“Yeah, except you don’t really have any black friends.”

 

Wakanda Forever!

Insomnia is kicking my ass.  I’m seriously considering sleeping medication at this point.  I’m too tired to care.  The long pauses to stare off into space for no reason are annoying.  I’m not going to the studio today because driving is presently beyond my attention span.  You’re welcome, everyone driving in Sioux Falls.

I was planning to overclock my old PC tower today.  It’s not happening.  It would end in tears.  Adobe recently announced they’re raising prices for Creative Cloud.  When my subscription expires, I’m not renewing. Apparently whoever is in charge of these things has been smoking crack or something.  $1200 a year when I honestly only use Photoshop and Illustrator is ridic.  I already purchased Affinity Designer and Photo to replace them.  $100 forever.

I’ll get Final Cut Pro when I’m ready to move up in video editing.  I’ll add Motion, too.  $350 forever.  Better yet, I vastly prefer these apps as they load quickly, have a lower learning curve, can use Photoshop plugins, and no monthly fee.  DIAFF, Adobe.  I’ve been rebranding my favorite jeans by ironing patches on the back pocket and unstitching the branding.  Now my black Levi’s say Black Girl Magic instead.  I also used an R2-D2, and a Colin Kaepernick.  Etsy rules.

I’m thinking about getting some ribbon to sew on the legs like an Adidas stripe, too.  (Assuming I sleep soon so I can operate heavy machinery again.)  I should probably get something besides sneakers, but the only other footwear I like are combat boots. I think I’m beyond the age where I care about how others feel about my attire. It’s a startling development compared to how I felt about it in high school.

When I was a teenager, having to wear the same outfit to school twice in a row was the most severe punishment my parents enforced. It was worse than having my bedroom door removed for slamming it in anger. It sucked being their 9th teenager. I used to get told off for things I was only thinking about doing.

hfbd

Now (in my 40’s) I create my own uniform and am steadily moving toward an all-black wardrobe. I feel good when I’m wearing black jeans, a black top and my black Nike Air Force 1’s. Especially if the black shirt has someone fabulous on it. Like Stevie Nicks, or Huey Freeman from The Boondocks. I should look for some Black Panther patches and shirts. Wakanda Forever!

I’m off to search for some combat boots and Black Panther everything. Did I mention I love Etsy? 🙃

“Sleep is separate from that.”

Sleepy kitty

I need to focus on my sleep issues.  I haven’t been able to sleep for more than a few hours in a row this week.  While it’s enough to function, it’s not enough to interact with other people.  I lost count of how many times I’ve completely misunderstood what others were saying in the last two days alone.

I feel like I’ve been speaking English and everyone else is speaking Mandarin.  Only it’s worse because I don’t realize they’re not using English (in real time.)  My balance is wonky, too.  I slipped on some ice during my run this morning, and now I’m sporting road rash on my chin.  I didn’t even get to do the precarious dance first; just face planted.

Fortunately, I have clear band-aids.  Fabulous invention.  Now people who aren’t the shade so rudely referred to as flesh tone don’t have to announce their injuries from across the room.  Yay.  I reread Animal Farm by George Orwell last night.  Now I’m reading The Descendents, by Kaui Hart Hemmings.  It’s fascinating so far.  Next, I’m going to look for my copy of Watership Down by Richard Adams.

I thought I was going to stick with women authors this year, but it didn’t work out.  Plus, John Scalzi has a book release soon.  I did read lots of novels by Octavia Spencer and Ursula LeGuin, but then I decided gender is irrelevant in authors.  Women authors don’t write more gently, as I anticipated.

I built a soundproof chamber for Amelia Bedelia.  She loves it.  I can get in up to my shoulders, and it’s fabulous.  I’m fascinated by my cat’s personality.  When she’s in her chamber, she wants to be alone.  If I acknowledge her in any way while she’s chilling in there, she bites me.  That’s a stern, “no.”  Heh.

I ordered DirecTV Now (because M. had a cow.)  I didn’t realize I was an asshole for canceling cable without discussing it with him first.  It seems to be superior to Playstation Vue, and I discovered I get free HBO for life (not sure whose) for being an AT&T wireless customer.  Yay.  Sony rearranged which channels go with which tier, and the options suck.  It’s tailored to Fox News watching sports lovers.  Hard pass.

We’re watching Gattaca tonight.  It’s one of my favorite films.  M. hasn’t seen it yet.  I think he’ll enjoy it, too.  I’m off to make the popcorn.

movie night popcorn

“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.