“I love The Drake!”

swing

It’s been a busy week so far.  I’ve been silent for a few days, meaning my ability to speak aloud has fled.  It happens every so often and to recover my voice I need to force myself to stop freaking out about it.  Fortunately, I have a short attention span.  It functions as Plan B because eventually, I forget I haven’t said anything in a while, and start singing again.  It’s just anxiety.

I don’t know why I’m so anxious lately, but whatever.  It’s possible I’m merely over-excited.  All my components for my new PC arrived, and I began building it last night.  It turns out, the CPU cooler I chose is too big to seat the four RAM chips I bought.  Sadly, I installed it before realizing it wasn’t going to work as planned.  I tend to function on auto-pilot too often, and this is a consequence.  For now, I’ll leave it and only use two chips.

I failed to research this particular component thoroughly enough.  Relying on reviews on Amazon and Newegg isn’t as useful as it was in the past.  Amazon used to be my favorite e-tailer, but now it’s more like a vast, unorganized garage sale.  The search function is a joke as third-party sellers place their items in any category they decide will get the most views, rather than where logic would dictate.  Half the time, the things I order are customer returns sold as new products.  I despise this practice so much I’m breaking up with Amazon altogether.

I’m finished assembling the PC, and only need to install the OS and drivers.  I’ll do it this weekend.  I’ve been thinking a great deal about Jesus lately.  I was given a different perspective on Christianity recently, and it’s rocked my world.  It might be why I’m not talking, now that I think about it.  Not enough resources left.  😂  My CBD oil should arrive tomorrow, and I’m hopeful it will lead to sleeping again.  I’ve spent my nights this week rereading Oathbringer by Brandon Sanderson.  I’m finally quiet enough internally to process it as I read, which makes me so happy.

It’s feeding a part of me I don’t know how to identify, but I was so hungry it hurt.  It’s also contributing to my thoughtfulness.  It’s reminded me of the fact I see all humans as possibly Jesus interacting with me.  I remember when I learned I should treat everyone I encounter as if they might be Jesus in disguise.  It blew my mind profoundly as a kid.  I’ve since recognized the fact many don’t even see me as a human being.  I’m somehow less than that to many I’ve interacted with, and while it’s incredibly painful, it doesn’t change how I view others.

heather in the mist

Brandon Sanderson writes about this pain in Oathbringer.  It’s by no means the focus of the story, but it’s loud and clear.  It’s strange, but identifying a source of my inward pain is comforting.  When I’m able to understand, it makes healing easier.  At the core of my inability to identify as a Christian is my despair over the behavior of (self-proclaimed) Christians.  I’ve decided to let go of this distraction.  I do know a few who behave as if they believe Jesus is real.  I’m thankful to be aware of more than one because one was enough all along.  Silly me.  🙃

I’m incredibly relieved to have worked this out.  It’s done beautiful things for my joy-noticing ability.  I guess I not only had to climb out from beneath that rock, but I also needed to set it down.  That last bit is essential.  (I’m such a doof for carrying it around for no reason.)  😂  I finally understand why I love people so much, regardless of how they feel about me.  I don’t feel like a fool anymore.  It’s fascinating to me how much I’ve learned from people I’ve never met this year.  Most of them are much younger than me, too.

Now I understand why Stevie Nicks is my fairy godmother.  (Although not understanding had no impact on my ability to love her.)  I no longer feel weird for adopting Amy Lee as my little sister, even though she doesn’t even know I exist.  It’s not necessary.  I can still love her and learn from her.  Yay.  I don’t care that Lily is young enough to be my daughter.  She’s a friend and teacher.  As are Jade and Keia from Gettin’ Grown.  And so what if Lorde (Ella Yelich-O’Connor) is younger than kids I used to babysit.  Her music heals me.  I understand enough.  I now know being silent has more benefits than annoyances, so I won’t bother worrying about my voice returning.  I’m off to read about music theory.  Peace.  💜

 

“I almost had my own show in Japan.”

Content warning:  suicidal ideation.

Message in a bottle.

I have a confession.  Every time I read or hear about humans behaving abominably toward other humans, I think about suicide.  Last year, I thought about it almost nonstop.  It was distracting, annoying, and a little scary.

I think I’m supposed to feel ashamed of this, but I don’t.  It just is.  I’m capable of being as cold as space and utterly indifferent.  I trained myself to reject those feelings.  Now it’s habitual.

I could change this internal thought process by forming a new habit, but I choose not to do so.  I don’t want to live as an unfeeling, unattached, and unaffected entity.  We have computers for that.

This is one of the few instances where I regret being too intense.  That’s not quite what I mean…  (I was going to say unbalanced, but it failed the rudeness test ((and made me giggle.)))

Sometimes I wish I could attach an attenuator to my brain.  I’ve thought too many steps ahead, and now I’m more interested in pursuing the new thread.  This is precisely why I’m such an airhead.  I do this constantly.

I can’t complain about being an airhead because it’s the most potent tool in my survival kit.  If I couldn’t distract myself, I wouldn’t still be kicking it.  I’m just far too good at it.  It makes it difficult to communicate with others.

I’ve always journaled since a child.  It’s how I talked to my mom about things more complicated than nodding and head shaking could dispatch.  I began using a typewriter when I was six because writing longhand is (still) difficult for me.

When I don’t blog I go silent.  It’s usually not immediate, but when I don’t have my computer to help me express my thoughts, I gradually stop sharing them because it takes too much effort to mostly fail at saying what I mean.

The longer it goes on, the harder it is to start talking again.  Deep down I’m always terrified I’ll lose the ability to speak permanently.  It’s kinda twisted how the more I fear, the longer it takes to reclaim the skill.   I have to convince myself to stop being afraid of that scenario before my voice returns.  (It’s rocket science when you’re exasperated.)

When I let go of the world outside my head, it’s dangerous for my lifespan.  I overanalyze to death, literally.  It’s not logical for me to exist, and I’m a surprisingly good extemporaneous speaker.  (Even when it’s just in my head.)  It wouldn’t take long to recognize I’m insignificant in any mid to large sized picture.  Then weigh it against the price I pay to participate, and conclude it’s not worth it.

(Fortunately?)  I discovered I have a new tool in my arsenal.  It’s a song by Evanescence called, Imperfection.  When Amy Lee sings, don’t you dare surrender, she sings it like she means it.  She put feeling in it like Beyoncè.

Now, when I remember 45 is still faking it, that sound byte plays in my mind.  It’s an incredibly powerful rebuke.  Startling, even.  I’m a little bit freaked out by how well it works.  But more pleased to have a new empowering tool.  Music is powerful.  (Use it responsibly.)

secret door

Oh shit, you were probably expecting a point.  It’s this:  Feeling all the feels takes incredible strength and courage because it’s not always fun or even tolerable.  Lying and pretending you don’t feel things intensely is weak sauce.

We all have survival strategies we use to function in society.  I’m just confessing my own in case someone thinks they’re the only one who has similar experiences internally.  I have a tough time trusting people (over age 21) who have never contemplated suicide.  (They smell too much like a liar.)  I’m off to beat my drums with sticks.