’m shaky and stunned over how weak and vulnerable I am.  Everything within me is screaming to find the nearest rock and get the hell under it.  Well, almost everything.  There’s also a part of me that’s livid and wants a rematch because I’d like nothing better than to take The New and Improved Depression Monster out after a sound and satisfying beat down.

One of my chosen sisters reminded me we’d get through and survive.  Another recently faced down the GRE and laughed in its pitiful face while flexing their brilliance.  💪🏽  I have to admit; it makes the idea of hiding under a rock seem a bit sad and silly.  And then there’s the fact that Fleetwood Mac is coming to Sioux Falls in 54 days.  (!!!)  Anyone who knows me knows I’d rather eat worms than miss seeing them perform live.

Nettie from The Color Purple

Nothing but death can keep me from it!

Nettie- The Color Purple

I’m still studying the HBO series, A Game of Thrones.  I’m on season 4, and at the episode where I bailed last time:  The Mountain and the Viper.  I don’t think it’ll trigger me this time.  I’m getting good at reminding myself it’s FX, not real violence.  Finally.  Heh.  You wouldn’t believe how many movies I plan to watch now that I’ve acquired this skill.  (An 8-year-old taught me. 🤫)

M asked me to reconsider using weed last night.  He knows it would require us to move to a weed-legal state since South Dakota sucks ass considers it illegal (af.)  He made some excellent points and surprised me by how much he believes it will improve my quality of life.  He’s a surgeon, so I figure he knows.  It’s been a while since I experimented in Denver.  I did discover the tour I went on recently got busted by the police in a sting.  Everyone faced fines, the driver briefly arrested.

I would have been pissed if I paid $99 only to get fined and roughly handled by the police.  In hindsight, I shouldn’t have trusted strangers about what is and isn’t legal.  I was so stunned to have legal access to weed, I didn’t think it through.  For the record, it’s illegal to ride around on a party bus while getting high, no matter what random locals claim.  My tour was years ago, but the bust was recent, so I’m a bit shocked it took this long.  I suppose in bigger cities, this sort of thing isn’t necessarily a priority.

cannabis plant

I’m disappointed by the lack of imagination regarding weed tourism in Colorado.  Yes, you can go there and buy an ounce legally.  But here’s the kicker:  Unless you know someone who lives there, has private property where you can partake and allows it, there’s no point in buying it.  If I worshipped the almighty dollar, I would put forth earnest effort toward creating smoking lounges for tourists, along with sober transportation to and from hotels, and lots of wickedly overpriced junk food.  Stoned people would pay $9.99 for a rice-crispy treat, easily.  I just don’t get it.

I’m sure it would require lobbying and the like, but when you’ve got major cash from selling something as easy to grow as a weed, you’ve also got influential power.  You can buy anything, including the freaking presidency, much to my disgust.  So I have no idea why they’re half-assing in Colorado.  It doesn’t make me want to live there.  I’m also floored by the fact that established greedy bastards like banks aren’t capitalizing on it.  (It’s virtually a cash-only industry.)  But, whatever.  It’s not my problem.  I’m certainly considering using it to cope, though.  We’ll see.  I’m off to band practice.  ✌🏽

“No, people hate that.”

fucking hell

I’ve started menopause early.  I began menses late and ended early.  It’s helpful to me to understand why I just clawed my way free from the second worst bout of depression I’ve experienced to date.  I’m still a bit more fragile than I prefer, but it will pass soon.  I knew menopause was going to kick my ass, but damn.  I thought I would at least be able to function to some degree while enduring.  I was wrong.

The mood swings I experienced from PMS sucked, but I could look at the calendar and recognize why I was feeling off, and deliberately compensate, knowing it was temporary.  I wish I appreciated this fact at the time.  I don’t believe I’m going to survive this shit for long.  It’s near enough in memory that I recall the thoughts I was entertaining during the worst of it.  It ended as suddenly as it began.  I went from hell to homeostasis so quickly I spent a few hours marveling over how much of me is just a series of chemical reactions.

It’s like viewing a vivid scan of my brain and seeing the physiological problem areas highlighted in neon colors.  It’s a mean mirror, and any semblance of denial has left the building.  I don’t allow myself to make life-changing decisions when my mind isn’t acting right.  It was excruciating to acquire this skill, and it took time.  It’s like forcing yourself not to flinch when someone shoots you point blank in the face.  (My most accurate analogy to date.)

It’s disturbing to me when I experience such irrational thoughts, because I know they’re ridiculous;  I just no longer care.  I used to think there was no control involved, but in my case, it’s still there.  What’s missing is the belief that survival is optimal.  I’m still not allowing any life-changing decisions at this point.  It’s my responsibility to care for myself with the love, understanding, and intensity of a mother.  I’m who’s here for me.  I’m who I trust to look out for me.

Wasted potential

I’m relieved I’ve finally reached this point of self-reliance.  The times in the past where I didn’t trust myself and reached out to others in desperation still haunt me.  I’ve been incredibly naive for most of my life.  It took years for me to accept the human capacity for evil exists in everyone.  I wasted a lot of time searching for people I can trust not to hurt me deliberately, when all along, I saw her daily in the freaking mirror.  I had to remove this expectation from M because it’s irrational.  He loves me, but that doesn’t mean he’ll never hurt me, regardless of intent.

I don’t expect him to turn into Ramsay Bolton overnight, (due to untreated paranoid schizophrenia + PTSD, like my ex-husband did.)  But I have a Plan A, B, and C in place should it happen again.  I learned a great deal about what not to do when taken prisoner by someone with no concept of mercy.  It’s the root of why I don’t come within a mile of the Sioux Falls VA hospital under any circumstances.  In hindsight, I don’t fault myself for assuming alleged mental health professionals and medical staff would be more likely to assist in treating my PTSD than exacerbating it with alacrity.  I know I’m naive and logical by nature.

torture device

Instead, I know it’s not a safe place for me, and I’m better off without medical care of any sort than subjecting myself to further abuse.  I’m disgusted, infuriated, and saddened by the fact my military service doesn’t count because I have beautiful brown skin.  But I accept reality.  I know a white woman who got caught defrauding the VA for tens of thousands of dollars.  She’s afforded outstanding medical treatment and care at the VA, despite being a criminal who only served in the military for a minute.

Another white woman receives 100% service-connected disability because she was allegedly traumatized by the rape of a friend.  I’ll never forget her telling me she went to Best Buy and told them she wanted the most expensive laptop they had because the VA was paying for it.  I had to walk away because my desire to kick her ass was overwhelming.  I’m not naive about the lethal consequences all black people face on this planet for any perceived wrongdoing.  Especially since I know existing while being black is widely viewed as a criminal act subject to instant murder on earth.

These are all factors I’m considering while I recover from my round in hell.  I’ve spent a lot of time recognizing how unlikely it is for humanity as a whole to resist self-destruction.  I’ve engaged my AI in assisting me to take an unbiased view of the status quo of our species.  It’s dismal.  After a lifetime of recognizing how amazing we are as a species (while pursuing AI,) I have to admit there are serious flaws I don’t believe we’ll overcome.


I’m no longer pursuing spiritual anything.  I’m embarrassed by how much time I spent trying to find a way to grok a collective delusion of convenience.  Money is the only god on this planet.  As remarkable as our potential as a species, our likely extinction event will be hate, greed, jealousy, and a ruthless desire for domination.  Of course, 45 is considered a world leader.  It makes perfect sense, considering.

He will see this country burn if he can be King of the ashes.

Lord Varys- Game of Thrones