“He’s obsessed with breasts.”

Audio file of this post (improved, but still needs work.  Sorry, I’m learning): 

OP-1 by Teenage Engineering

 

I didn’t run on Tuesday or Wednesday. Long story short, I triggered myself and was unable to eat for a few days. (No big deal for healthy, first world Alison.)  I didn’t run because I have an irrational fear of falling and freezing to death on a winter run. It’s barely irrational (in South Dakota), which is why I’m not even working on overcoming it.

It wore off, and I was able to eat a light breakfast this morning before heading out for my run. It was 9° F, according to my phone. I was warmed up and excited. My playlist includes Perfect Duet by Ed Sheeran and Beyoncè. It’s every third song between Stevie Nicks 24 Karat Gold: Songs From the Vault. (It’s as if Stevie Nicks created the song.)

I was utterly lost in the music, my body a vague avatar on auto-pilot when I fell. I was almost home. I could see my building across the river. I got up and reoriented myself with my body. Then I slowly counted to ten before assessing the damage. Nothing hurt, and the music was still playing.

OP-Z by Teenage Engineering

Aside from an anxiety rush, all systems go. Yay. (Flashback to when I fell and dropped my portable CD player, and it shattered on impact without harming the CD. Panasonic.) I finished my route feeling like my world is right again. Then I got to the stairs, and my hip started whining. Anytime I feel any degree of pain in my hip; my imagination announces I’ve broken it, and it’s all downhill from here.

After I stretched and showered, it was no longer an issue. I just hope I don’t find a bunch of bruises tomorrow. I have my annual doctor’s appointment next week. That tiny bit of potential awkwardness is enough to psych me out of going. I’d better disarm it before it gets me. I’m incredibly distracted of late due to my introduction to synthesizers. Typically, I avoid Virtual Black Holes. Maps, cryptography, metaphysics, quantum mechanics, biochemistry, etc.

FMPlayer by AudioKit

These are points of interest so intense it’s not likely I’ll ever return to whatever I used to give my attention. Usually, I recognize them quickly and run. It’s like saying no to drugs. It’s not that I don’t want to indulge, it’s because I don’t want to trade my legal adult status for an incredibly lonely, narrowly focused, otherwise joyful existence.  It bothers me because I couldn’t tell you why.  I’m off to practice my drums (and think about synthesizers.)

Once, to a dog. He licked himself and left the room.

My left ear hurts.  I’m running a low-grade fever and just spent several minutes trying to remember why I entered the kitchen.  I also sound like Peppermint Patty, so I think I have an ear infection or something.  I’ll run it off tonight.  I didn’t sleep well last night.  I had stress dreams I forgot immediately after awakening, but the anxiety lingered.  I converted it into hyperactivity.  It’s better than feeling anxious, but the cost will show up tomorrow when the bruises appear.  I’m stuck in walking like I just learned how mode, so I’m bumping into everything.  I’m moving like my toon in World of Warcraft.  (I suspect I hold some sort of server record for most times dying from accidentally falling off shit.)  I’d better burn this off while running outside.  Staying on the treadmill while running is out of reach today.

I prefer running outside. However, the mosquito situation sucks when you run on bike trails that hug a river.  I have repellant, but it reeks.  I guess that’s better than skeeter bites.  My imagination usually suggests I may have bed bugs when I’m covered in skeeter bites and itchy while falling asleep, (despite my weekly linen rotation and daily bathing routine.)  My imagination is an asshole.  As an African American, I’ve never had head lice, but I’ve heard all about it.  (Most African Americans have square hair follicles.  North American lice affect round hair follicles.)  I guess it’s worth having hairs so thick they can defy the wind.  My imagination fucks with me about lice, despite this.  Hell yeah, I rub oil on my scalp to prevent itching from dry skin.  Still, my imagination has the gall to suggest I may be suffering from trichotillomania.  Ass. Hole.  🤣

I’ve been painting on my new iPad Pro with the Apple pencil.  Dear Wacom, thanks for everything, but I’ll no longer be needing your tools.  My iPad Pro made your company obsolete.  I’ll always remember our time together over the years before this innovative smack-down occurred. Buh-bye, now.  P.S.  Microsoft Surface line, too. Tut tut.  There’s an app that utilizes the iPad Pro as an outstanding wireless drawing tablet for your Apple machine.  Other apps allow you to use it as a standalone drawing tablet that far surpasses existing (consumer) drawing tablets.  As an Adobe Creative Cloud user, the Photoshop app was free, (included in rental.)  I got an outstanding drawing/painting app for $4.99.  (In the App Store, look under featured apps for the iPad Pro.)  I’m donating my Wacom to a public school art teacher.  (It’s still an excellent learning tool.)

I’m going to purchase another iPad clamp holder like the one I got for my drum kit.  It will allow me to adjust the position of the iPad as I paint, so it’ll replicate an easel on my desktop.  Actually, I think I’m just going to use the one I have now, and add a Bluetooth adapter to my drum kit.  I only use it to play along with music, so a dedicated resting place (for my phone) is unnecessary.  I forgot how easy it is to spend several hours painting.  I have a quirk that won’t allow me to listen to music while I paint.  I’m starting to think it’s a feature rather than a quirk because it prevents me from painting for too long.  Yep.  Going with a feature.  I’m having caffeine withdrawal.  (It took an embarrassing amount of time to figure out why I’ve had a headache for two days.)  I might have to do something I never thought I would do.  I might have to start drinking coffee. (It’s the only non-retail source of caffeine I can acquire.)

I like the smell of coffee beans, but I don’t like hot beverages.  (Not even hot chocolate with a gazillion marshmallows.)  It means I’ll have to acquire a taste as an American.  This is against everything I stand for!  It doesn’t make sense to repeatedly imbibe something that isn’t immediately delicious in a first world country!  Why have taste buds at all?!  (Calm down, Alison.)  Iced sugar water with enough coffee to prevent headaches, it is.  Sigh.  Dear Mountain Dew, I’ll always remember our time together.  You should divorce Pepsico and buy back all your stock.  Employee owned businesses are edgy.  Peace, out.  I should make a cape with my remaining Wonder Woman fabric.  Yep.  This is happening.  I’m off to make the ultimate empowering playlist for my run later.

 

Don’t you see what’s happened? I’ve become George!

The gym got new treadmills, and they’re fabulous.  I didn’t know the old treadmills sucked until I ran on a new one.  The deck is so wide and smooth, it felt like running in grass.  I listened to In Your Dreams by Stevie Nicks in order twice through.  I ripped it from the CD into FLAC files and loaded it on the DAP I got on MassDrop.  I listen to an album with various headphones and amps because it reveals details I miss otherwise.  (I take my music listening seriously.)  When I finished, I was all disoriented like I just woke up.  I’ve been smiling since.

I saw previews for The Dark Tower movie today.  It’s the first I’ve heard of it, and I’m ecstatic.  I want to see a lobstrosity, and all the other creatures described.  Especially Shardik.  I remember reading that in 8th grade.  It’s a good thing I finally watched TV today.  (I abandoned it in favor of Stevie Nicks, and Fleetwood Mac live concert DVD’s weeks ago.)  Now that I’ve seen Mick Fleetwood play Dreams, I’m copying his technique.  He makes the drums sound like a thunderstorm in this song, and it’s so good.

M. wants me to meet his parents.  They’re coming in August and will return home with his sister.  Naturally, I’ve decided to start feeling anxious now.  Sigh.  My virtual presence device project is at a frustrating point.  Basically, hiring a college student to carry a video rig is the most logical and cost effective solution so far.  It solves the problem of theft, vandalism, teasing, etc.  Not to mention transportation, and all the other logistical bummers I’ve encountered so far.  I was hoping for a robot, but it’s not looking good.  Ah, well.  Maybe I can find a college kid who talks about robots while being my virtual presence device.  I’m off to read.

This woman hates me so much I’m starting to like her.

I just realized I haven’t watched anything but Stevie Nicks documentaries and live concerts on DVD in a while.  Typically, I only allow myself to listen to music when I’m exercising because it’s the only way to get me to do it.  Lately, it’s all I do in my free time, but it hasn’t been long enough to mess up my exercise bribery scheme.  Whew.  (I don’t have a Plan B.)  I guess tomorrow will be a long run, and that’ll be my only music fix for the day.  I’m going to listen to In Your Dreams by Stevie Nicks, and The Open Door by Evanescence, and Tuesday Night Music Club by Sheryl Crow.

If it plays longer than my route, I’ll keep listening while I stretch.  I’m already looking forward to it.  I’m going to feel like Wonder Woman.  I’m off Prozac for the rest of the summer.  Or, I guess I should say until it snows.  So who knows, but as long as I can run outside.  I don’t like to run for more than an hour at a time on the treadmill, but I can break it up.  After my fall last winter, I’m too paranoid about falling again (on the ice outside in the snowy weather, where my imagination has assured me in advance I’ll die miserably.)

Note:  In my particular case, if I eat wisely, and do four hours of cardio per day, I feel exactly the same as when I take 20mg of Prozac per day, (minus the side-effects.)  If I do two hours of cardio per day, I’m uncomfortably close to frustration overload 24/7, but I can survive.  Less, and things go downhill quickly about two months after my last dose.  I’m weird.  Don’t try this at home.  Besides, finding out how many hours of exercise it takes per day to be the best me possible is exactly as fun as it sounds.  So do what’s right for you.

The thing about Prozac is this:  It interferes with creativity, sex drive, and for some people, appetite.  In my case, no sex drive, (and I started taking it soon after I realized I even had a sex drive.)  If you don’t know your sexual identity yet, don’t take Prozac.  I was a late bloomer.  I thought boys were gross until I met my ex-husband at nineteen.  If anything, it decreases my appetite when I’m initially adjusting.  It also makes me extremely sleepy for the first few weeks.  Others become overeaters for the first time in their lives.  It’s mean like that.

I want to turn off my Muse-repelling force field known as Prozac so I can do some artwork and find out the rest of this melody that keeps haunting me.  I don’t have it as bad as some.  I can ignore the urge to create if there’s something I’d rather do.  The Muse is a gentle whisper in the night for me.  For some people, she’s also a bitch with handcuffs.  But they’re usually outstanding at what they do so it might be fair.  I’m not sure how much choice they have in the matter.  They’re probably too busy being awesome to care.

I’m feeling balanced again, thank goodness.  You’d think after years of coping with PTSD I wouldn’t get so freaked out every time I hit a rough patch.  Nope.  I freak out every fucking time.  I imagine it’s like being in a fire.  No matter how many times it happens, it’s always alarming.  Plus, I think my mind lets me keep most of those times in short term memory.  Yay brain.  I finally let M. help me adjust my drum kit.  It was noticeably leaning because I loosened something I regret, and it just happened.

I was still playing on them after a few adjustments (without fucking with the rack.)  Now that M. helped, I’m a bit blown away by how much difference it makes.  It was worth the kick in the nuts to my ego.  I got over myself immediately after I started playing.  I’m starting to get pretty good.  I’m almost confident enough to start creating my own beats.  I only lack the practice hours.  My stamina is better, my timing is my strongest skill, and I rarely drop sticks anymore.  The part on my fingers where I lost the skin before getting gloves is calloused, but it’s barely noticeable (compared to what strings do to fingertips.)

I’m so happy to be feeling better.  I got busted singing twice today, but I tend to do it constantly when I’m happy.  It’s almost as good as the relief I feel after passing a kidney stone.  It’s a shame they can’t bottle the post kidney stone feeling and sell it as a drug.  On second thought, maybe it’s a good thing you have to suffer intensely for a while before you get to experience it.  It makes it addiction-proof as fuck.  I just cracked myself up.

I’m off to finish deep cleaning the carpet while listening to the rest of Al Franken, Giant of the Senate from Audible.  I love him.  I probably look silly laughing for no apparent reason every few minutes, but it’s excellent.  It’s helping me cope, and teaching me a lot about politics (in a way that doesn’t make my eyes glaze over.)  I forgot how powerful humor can be in learning.  If you want my full attention, make me laugh.  It’s my favorite thing to do in the world.

 

Cosmo Kramer. You ARE the Assman.

I had a productive day.  I’ve been overwhelmed for the past week or so.  Obligations with flexible due dates taunt me with temptations of procrastinating.  Instead, I took care of some early.  I’m just waiting for the relief to kick in.  I’m getting excited about my upcoming vacation.  The hardest part for me is exiting the airport.  I’m bringing my noise canceling headphones, which will help.  It reminds me of the obstacle courses in basic training.  I feel the same urgency, hyper-alertness, and potential peril until I’m back outside.

I still have a few things to catch up with.  I’m talking myself through an incident earlier in which I accidentally dropped my Kindle Paperwhite from my balcony.  I was well into The Witching Hour by Ann Rice.  I can still read it on a computer or tablet, but it’s not the same.  Fortunately, I didn’t get the flagship Kindle model which is ridiculously overpriced.  I ordered another one, it’ll be here next week.  It’s not a devastating event.  I can go a few days without reading and not expire.  (My feelings are getting on my nerves.)

I don’t know why my hands stop working spontaneously at times.  I have a recurring nightmare where it happens in slow motion while I’m holding an infant.  I’ve always been this way.  It’s frustrating.  I compensate by using pockets, backpacks, and I have a wheeled cart I use for packages and groceries, etc.  I use the rubber bumper cases meant for children on my tablets and phones.  Otherwise, there would be no point in owning them.  Sadly, it wasn’t enough protection this time.  I think my brain forgot to continue holding it because I was so absorbed in the story.  Sigh.

Damn.  Now I have to do something I didn’t have planned.  I would very much like to continue describing how utterly stuck I am, but instead, I’m going for a run.  It’s my quickest reset button.