“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.)  💜✌🏽

 

 

They’re gonna name their baby Seven.

I’m so overwhelmed.  Yeah, I saw this coming, too.  Sleep deprivation is expensive.  Typically, I feel like I’m a few seconds behind the world.  I’m used to The Pause.  Presently, my mind is racing.  I have too many things I want to process at the same time.  I’m demanding my brain keep up, but it’s like trying to make the rain stop by shouting at it.  Nevertheless, I’m still shouting.  I know it’s futile, but any action seems better than stillness.

I’m struggling to understand Americans who hate me so much, they’d rather destroy America than tolerate my existence.  It’s not going well.  I have a glitch I was apparently born with.  It scares me, sometimes.  I’ve never in my life managed to hold a grudge for more than a few days.  When I hate someone, it takes over my mind and becomes all I can think about.  I can’t read, listen to music, watch TV, or socialize, and hate someone at the same time.  Hating is essentially cutting myself off from all else.  It’s exhausting, and my hate-stamina is pathetic.  I always end up rejecting it, and as I’ve matured (shut-up 😂), I often skip the process and let it go straight away.

My sister, Heather, seemed the opposite in this respect.  I remember marveling at her ability to remain furious at someone, seemingly permanently.  I assume it’s a survival mechanism to some degree, but mine’s broken.  It makes me feel vulnerable.  It used to make me question my intelligence, but I decided it’s irrelevant.  I know a lot of people are feeling the tremor in The Force resulting from Americans hating Americans.  I suspect many of my fellow neurodiverse people are struggling right now.  One of the lovely perks of membership is often a high sensitivity to strong emotions of others.  A tremor in The Force is nearly literal, (depending on your level of Star Wars/life integration.)

I’m focusing my energy on removing my contribution to the tremor.  You’re welcome.  I’m having a Healing Day to get back in sync.  I went for a long run early this morning.  I listened to Chiquitita by ABBA, Whenever I Call You Friend by Kenny Loggins ft. Stevie Nicks, and Edge of Seventeen by Stevie Nicks on repeat.  I mostly love repetition, but when people ask me the same question more than once, I get stuck.  (I wish more people would get behind my idea of a universal visual signal and/or sound whenever sarcasm is used.) Remember the cartoons with crappy resolution and expressive soundtracks?  The music was an essential part of comprehending the humor.  At least for me.

Oops, there I go again, wishing.  I just rolled my eyes at myself.  Part of me believes others should be considerate enough to let me in on the joke.  The eye-rolling part thinks it’s ridiculous to even desire the world where others put forth some effort to enable me (and many others) to participate.  Guess which part of me I like better?  I just cracked myself up.  Also, if you haven’t spent some time experiencing Stevie Nicks, stop being mean to yourself and get to it soon.  I’m off to play the violin to some cows while the humidity is tolerable.

LOS ANGELES, CA – JANUARY 31: Singer Stevie Nicks performs at the concert to celebrate the premiere of “Sound City” at the Hollywood Palladium on January 31, 2013, in Los Angeles, California. (Photo by Kevin Winter/Getty Images)

I made this whole meal in there.

I’ve run out of rage.  At least the desire to express it.  It’s too expensive to my body.  I suck at holding grudges, too.  I guess I’m just not wired for it.  The worst part is my mind won’t cooperate with visualizing anything my heart rejects.  I tried for four minutes to no avail.  It’s a long time when you’re trying to imagine something unsuccessfully.  It felt more like a concentration exercise.  So I laughed at myself and changed my mind.

I know people, myself included, who are traumatized by what 45 is doing to our country.  I know individuals who aren’t even American who are traumatized by him, too.  His existence is a trigger because he’s loudly vile and proud of it.  It’s a difficult time to be a woman, a POC, disabled, LGBTQIA, elderly, ill, evolved beyond tribalism, logical, or someone fucking concerned about the survival of our planet and species.  Seriously, fuck anyone who isn’t.

I saw Angie Tribeca for the first time tonight.  I love it.  I’m going to buy the seasons and do a marathon this weekend.  (After Firefly got canceled, I take my fangirl responsibilities more seriously.)  I needed to add something new to my viewing habits and cut back on the shows where I’ve memorized the dialogue:  Seinfeld, Friends, and The Big Bang Theory.  Turns out, others find it annoying when you say the lines during the show.  It’s a disappointment because it’s such a fun thing to do.  If I only do it when I watch alone, it’s incredibly hard to refrain from also doing it when I’m not.

I can’t wait to go see Wonder Woman.  I keep noticing the startling contrasts between progress we’ve made and oppressions proposed.  It’s weird when they occur simultaneously.  I feel like I’m living in 1929, 1945, and 1980.  I’m relieved much of Europe is residing in the present.  I like knowing there are still civilized nations.  I haven’t slept in a while.  My tolerance for being still is lower than usual.  My cat enjoys my wee hour pacing, at least.  I finished DeadZone by Stephen King.  It’s excellent.

In One Person by John Irving is, too.  It expanded my awareness and understanding of humans to an astonishing degree for a single novel.  I highly recommend it.  I don’t think I could possibly be privy to a more intimate view of the main characters, were they close friends.  The story covers decades and is historically accurate in its portrayal of the AIDS crisis during the 80’s and beyond.  It’s full of information on variations of sexual identity, and gender identity.   There’s a trigger warning for (the depiction of) the murder of a transgender woman.  It triggered me, but I’m still glad I read it.

I love reading novels.  I’m loyal to my favorite authors and buy everything they write within days of release.  But there’s one thing I wish all fiction writers would stop doing.  Please, whenever you’re tempted to add a rape scene to your story, talk yourself out of it.  It’s enough already.  It’s not edgy.  There are other ways to depict the past.  It’s unimaginative to an exasperating degree.  If it didn’t happen to the author, I don’t want to fucking read it.  Okay?  Glad we had this talk.

 

 

There’s no small diseases, only small actors.

I can’t sleep again.  It was sabotage.  I broke a rule, and am coping with the consequences.  I checked my phone while in bed.  People with sleep issues probably just rolled their eyes at me, because they know my phone shouldn’t have been in my bedroom to tempt me.  I lay down much earlier than usual because I was nodding off.  I skipped my rituals thinking I was sleepy enough without them.  I did fall asleep quickly, but it only lasted two hours.  Then I remembered I forgot to charge my phone.  All rational thought crawled under the bed.

I ended up getting schooled on Twitter.  It was incredible.  I’ve stated before I don’t get embarrassed very often because I rarely know which circumstances warrant it.  I put my foot in my mouth on a near daily basis.  It’s not intentional.  I don’t think I know how to be insincere.  It’s too close to sarcasm.  Every time I forget I shouldn’t mess with sarcasm, I get reminded.  Eventually, I’ll get a handle on it.  These are things I consider sophisticated.

Tonight, I came across a thread that seemed to me to be criticizing Meryl Streep for her speech at the Golden Globes.  I had seen several tweets that were probably written by paid trolls, or Drumpf supporters criticizing her for acknowledging he’s a piece of shit and denying Drumpf ever mocked Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, Serge Kovaleski.  These turned into threads of people posting the video footage that proved he did just that.  Then I saw another tweet discussing ableism.

I read through the thread and formed a conclusion that turned out to be wrong.  I typed my reason for disagreeing, and a few others mentioned they didn’t agree with my conclusion.  I had to pause because my view stood alone.  So I read again.  Sometimes I misunderstand what people mean.  In this case, they were clear and consistent, so I had to set my stance down and look more closely at theirs.

Another person joined the conversation by this point, and they read my position.  (Points.)  Then they showed me where I was getting it wrong with different words.  (All the points.)  Suddenly I was like, “Oooooh!!!”  My mom used to call them my Eureka Moments and could always tell when I had one.  I get excited when something I didn’t understand becomes apparent.  It makes me want to hug everyone who helped me get there.

Sometimes, by the time it clicks for me, the person teaching is exasperated and wants nothing more to do with me.  This time, it resulted in a new friend.  I know it’s premature to give that title, but I’m confident it’s wise.  When my first encounter with a new person is primarily them educating me on their own time, for free, merely because I’m ignorant about something they’re not, it’s not a frivolous assumption.

Meryl Streep’s heart was in the right place, as usual.  She’s brilliant, and I think she’s the best actor I’ve ever watched.  In the future, I hope she remembers to also identify a disabled person by their name and credentials if applicable.  It seemed at first to be a noble gesture.  I’ve since learned the decision to speak for others comes with responsibilities that if neglected can ruin good intentions.  It’s all about wording.  Words are powerful and can be weaponized.  I love words but am still learning how to use them responsibly.

It was an excellent day for information.  One of my friends corrected me when I used a word improperly.  Then they gave me a link to a blog with a great article on ableism and lists of words to abandon.  It also has lists of words to use instead!  Here’s the link.  It’s a guide to being respectful of others by choosing words that aren’t loaded with pain.  I’m tired, but I’m happy, less ignorant, and grateful.  That seems fair.  I’m off to read.

Can’t stand ya… can’t stand ya…

Insomnia is kicking my ass.  It’s also fascinating me, which is annoying.  I’ve gotten new information recently that broke my resolve against hating Drumpf and his owner.  I know I’m dabbling in self-destruction, and that hating them will do nothing to deter their vile intentions.  It’s incredibly inefficient, too.  I’ll be channeling this otherwise wasted energy on delivering meals for Meals On Wheels.  I have a few other ideas for ways to recompense as well.

It turns out ending therapy was like blowing a thread.  Hindsight continues to beat me about the head and neck.  I got an offer on my property in Denver.  I wasn’t planning on selling, but the offer is good, and I know the buyer.  I’m going to take it.  I love Denver and will continue to visit often, but my next address will be a PO Box and forwarding service.  My former coworkers are settling in far better than I anticipated.  My doctor from Boston is there with her adult son helping iron out wrinkles in the transition.  I’ll be heading there soon to tie up loose ends in my unit.

My lease here is up in August, but I plan on signing another.  There are lots of new complexes springing up, but they’re on the outskirts of town, and most don’t allow pets.  Amelia Bedelia loves my insomnia.  She helped me assemble and configure some Raspberry Pi projects I’ve been building instead of sleeping.  Too bad I can’t teach a cat to code.  I set up some individually addressable LEDs a few nights ago.  I’ll probably keep it on the rainbow chasing setting I have now.

I still suck at photography, but you can see it well enough.  It doesn’t show the motion, but I’m not confident my video shooting skills are any better.  The Fisher Price Sesame Street has all the original pieces, but the handle broke when I was a kid, and the stickers are a bit faded.  I used to spend hours arranging the furniture and people.  Then I discovered Barbies.  My mom saved it for me, and now it’s a reason to smile when I see it.  The other building is the Lego Detective Office, and it’s what I did last week when I couldn’t sleep.

I hope I have better luck sleeping tonight.  I’m so tired it hurts.  I haven’t heard from the woman with whom I was going to collaborate on a blog entry.  I hope all is well with her.  I also hope I didn’t accidentally offend her or scare her off.  I’m sure I’ll spend time futilely calculating the probabilities later.  Instead of sleeping.  Because apparently I don’t do that anymore.  I feel like I’m stuck in an Edgar Allen Poe story.  Sleep for Alison, nevermore.  I just checked.  I still hate Drumpf and his bare-chested, horse riding demon.  And their evil court.

I’m drawing my line in the sand.  If you still support Drumpf after the FBI accepted the CIA conclusion that Russians hacked to help him win, which is treason, you’re dead to me.  My love is conditional.  So is my like, amicability, consideration, and tolerance.  I don’t tolerate evil.  I don’t tolerate those who pretend they don’t recognize evil when in reality, they just don’t care unless it effects them directly.  So dead.  So dead to Alison, (Monica).

I feel so much lighter now that I’ve taken my stance.  I’ve lost 9 lbs since I voted for Clinton from the shock.  Also, being this overtired messes with what little sense of time I have, and I end up eating 2 meals a day instead of 3.  Basically, I eat breakfast twice in 24 hours or so.  I’m not concerned.  My appetite will recover without effort on my part.  In the meantime, I’m cold unless I’m in the shower.  I thought I preferred being cold to being hot, but it turns out it’s only true when I’m hot.  I have another appointment with an endocrinologist next month.  It’s at 4:20, to my delight.  I’m off to read.

That’s a shame.

I had a busy day.  It’s cold, but there’s barely any wind.  I didn’t sleep well last night.  I kept having disturbing dreams.  I’m better at redirecting and falling back into sleep than I used to be, but I’m still too impatient to do it more than once.  I had a conversation with a close friend where we agreed intelligence is a ruthless curse.  It was comforting to me to know I’m not alone in this knowledge.

I look at life through a giggle filter.  If there’s any way for me to interpret what I observe as amusing, that’s the perspective I’ll choose every time.  Life isn’t fair.   Mean people suck, and cheaters are ultimate losers.  People these days confuse glory with ego.  They celebrate gluttony and wrath and call it success and power, then they pretend they mean the same thing.  It’s unbelievable.

It triggers my protective nature.  I see people who don’t understand.  I want to stand between them and danger and give them the time and information necessary to gain understanding.  I know some Americans despise me for having beautiful brown skin.  I have no control over that.  The melanin level of my skin has no impact on the content of my character.  Most Americans understand this by age ten, if not sooner.  Some don’t need understanding and do well with intuition, nature, or experience.  Unfortunately, some choose to hate.  They’re expendable.

I’ve decided I only care about people who aren’t expendable.  The guilt I used to feel over disregarding the existence of shitty people shriveled up and died.  Good riddance.  I’m already a happier person without it.  Yay.  I’m probably going to die in the next fifty-sixty years.  I don’t see many of these hateful adults overcoming their dumbassery before then.  Fuck ’em.  Focus adjusted.

I need to sleep for more than two hours in a row soon.  When my lease expires on this apartment, I’m going off the grid.  I purchased some land, and I plan on getting a prefab home.  It’s just under 5 acres of land, but aside from road access, it’s raw.  By 2018, no more fossil fuels for me, even though I don’t have access to a decent laboratory or equipment.   I do miss going on field problems, which is funny, considering how much I used to bitch about them.  (It was all about the bugs.)

One thing I distinctly remember about being on active duty is that I never had trouble sleeping.  I could sleep anywhere, and sleeping was my favorite thing to do when I wasn’t on duty.  I always felt like I wasn’t getting enough sleep.  Now, it pisses me off that I need to allow time for it.  Physical and mental demands need to be more balanced.  I’m not less active, but I’m certainly thinking more.  I guess I need to be more active.  I’ll increase my mileage on the treadmill, and figure out a way to convince myself to do crunches.  I can already tell I won’t be doing crunches.  Swimming it is.

They just opened a new aquatic center a stone’s throw away from the VA.  I haven’t even driven by yet.  There are a few wellness centers with indoor pools, but they pale in comparison.  The indoor pool where I live is sufficient for exercise.  It just takes a lot of laps to equal a workout.  I have to do an hour of cardio every day, or the Depression Monster kicks my ass.  It’s only an hour because I take Prozac.  If I quit taking it, I have to add two more hours of cardio per day.  I usually stop for the summer.  I’m practicing for menopause based on how poorly I handle periods.  For two days of each month, I travel further from ‘sweet girl’ and nearer to ‘crotchety old bitch.’  I can’t wait to arrive.  I’ll have my cackle down by then.

I don’t think you can return an item for spite.

Today flew by.  I’m out of town visiting my sister again, so I’m way too disoriented to keep track of time properly.  My anxiety is too high.  I feel like I’m waiting for the starting pistol to fire, signaling me to run like I’m being chased.  Knowing I’m being chased by my own fears is intensely frustrating.  I want to meet those fears head on, but I haven’t even managed to identify them yet.  I feel like I’ve lost my place in my own life story.  It’s uncomfortable.  I know it’s temporary.  It just sucks right now, while I’m figuring out how to get through this unexpected detour.  It’s hard to concentrate lately, especially on abstract concepts.  I think whenever I take a hit to my ability to concentrate, I panic a little.  It’s one of my superpowers, and I rely on it heavily.

I tend to be either scatter-brained, or hyper-focused, with very little time spent in the middle.  I suspect my level of interest plays a large factor in this.  I’ve been reading a lot.  I re-read Lock In by John Scalzi last night.  It’s another favorite.  Reading is my favorite way of dealing with insomnia.  I think I’m going to re-read something by John Irving next.  Last Night in Twisted River will do.  He’s in my top 5 of authors.  I’m feeling the loss of Pat Conroy, so he’ll likely be up after that.  I’m off to read.

Like us with Elaine.

I’m home again, and for a while this time.  I’m so over flying.  Doing it twice in as many days was too much stress, and I wasn’t able to sleep while in Denver.  I’m so sleepy.  But we have Match Game tonight, and I don’t want to miss it.  I had weed on Friday night with my nephew, and I can still feel the lack of constant anxiety nagging at me.  It’s nice, and I always forget how good it feels to be relaxed in my body.  When it first overtakes me, it’s like stepping into a soft, even shower where the water temperature is steady and perfect.  Then when I experience it again, it’s like a new discovery.  It’s weird, because when I’m home and don’t have access to weed, I don’t crave it, or even think about it.

I’m pretty much addiction proof when it comes to substances.  I figure it all evens out in the end.  I don’t like alcohol because it burns, or is bitter, or tastes nasty.  I don’t understand the concept of acquiring the taste of something that isn’t instantly delicious.  So I don’t drink coffee, either, but I love the smell of it.  I’m probably part of the reason people felt the need to declare themselves Foodies, and begin recruiting.  They find my lack of interest in food borderline offensive.  That probably shouldn’t amuse me.

It would suit me just fine to eat protein cubes and supplements, so long as they taste good.  I’ve spent hours sitting alone at the dining table, staring at food I refused to eat.  The fact that I never once gave in is something I consider an accomplishment.  My Mom was not easy to out stubborn.  I suspect by the time I came along, half my victories were guaranteed due solely to her sheer exhaustion from raising the 8 stubborn siblings that preceded me.  It still counts.

I feel like I’m in limbo, and when it passes, I’ll be faced with a lot of stress.  I want to be using this time to rest and get ready for the battle on the horizon, but so far I’ve been functioning from moment to moment.  It’s a dangerous place to linger, and I have a plan to snap out of it as soon as the sun goes down.  In the past, I’ve barely noticed when I was in this state.  Now I’m more aware of things that didn’t even matter to me a year ago.  I used to think knowing how I felt at a given moment was silly.  Now, I think I was just calling it silly to hide the fact that I didn’t know the words to describe how I felt most of the time.

I need to start restricting my thoughts to English only.  I’ve been thinking in a concise mashup of several languages for as long as I can remember, and it’s not compatible with communicating in real time with other people.  It certainly makes me anxious.  The time it takes to translate into words I’ve seen them use before is excruciating.  If I’m more comfortable with a person, I just let it go and say whatever I’m thinking.  I trust them to give me a chance to apologize if I step in it.  Strangers aren’t generally as forgiving.  It seem backwards to me, but since it’s working in my favor, I won’t overthink it.

You call yourself a lifesaver? I call you Pimple Popper, MD!

I’m in zombie mode today.  Last night sucked.  I got triggered yesterday morning, and my brain decided to hold it together until time to go to sleep.  The delayed reaction time due to PTSD is so annoying.  It seems to wait just long enough for me to think I managed to get through a rough moment intact, then it rears its fugly head.  The Depression Monster has latched on, knowing I’m sleep deprived, and struggling to prevent a meltdown.  My core muscles are sore from rocking.  At least I’m not hurling.  That would absolutely be worse than how I’m feeling now.  So there’s that.