“How would you know? You don’t speak Korean.”

It’s my first time using the new improved editor on WordPress.  I figured I’d better learn it before they decide it’s the only editor.   Meltdown Prevention 101, eh?  M. let me care for Tallulah today (for practice.)  I love having a dog so much.

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I’m looking forward to living with her full-time in the future.  I live across the street from a park connected to another with the bike trails.  (It’s the warm-up portion of my running route.)  It’s also just over 2 miles to the end of the second park and back, which is now my dog walking course.

It took longer than I anticipated, but mostly because there were a lot of feces.  It’s a primarily residential neighborhood, and most people probably walked their dog while half asleep in the dark this morning.  I need these parks to remain dog-friendly, so I picked up all the poop on my route.  (I’m so thankful for Jack Frost.)

I decided it was over-looked accidentally, and my neighbors would do the same for me.  It’s dark most of the time, now.  Fortunately, lots of people put holiday lights on their balcony already, and my display isn’t the most enthusiastic this time; mostly because 3 out of 5 sets of solar string lights didn’t work. 🤪

I got an email from a friend today!  I was afraid it was a friend I lost during The Worst Meltdown of 2017.  Two people emailed me since that horrible time, (when the universe found out I was using social media as if I knew what I was doing, and kicked my ass to the curb with a purpose.)  Both are still my friend.  (!!!)

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I’m going to go ahead and dub it The Miracle of 2017.  I guess silver linings are more impressive than the Doublemint wrappers I claimed.  I’m trying to work out how to tell one of them I’m never going on Twitter again.  (Or anything similar.)  I’m probably going to do a Keynote presentation and send them the link.  (Unless I think of something more efficient first.)

They are the first autistic friend I made on Twitter.  Dammit.  I guess I’m more of a romantic than I’m comfortable admitting.  (I hope that word works platonically, too.)   Okay, I’m going to go because I can tell I’m going to start crying again.  At least they’re happy tears.  My cat, Amelia Bedelia, understands me, so I’m off to rock with her.  Peace.

p.s.  The new WordPress editor is fabulous!

So?! She used the toothbrush!

The sunset was beautiful tonight;  A dark orange and pink gradient resting on grey clouds.  I’ve been reading a book series; The Mists of Avalon by the late Marion Zimmer Bradley.  I love it.  I’m on the second book.  It’s the perfect series to tide me over until Oathbringer by Brandon Sanderson is released.  I played my drums today.  It’s the first time since I burned out.  It was weird not to need to play.

It feels like I’m squeezing back into my skin, in a way.  Like remembering what I used to do and trying it again with a foreign timidity.  My (weak to begin with) ability to track time hasn’t returned.  Reading is painfully slow right now because my mind wanders more than usual.  Good thing the story draws me back.  I’ve been playing with my cat.  She only plays one game:  I’m Gonna Getcha.

She’s really good at it.  Each time we play, I think it’ll be the one time I get her before she gets me.  That time has yet to come.  (She has better patience and is an athlete, where I’m merely athletic-ish.)  It always results in me laughing so hard my body forgets it has bones.  I’m so rich to have her in my life.

M. was in a car accident.  He hurt his hand, which is a problem for a surgeon.  He’s recovering with his cousins in Denver, but we’ve talked since.  He’s confident he’ll be back to work soon.  I haven’t met anyone in his family that doesn’t work in the medical field.

I’ve already thought of several jokes to tell about this phenomenon.  They’ll probably only work if the people who hear them are about four drinks into the gathering.  (However, I’ve never let this stop me before.)

I haven’t left my apartment since I crashed and burned.  Tomorrow I’m going back to work.  Mostly because I’m afraid if I don’t soon, I’ll convince myself I can’t.  That’s not entirely accurate…  I’ll convince myself I’d be wiser staying home.  That’s closer.

I enjoy being home alone way too much, I suspect.  It’s incredibly appealing to me, but if I allow it for too long, it becomes a comfortable cage.  Nailed it.  It’s too easy to work from home as a code monkey, but I’ve already sprung that trap.  I’m going to dress up just to put an exclamation point on it.

(Dressing up, when you don’t do it often, is an excellent anti-Depression Monster strategy.)  My usual uniform of jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers has regressed to yoga tights, t-shirt, and bare feet.  And a ponytail, because Amelia Bedelia is no fashionista.  I’d better give myself a lot of time to get ready in the morning.  I’m off to try on everything I own, then pick the first outfit I thought of.

 

You were making out during Schindler’s List?

 

I’ve been upgrading my electronic drum kit.  Nothing from the original kit survived.  (I’m using the entry setup for Rockband, instead.)  I got a beautiful, shiny rack.  It took me an embarrassingly long time to assemble it.  It didn’t come with any instructions, and the Gibralter website sucks.  So I studied what is possibly the only photo on the internet of this particular rack, and winged it.  (Every musician site I visited had the same description and photo pasted from the Gibraltar website.)

It’s all curved, which made it more difficult than the straight poles on the entry kit.  It looks great.  So shiny.  I got the Yamaha DTX502 module.  I also got three 8″ Alesis mesh pads, each for cheaper than it cost me to make one.  I did a lot of research to find what will help me improve and get the most for my money.  It’s so quiet now.  I decided to try Yamaha’s electronic 3 zone choke-able cymbals.  I love them so much, I ordered the Yamaha 12″ 3 zoned textured silicone snare.  It hasn’t arrived yet, but I’m excited.  I’m not skilled enough to justify the Roland TD 30K V-Pro kit (yet).  I’m using trigger pedals instead of a traditional hi-hat pedal and kick pedal because people live below me.

I also have 2 rug pads, a wool rug, and a thick workout mat under my kit.  It’s my third kit, but the first one never even made it out of the boxes.  It was a Roland TD-11K V-drum kit.  It went to a nephew with an acoustic kit whose neighbors were complaining.  I didn’t have the heart to tell his parents I gave him the amp, too.  He promised to use headphones at home.  He plays for their church now.  I wish he were local so he could have helped me set up the new rack.  Now that it’s done, I do feel a sense of accomplishment.  Even though it took me a really long time.  I’m cracking myself up.  I started assembling it at around 6 PM because Seinfeld was on.  I wiped all my fingerprints (and a few tears) off just after 3 AM.

I took a few frustration breaks.  I distinctly recall playing with Amelia Bedelia when she dragged her string toy into the mix, too.  It was so cute!  I have a habit of narrating what I assume my cat is thinking.  (I blame Mystery Science Theater 3000.)  I’m pretty confident she sees herself as the Queen, and I’m her faithful servant (who occasionally forgets her place.)  I hope all cat owners do this.  Cats suck at playing fetch.  One time, years ago, I tossed a plastic cat toy down the hall, and she chased after it like a puppy.  Unfortunately, when she discovered what I tossed wasn’t edible, she decided she was done with fetch forever, I think.

Her idea of fun is playing Peek-a-boo, I’m Gonna Get You.  I have a love/hate relationship with the game.  It makes me laugh really hard, but it also can trigger a panic attack.  It’s not like playing with a toddler.  She stalks then pounces, but never when I anticipate.  I’ll think she wandered off and peek around the corner to see her little butt shaking in preparation to get me.  One time, I looked at the same time as she pounced and we banged heads.  It was hilarious, but I suppose you had to be there.  She has a few blankets I rotate for her to drag around.  She knows they belong to her, which surprised me.  My nephew tried to borrow one, and she had a cow, so I made him give it to her.  She sat on it and stared him down for a while.

I made the wrong decision of narrating her hissy fit in front of my then 13-year-old nephew.  He started doing it too.  Only, his narration turned my beautiful, sweet cat into a sarcastic little shit waiting for me to die so she can eat me.  (It was still funny, though.)  I’m off to serve breakfast to her majesty.