Yesterday I worked twelve hours and sixteen minutes. Got the punch slip to prove it. Couldn't even finish the payroll, which I'd been working on, but Zubair was a champ and finished it for me. I cried again (only second time, working here!), because Gustavo was teasing me that other places he'd worked always got the payroll out on time and when my face started to squinch up he thought I was laughing. I want to apologize today; yesterday I was more concerned with making sure he knew I wasn't mad at him. I missed out on going with Dave to Pete and Cheri's and listening to Fire Sign Theater, which is a bummer. But! I feel very accomplished and righteous about the fact that I did so much work.
Dave got home a few minutes after I did. I had just gotten out of the shower and my phone started ringing. He was like, "where are you?" and I said, "brushing my teeth." "oh, you're home! I got in and didn't see you." *wags* I had been so worried that he would get home before me, y'see, and instead I was home when he got there. We got to hang out and watched the end of the Be-Sharp Simpsons episode, put a few new Magic cards in the deck and played a couple games, listened to music and just hung out and talked for awhile before bedtime. So the day ended on a really good note.
I had this dream. Part I remember is, me and Dave were snuggling and/or asleep in our room. The configuration of furniture was different. Our bed was a bunk bed (like the one I had on Rockwell) with the long side against the west wall instead of a four-poster with the long side against the north wall, and there was a big clothes dresser in the northwest corner where the little plastic drawers thing is now. There was all kinds of clothes and stuff laying around, like our room is now. We were hanging out and either doing something or talking, I'm not sure. Then we fell asleep and then I woke back up, or Dave fell asleep, either one, and I realized I had to go to the bathroom. I got out of bed, opened the bedroom door (I heard and felt it click open and shut! thought I was awake!), went down the hall to the bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror (still thinking I'm awake, mind). I spread my arms out low and in front of me, as if lifting a large invisible bundle, and stared myself down in the mirror, the way you do to raise power and make the static really heavy between the mirror and you. And the static in my vision did get really bright, sort of a slate yellow with undertones of blue and grey and mild green. I want to pinpoint the color because while it was yellow mixed with grey, it was not that dirty yellow (typo: typed "tellow") people get when they're invading other people's auras. That's like yellow mixed with french fry grease; this was like yellow mixed with muddy snow from a field. A clean dirty yellow, if that makes sense.
And I was up back in bed with Dave. I turned to him and said, Hey baby, I teleported back to you!
And then I woke up.
Xmas marks the spot (out, damn spot!)
Xmas was eXtremely pleasant. Saw Amber on Monday, hung out at Paula's Monday night and Tuesday day, came back to Chicago Tuesday and saw Pearl as well. Who knows, she may still be hanging out when I gets home tonight.
Still can't, or haven't been able to, escape nagging feelings of dread and self-recrimination. My mind seems to light on any flimsiest thing to hang those feelings on as long as it gets to keep them. But in fact things have been very good. At work today, no disasters or even unusually annoying things. I'm hoping it's something seasonal, psychosomatic like, based on previous dire Xmases, and will pass with the turning of the year.
Been dreaming but not wanting to remember enough to write down or, in some cases, even fix in my thinking. Something basic-assumptiony. Something identity-belief-ified. In other words, "The more something was designed never to break, the more difficult it is to get at when you need to repair it." Within the mind this means motivation and inclination dry up too as you reach the location of the damage. Thus leaving only sheer cussedness to get the job done.
I hope I have a very cussed new year.
Still can't, or haven't been able to, escape nagging feelings of dread and self-recrimination. My mind seems to light on any flimsiest thing to hang those feelings on as long as it gets to keep them. But in fact things have been very good. At work today, no disasters or even unusually annoying things. I'm hoping it's something seasonal, psychosomatic like, based on previous dire Xmases, and will pass with the turning of the year.
Been dreaming but not wanting to remember enough to write down or, in some cases, even fix in my thinking. Something basic-assumptiony. Something identity-belief-ified. In other words, "The more something was designed never to break, the more difficult it is to get at when you need to repair it." Within the mind this means motivation and inclination dry up too as you reach the location of the damage. Thus leaving only sheer cussedness to get the job done.
I hope I have a very cussed new year.
the fire and the stupid
Damn I been posting a lot lately.
This morning I feel all freaky twitchy. Maybe it's time for my period soon? That would maybe explain it.
Three times in a row there I tried to type about how I'm feeling lame and down on myself right now and was interrupted by the phone. Four, five. This feeling I have, I feel like it always happens when I've done some good stuff and rectified some wrongs. I get all shameful and sulky and lacking in self-confidence and it makes me want to go start acting less than awesomely again so I can have more things to rectify. Like I'm not okay with the idea of me being a good person. Like having people mad at or frustrated with me is part of my identity and I wouldn't feel right if nobody had any reason to be annoyed when they thought about me.
Retained an image from my dream last night. I was an old woman wearing rags. One of those is-my-self / am-looking-at-me scenes. It was dark and cold and there was a huge monster, one of those size-of-a-hill monsters with a building or something on its back. I ran onto the monster, to like the first landing or hallway or whatever of the building. One wall was open to the air and you could see the hall stretching down to my left (looking; my right, as character sitting). I don't know if I ran to or was like lifted up and set down on this couch thing on the landing. Had the feeling the couch was like a special place that I was supposed to be sitting. In front of it was a fire which I huddled on the couch and stared at, trying to keep warm. But in later shots it wasn't a fire, it was a kiddie pool with water in it (which wasn't frozen for some reason despite the cold). There was another character, male, saw him only in silhouette. I felt he was a friend or ally, someone I trusted, but that he was frantic about something. Looking for fire. Yeah, in this shot the thing in front of the couch was definitely a kiddie pool and not burning. But there was a scrap of cloth that smelled like fire, was smeared with soot, and he either had this or it was dangled in front of him and he went tearing off through the maze after it, looking for the fire. Also the landing where I was sitting seemed like part of an abandoned building, it was dirty and wrecked-looking. I assumed the rest of the maze was too, only darker because not up by the surface. I wasn't worried about the other character, like I didn't think anything bad was going to happen to him, but I felt bad that he was going off on this wild goose chase through the maze in the cold and dark looking for a fire I didn't have anymore and didn't know where it was.
I'm most sure this has something to do with my problems
[Bossman walked in, we did bills (finally!), it's been like an hour or more]
The above seems like an apt image for how my problems with relationships play out so that I treat people less well than they deserve. And look at my careful phrasing and the phrasing of my dream log even! None of the bad things happening were attributed to me, just actions performed by some shadowy force to whose whim I am also subject. This shadowy force which leads my ally-person on a cold and scary wild goose chase and also picks me up and plops me down in my place. Selfquote time! "Know your place, child. Know / into whose hands you will be delivered / when the metal links are severed." From [acorn iron] which was about being a leader on Gaia. Metal among other things refers to the seven levels of trust, all of which are metals except glass, since glass denotes lack of relationship.
The people who are best at things just do them. They don't sit around all day obsessing about how they are done or figuring out why they are done one way instead of another. People who are very good at things sometimes do obsess and figure in such wise--but not those who are best. For them the knowledge and conversation of the thing they can do is enough and explanation, complication, analysis all seem superfluous.
It comes as a surprise to no one, then, that I am not the best relationship-haver around. I am, in fact, not great at it. I've known I have big problems in this area for a long, long time--hence all the studying. I've been able to say, "well, I'm improving" for years now, which makes me feel both proud and ashamed. Proud of how far I've come, ashamed of how much that means I sucked to begin with.
Big maze monster. Reminded me a little of that giant with the penultimate castle on his back in God of War, the one you get into after fighting the medusas in the desert. 'Cept instead of being in the desert it was just somewhere cold and dark at night.
Looking for fire, the phrase came up over and over. Fire I didn't have anymore and didn't know where it was. That came and went from my place by what means I know not. Meaning that, that burning thing important enough that I huddle around it and others run frantically to look for it, is also under the control of the shadowy force. Maze monster, same thing? Well, maybe the fire isn't under the shadow's control--but access to it certainly is. That's the thing, access. (Axes, I almost typed. May I ax you a question?)
A repeating image across many dreams--I've written about this so recently!--is me about to be in a fight, going to a cache of weapons, and finding all my weapons are flimsy pieces of crap that don't do anything useful. Acute conflicts like fighting are all works of fire magic. Access (axes!) to fire in my dream not being controlled by conscious me (or character me) fits well with this. Part of the same situation, issue, thingy. Problem. That in the place of my fire I am an old raggedy woman huddling in a dirty, ill-kept place over something which is sometimes my fire and sometimes a stupid cold little pool. And I don't know which will be which at any moment, and I don't know how to make it better if it's the wrong thing at the wrong moment. Problem.
Meanwhile while I've been writing this post I've been doing various work things and generally being pleasant and helpful as usual. Once more I had a coughing fit while on the phone but I don't think the lady was too offended--I set her down for a minute then we finished filling out her gift certificate form. Dog. I want to dig more with this, I think it's important, but I really ought to get back to work, this is a ton of words and time spent on words instead of working. Yowza!
This morning I feel all freaky twitchy. Maybe it's time for my period soon? That would maybe explain it.
Three times in a row there I tried to type about how I'm feeling lame and down on myself right now and was interrupted by the phone. Four, five. This feeling I have, I feel like it always happens when I've done some good stuff and rectified some wrongs. I get all shameful and sulky and lacking in self-confidence and it makes me want to go start acting less than awesomely again so I can have more things to rectify. Like I'm not okay with the idea of me being a good person. Like having people mad at or frustrated with me is part of my identity and I wouldn't feel right if nobody had any reason to be annoyed when they thought about me.
Retained an image from my dream last night. I was an old woman wearing rags. One of those is-my-self / am-looking-at-me scenes. It was dark and cold and there was a huge monster, one of those size-of-a-hill monsters with a building or something on its back. I ran onto the monster, to like the first landing or hallway or whatever of the building. One wall was open to the air and you could see the hall stretching down to my left (looking; my right, as character sitting). I don't know if I ran to or was like lifted up and set down on this couch thing on the landing. Had the feeling the couch was like a special place that I was supposed to be sitting. In front of it was a fire which I huddled on the couch and stared at, trying to keep warm. But in later shots it wasn't a fire, it was a kiddie pool with water in it (which wasn't frozen for some reason despite the cold). There was another character, male, saw him only in silhouette. I felt he was a friend or ally, someone I trusted, but that he was frantic about something. Looking for fire. Yeah, in this shot the thing in front of the couch was definitely a kiddie pool and not burning. But there was a scrap of cloth that smelled like fire, was smeared with soot, and he either had this or it was dangled in front of him and he went tearing off through the maze after it, looking for the fire. Also the landing where I was sitting seemed like part of an abandoned building, it was dirty and wrecked-looking. I assumed the rest of the maze was too, only darker because not up by the surface. I wasn't worried about the other character, like I didn't think anything bad was going to happen to him, but I felt bad that he was going off on this wild goose chase through the maze in the cold and dark looking for a fire I didn't have anymore and didn't know where it was.
I'm most sure this has something to do with my problems
[Bossman walked in, we did bills (finally!), it's been like an hour or more]
The above seems like an apt image for how my problems with relationships play out so that I treat people less well than they deserve. And look at my careful phrasing and the phrasing of my dream log even! None of the bad things happening were attributed to me, just actions performed by some shadowy force to whose whim I am also subject. This shadowy force which leads my ally-person on a cold and scary wild goose chase and also picks me up and plops me down in my place. Selfquote time! "Know your place, child. Know / into whose hands you will be delivered / when the metal links are severed." From [acorn iron] which was about being a leader on Gaia. Metal among other things refers to the seven levels of trust, all of which are metals except glass, since glass denotes lack of relationship.
The people who are best at things just do them. They don't sit around all day obsessing about how they are done or figuring out why they are done one way instead of another. People who are very good at things sometimes do obsess and figure in such wise--but not those who are best. For them the knowledge and conversation of the thing they can do is enough and explanation, complication, analysis all seem superfluous.
It comes as a surprise to no one, then, that I am not the best relationship-haver around. I am, in fact, not great at it. I've known I have big problems in this area for a long, long time--hence all the studying. I've been able to say, "well, I'm improving" for years now, which makes me feel both proud and ashamed. Proud of how far I've come, ashamed of how much that means I sucked to begin with.
Big maze monster. Reminded me a little of that giant with the penultimate castle on his back in God of War, the one you get into after fighting the medusas in the desert. 'Cept instead of being in the desert it was just somewhere cold and dark at night.
Looking for fire, the phrase came up over and over. Fire I didn't have anymore and didn't know where it was. That came and went from my place by what means I know not. Meaning that, that burning thing important enough that I huddle around it and others run frantically to look for it, is also under the control of the shadowy force. Maze monster, same thing? Well, maybe the fire isn't under the shadow's control--but access to it certainly is. That's the thing, access. (Axes, I almost typed. May I ax you a question?)
A repeating image across many dreams--I've written about this so recently!--is me about to be in a fight, going to a cache of weapons, and finding all my weapons are flimsy pieces of crap that don't do anything useful. Acute conflicts like fighting are all works of fire magic. Access (axes!) to fire in my dream not being controlled by conscious me (or character me) fits well with this. Part of the same situation, issue, thingy. Problem. That in the place of my fire I am an old raggedy woman huddling in a dirty, ill-kept place over something which is sometimes my fire and sometimes a stupid cold little pool. And I don't know which will be which at any moment, and I don't know how to make it better if it's the wrong thing at the wrong moment. Problem.
Meanwhile while I've been writing this post I've been doing various work things and generally being pleasant and helpful as usual. Once more I had a coughing fit while on the phone but I don't think the lady was too offended--I set her down for a minute then we finished filling out her gift certificate form. Dog. I want to dig more with this, I think it's important, but I really ought to get back to work, this is a ton of words and time spent on words instead of working. Yowza!
one lemon
(Far from my best work. I think there may be more of it. Not enough reason for the lemon to be there. I thought the gold tones would turn out to be something completely different. Also I think "aren't" in the third stanza really should be "ain't" [later edit: changed it to "ain't", cause why not?], to go with "mud-in-your-eye". But I don't know how to make more without wearing my end rhyme to death or somehow finding a new end rhyme. And there are too many Buts. Arrgh and so forth. XD )
Gold tones
at a feast of bones
but I’m pining for a good strong
meal.
Some I crack, some I try
but they open up dry.
Scold my belly, but it just won’t
heel.
Slice of wine, glass of pie
case of mud-in-your-eye
ain’t inside me, so they don’t seem
real.
Splintered bones, coffee grounds
wake the sharp yellow sounds
of one lemon that I can’t un-
peel.
Gold tones
at a feast of bones
but I’m pining for a good strong
meal.
Some I crack, some I try
but they open up dry.
Scold my belly, but it just won’t
heel.
Slice of wine, glass of pie
case of mud-in-your-eye
ain’t inside me, so they don’t seem
real.
Splintered bones, coffee grounds
wake the sharp yellow sounds
of one lemon that I can’t un-
peel.
Miércoles con los Amigos Invisibles vol 1.
john the revelator tell me who's that writin'
john the revelator tell me who's that writin'
john the revelator wrote the book on the seven seals
-White Stripes
Talked to Myke yesterday.
All is actually well on that front. Seems I would really rather be friends with him after all than not. I just have to learn to be better at setting boundaries in re: the use of my time. And he's not mad at me or depressed about it or any of that crap. We just talked about sci-fi and TV for like...an hour. Aye. If I can get the kid to do his conversing in half-hour blocks, that'll be something!
I woke up this morning with a clear conscience and I'm not sure what to do with it. Universe gave me a hint. I'd just put my shiny new dayplanner in my bag, figuring now that I've resolved the Myke issue and removed that source of conflict from my mind I want to be ready to do consecratey things whenever the moment is appropriate. And as I stood up my bag tipped over somehow and all the junk in the bottom started to slide out onto the floor. "Noo!" I said and hurried to keep it from falling out.
"You need to get rid of some of that baggage you're carrying around all the time," is what the universe was saying. "Look how much of it is junk you ought to have thrown away long ago!" I ended up pitching some, piling some on the couch-and-a-half to sort through later, and shoving the rest into my bag because it was easier that way. I also noticed a bunch of crap on the bottom of my bag that hadn't even been dislodged when the smaller junk fell out.
Yes, I do and did see symbolism in all that. Dammit.
See, this is the thing about the magical life. Or whatever you want to call it. A philosophy or religion or system that encourages you to look at each incident in your life as pregnant with meaning, an interpretable sign. Tact, good humor and a healthy slice of not taking myself too seriously are how I keep from going nuts with it and losing the ability to live at all because I'm too busy noticing things. Those are qualities I wish I'd had as a kid! I like thinking of it as "magic" rather than "God speaking to me" because that makes me a little smaller. The universe is not a puppet show put on to morally edify me. These things that happen that I interpret, these sorts of things happen to everybody--only everybody doesn't interpret them. That's really the only difference.
Much, much has happened since my last post. Hopefully I'll remember enough of it to post up more later today. I'm meeting (hopefully) Clarissa after work, and me and Dave are (hopefully) going to see Lucky Boy's Confusion with Meg on Saturday. Dave bought the Simpsons movie last night and we watched it. (with hilarious results! wait, the movie was hilarious as always, the results of watching it merely pleasant.) He's half-expecting to get another one from somebody for Xmas, in which case he'll send the one he bought to Big Dave who will likely enjoy it.
Le sigh. There are many cool things about my dad, many cool qualities possessed by no other dad. But I wish he could enjoy the freakin Simpsons! And other things that people like when they are relaxed and not taking things seriously! Someone with his extensive experience of the other side of reality should not be so bound up tight about his material circumstances that he can't have any fun!
Have I mentioned lately that Dave is awesome and makes me happy? We've been talking more lately, not about anything in particular, just like talk is percolating in through the weave of our normal routine. I find it hard to write about which is oddly enough a good sign; there is some magical thing, some perspective on reality and how we relate to it, that we are sharing in a new way than before.
[interlude; Bossman shows up, we don't do bills, he has to leave again. denied for now!]
I realized when I came back to edit and update that today is Wednesday and hence this can't be Tuesdays With Abhorrent Fiends. So I decided to call it Wednesdays with Invisible Friends, only in Spanish because it sounds cooler. Isn't Miércoles cooler-sounding than Wednesday? I wonder where it comes from. I know Wednesday is named for Odin aka Wodin aka the Norse Zeus: Wodin's Day. Like Friday is Freya's Day. I'm not actually sure about Tuesday.
I finished To Say Nothing of the Dog, and liked it so much that I got it for Myke as an Xmas present. (Shh! Don't tell him!) He's been reading more Gibson. And recently wrote an awesome horror story called Daisychains which he ended up telling me the entire plot, scene by scene, on the phone yesterday. And then apologized all over himself for blathering. And I thought to myself, This, this is why I didn't think I had room in my life for this friend. Because if I work eight and a half hours a day, more or less, take buses another hour, sleep six and a half hours, that leaves only eight hours to do other stuff. I know, I know, my schedule is a lot less hectic than some (Pearl, for example!) but I still have to be watchful.
Here I am procrastinating by blogging. Grr. Back to work, you!
john the revelator tell me who's that writin'
john the revelator wrote the book on the seven seals
-White Stripes
Talked to Myke yesterday.
All is actually well on that front. Seems I would really rather be friends with him after all than not. I just have to learn to be better at setting boundaries in re: the use of my time. And he's not mad at me or depressed about it or any of that crap. We just talked about sci-fi and TV for like...an hour. Aye. If I can get the kid to do his conversing in half-hour blocks, that'll be something!
I woke up this morning with a clear conscience and I'm not sure what to do with it. Universe gave me a hint. I'd just put my shiny new dayplanner in my bag, figuring now that I've resolved the Myke issue and removed that source of conflict from my mind I want to be ready to do consecratey things whenever the moment is appropriate. And as I stood up my bag tipped over somehow and all the junk in the bottom started to slide out onto the floor. "Noo!" I said and hurried to keep it from falling out.
"You need to get rid of some of that baggage you're carrying around all the time," is what the universe was saying. "Look how much of it is junk you ought to have thrown away long ago!" I ended up pitching some, piling some on the couch-and-a-half to sort through later, and shoving the rest into my bag because it was easier that way. I also noticed a bunch of crap on the bottom of my bag that hadn't even been dislodged when the smaller junk fell out.
Yes, I do and did see symbolism in all that. Dammit.
See, this is the thing about the magical life. Or whatever you want to call it. A philosophy or religion or system that encourages you to look at each incident in your life as pregnant with meaning, an interpretable sign. Tact, good humor and a healthy slice of not taking myself too seriously are how I keep from going nuts with it and losing the ability to live at all because I'm too busy noticing things. Those are qualities I wish I'd had as a kid! I like thinking of it as "magic" rather than "God speaking to me" because that makes me a little smaller. The universe is not a puppet show put on to morally edify me. These things that happen that I interpret, these sorts of things happen to everybody--only everybody doesn't interpret them. That's really the only difference.
Much, much has happened since my last post. Hopefully I'll remember enough of it to post up more later today. I'm meeting (hopefully) Clarissa after work, and me and Dave are (hopefully) going to see Lucky Boy's Confusion with Meg on Saturday. Dave bought the Simpsons movie last night and we watched it. (with hilarious results! wait, the movie was hilarious as always, the results of watching it merely pleasant.) He's half-expecting to get another one from somebody for Xmas, in which case he'll send the one he bought to Big Dave who will likely enjoy it.
Le sigh. There are many cool things about my dad, many cool qualities possessed by no other dad. But I wish he could enjoy the freakin Simpsons! And other things that people like when they are relaxed and not taking things seriously! Someone with his extensive experience of the other side of reality should not be so bound up tight about his material circumstances that he can't have any fun!
Have I mentioned lately that Dave is awesome and makes me happy? We've been talking more lately, not about anything in particular, just like talk is percolating in through the weave of our normal routine. I find it hard to write about which is oddly enough a good sign; there is some magical thing, some perspective on reality and how we relate to it, that we are sharing in a new way than before.
[interlude; Bossman shows up, we don't do bills, he has to leave again. denied for now!]
I realized when I came back to edit and update that today is Wednesday and hence this can't be Tuesdays With Abhorrent Fiends. So I decided to call it Wednesdays with Invisible Friends, only in Spanish because it sounds cooler. Isn't Miércoles cooler-sounding than Wednesday? I wonder where it comes from. I know Wednesday is named for Odin aka Wodin aka the Norse Zeus: Wodin's Day. Like Friday is Freya's Day. I'm not actually sure about Tuesday.
I finished To Say Nothing of the Dog, and liked it so much that I got it for Myke as an Xmas present. (Shh! Don't tell him!) He's been reading more Gibson. And recently wrote an awesome horror story called Daisychains which he ended up telling me the entire plot, scene by scene, on the phone yesterday. And then apologized all over himself for blathering. And I thought to myself, This, this is why I didn't think I had room in my life for this friend. Because if I work eight and a half hours a day, more or less, take buses another hour, sleep six and a half hours, that leaves only eight hours to do other stuff. I know, I know, my schedule is a lot less hectic than some (Pearl, for example!) but I still have to be watchful.
Here I am procrastinating by blogging. Grr. Back to work, you!
winter has dog days too
Sick as a dog. Sick as two dogs. To say nothing of the dog! (Which is a fun book so far, by the way.)
Let it never be said that I don't know what it feels like to have a coughing fit so violent I threw up. At least the person I was on the phone with was advertising something and not someone making a reso! It'd be bad for business to have people hear our employees hacking sickly and making barf noises while they're thinking about the gourmet dinner they're going to eat.
Having dinner with Mom after work. Should stop by Walgreens and get her a belated birthday card, just to have something to show I didn't completely forget.
I dunno what it is, but I'm looking forward to talking with Mom. Like I was telling Dave, yesterday or the day before, there's a perspective on things that she has that nobody else has. And in spite of her illness I value some of that insight. If I can just avoid having to see her so often that she becomes toxic, I can actually stay fond of her. I imagine Amber and Pearl feel similarly about Dad.
Pearl wants to come visit on Saturday; I dunno what time. Dave's going to actually work on Saturday during the day, but go to Elmer's house instead of the office. I'm going with Paula and Dave's cousin Mercita to see that cool psychic, Mina. Maybe I should see if Pearl wants to tag along if she'll be there in time to train it out to Wheaton with me. That would be stellar.
Back to macking the payroll data for me. Let's see if I can get this puppy submitted and not screw the direct deposit people over too badly. See, the physical checks all arrive next-day delivery. But direct deposit funds take three biz days to clear. Meaning if I submit the payroll file at 7:30pm on Thursday, the hardcopy checks get in on Friday, but the direct deposit people don't get their money till Tuesday. Which is what happened last pay period. Which if it happens this pay period will make many people very sad. Which is why I should stop typing and mush. Mush I say!
Let it never be said that I don't know what it feels like to have a coughing fit so violent I threw up. At least the person I was on the phone with was advertising something and not someone making a reso! It'd be bad for business to have people hear our employees hacking sickly and making barf noises while they're thinking about the gourmet dinner they're going to eat.
Having dinner with Mom after work. Should stop by Walgreens and get her a belated birthday card, just to have something to show I didn't completely forget.
I dunno what it is, but I'm looking forward to talking with Mom. Like I was telling Dave, yesterday or the day before, there's a perspective on things that she has that nobody else has. And in spite of her illness I value some of that insight. If I can just avoid having to see her so often that she becomes toxic, I can actually stay fond of her. I imagine Amber and Pearl feel similarly about Dad.
Pearl wants to come visit on Saturday; I dunno what time. Dave's going to actually work on Saturday during the day, but go to Elmer's house instead of the office. I'm going with Paula and Dave's cousin Mercita to see that cool psychic, Mina. Maybe I should see if Pearl wants to tag along if she'll be there in time to train it out to Wheaton with me. That would be stellar.
Back to macking the payroll data for me. Let's see if I can get this puppy submitted and not screw the direct deposit people over too badly. See, the physical checks all arrive next-day delivery. But direct deposit funds take three biz days to clear. Meaning if I submit the payroll file at 7:30pm on Thursday, the hardcopy checks get in on Friday, but the direct deposit people don't get their money till Tuesday. Which is what happened last pay period. Which if it happens this pay period will make many people very sad. Which is why I should stop typing and mush. Mush I say!
I shouldn't be on here now, for oh, variety of reasons. Already posted up. Work to do. Would be more beneficial to my health if I just sat very still and cradled my warm cup of tea in my cold, clawlike fingers. Okay maybe they're not clawlike. Big Z just got in.
So did Bossman.
Ye gods it's amazing how little work we all manage to get done despite being in the office together. Boss and I went over bills, paid enough that it makes me less nailbitey. He seems to have a better handle of where we stand with all these people than I do--except every now and then something happens that makes him seem completely naive and out of the loop. I suppose I must look the same way from other peoples' perspective. Both just spent almost our entire office time on the phone, either with their wives (on both business and family care issues) or with various customers or vendors they insisted on dealing with themselves. Not that I put up much of a fight. The only time I put up a fight on that stuff is when one of them is all "Oh I'll handle it" and then they forget and the customer comes and yells at me because I'm the last one they talked to.
My cup of tea is no longer warm. I grabbed a crust of lunch bread (not the good dinner bread our pastry kitchen makes, the just-alright lunch stuff we buy from Red Hen) and it quieted down my hunger.
My cough is raspy down in my chest and I feel cold all over and I wanna go home. Waaah I wanna go home. Dave reminded me (we met outside for a smoke a few minutes ago) that I am awesome and I should stay positive because I'm gonna come home from work and he'll already be in bed and I can crawl into bed and have a nap before we leave for Lemonheads Night 2. I almost don't want to go, I want to stay home and rest instead. But last night was so much fun and I really was excited about the idea of coming back today. Am to some extent--the extent to which I'm not feeling cold and tired and sick and sleepy.
So did Bossman.
Ye gods it's amazing how little work we all manage to get done despite being in the office together. Boss and I went over bills, paid enough that it makes me less nailbitey. He seems to have a better handle of where we stand with all these people than I do--except every now and then something happens that makes him seem completely naive and out of the loop. I suppose I must look the same way from other peoples' perspective. Both just spent almost our entire office time on the phone, either with their wives (on both business and family care issues) or with various customers or vendors they insisted on dealing with themselves. Not that I put up much of a fight. The only time I put up a fight on that stuff is when one of them is all "Oh I'll handle it" and then they forget and the customer comes and yells at me because I'm the last one they talked to.
My cup of tea is no longer warm. I grabbed a crust of lunch bread (not the good dinner bread our pastry kitchen makes, the just-alright lunch stuff we buy from Red Hen) and it quieted down my hunger.
My cough is raspy down in my chest and I feel cold all over and I wanna go home. Waaah I wanna go home. Dave reminded me (we met outside for a smoke a few minutes ago) that I am awesome and I should stay positive because I'm gonna come home from work and he'll already be in bed and I can crawl into bed and have a nap before we leave for Lemonheads Night 2. I almost don't want to go, I want to stay home and rest instead. But last night was so much fun and I really was excited about the idea of coming back today. Am to some extent--the extent to which I'm not feeling cold and tired and sick and sleepy.
you gotta stay up late, you gotta stay in bed
Nother dream. Bad ending, interesting middle. Remember enough to call it three acts but I don't wanna write it down. Woke up around 5am looking into the mental faces (that visual imagination is working better even just from the intent!) put forth by a couple invisibles I felt acquainted with. Ordinary-looking human faces, nothing startling, like very well-done pencil drawings on a back-of-eyelid-colored background, is how my imagination put them. One more than the other. They were like, We get something like this, we call mama let her know. I was like, Don't, don't call her, I'll do it myself if she's gotta be informed. I think I composed a hasty short speech and did in fact think it in her direction. She ain't all ears--she's all mouths--but some of her mouths are ears. And I guess it worked because I fell right back asleep no prob and wasn't weirded out any further then or after I woke up.
That kind of ending to the dream. Grr. Just so I remember: Stan from American Dad. Cockpit of a plane. Me talking lies to the blackbox.
Dunno why it creeped me out so. I've dreamed scarier, more explicit things. I was less culpable in those other dreams though. Probably why it came out in cartoon. That goddamn drill out in the hallway those construction guys are using to slice tile. It showed up in that poem I wrote last week and I'm even dreaming the sound now. I think I feel guilty about Myke. I think I feel guilty about a lot of things.
I'm tired and sick and I had a hell of a great time last night. The Lemonheads kicked all kinds of ass, and both of their opening bands also proved themselves capable kickers of ass. Dave bought the CD of the first one, I bought the CD of the second. Brought it to work with the intent of putting it in my compy and listening to it, but I don't feel like it right now.
Quiet, want quiet so my ears can come back from their ringyness. Something that one of the characters in Children of Men says, sticks with me and bothers me much now: That ringing in your ears? That's the sound of your nerve cells dying. When the ringing stops, you'll never hear that tone again.
I was sitting on the train coming back home last night, thinking of that. I had somehow the notion in my mind that if my ears hurt instead of ringing, if the ringing faded out with pain instead of comfort, that maybe the nerves weren't dead after all, just stunned. Pain is one of the things a nerve transmits, right? Maybe the ones that bring pain are different from the ones that bring sound. I wish I knew more [interrupted by phone] .
Yeah, I wish I knew more. "Always, she asks for knowledge." (said with rolled eyes and a deep, if fond, exasperation.) I wrote about that statement before, I think.
Truly, if it weren't that I'm sick and cold and grouchy for various reasons, I would think I had started to well and truly craze a little. (Remember, craze is a verb also. It's what happens to glass when it's pushed outward by, say, an explosion, enough to develop those spiderweb cracks all over but not enough to shatter.)
(Oh thank dog the hostess is here and backing me up on the phone.)
Boss and big Z didn't do punches last night as they both promised me they would, so I can't do jack about payroll which everyone's been bugging me about for a week. We barely paid any bills at all last week and yesterday was meant to be bill-paying day for this week AND last week. We didn't do any of that, so my report on Bills We Ought To Pay is friggin huge and Boss was supposed to come in at nine thirty to go over it with me and vendors have been calling and asking what's happening with their payment.
And now the hostess (Angel today. Jaye was bomb yesterday! She's actually doing private party stuff and I am exceedingly relieved!) is down here. Because of all the construction she can't hear to talk on the phone anywhere else. Which means I should probably start doing work soon and stop posting on my blog.
But but but. I was so happy at the show. So happy the whole time. The first song they played was Hospital, which I never never expected to hear, and I got this big happy grin on my face that lasted all through the set. Even during the jumping up and down and beer-drinking parts.
There's a disease
going 'round the hospital
green green leaves
falling from the trees
you gotta run away
you gotta spin a web
you gotta stay up late
you gotta stay in bed
Even Dave said it was like a perfect setlist. He normally has the connoisseur's woe, that his tastes in concerts are so refined that he's almost never completely happy. But this time he was completely happy with it. The opening bands are both good, and the Lemonheads' set contained, as Dave put it, ten of the eleven songs he had been scrupulously avoiding thinking about with his conscious mind. Thereby freeing, by my view, the resources of the rest of his mind to nudge the Lemonheads towards wanting to play the songs that he, Dave, was not-thinking about with such intensity and passion.
And then to have this dream, which contained many elements I don't feel like writing down, wake me up at five after I'd just gotten to sleep at one-thirty, bone tired and still a little tipsy. May not even have been the dream. May have been just the dryness in my throat. When I woke up I was laying on my back, my mouth was open, and the air in the room was very warm and dry because Dave had turned the space heater on before he came to bed. First thing I did (after the brief mental conversation I mentioned above) was get the water bottle and drink some, then give Dave some to drink as well. (He was barely awake enough to do this.) Drink of water actually helped me remember further facts about the dream.
How do I end up sleeping on my back with my mouth open? Does it mean anything? Am I just clinging to this because it's me, it's within the ambit of things belonging to my identity, and I want to stay as long as possible in it before I go back to work?
Yes. I'm going to go read book and smoke, despite how cold I am, because I think I need to.
That kind of ending to the dream. Grr. Just so I remember: Stan from American Dad. Cockpit of a plane. Me talking lies to the blackbox.
Dunno why it creeped me out so. I've dreamed scarier, more explicit things. I was less culpable in those other dreams though. Probably why it came out in cartoon. That goddamn drill out in the hallway those construction guys are using to slice tile. It showed up in that poem I wrote last week and I'm even dreaming the sound now. I think I feel guilty about Myke. I think I feel guilty about a lot of things.
I'm tired and sick and I had a hell of a great time last night. The Lemonheads kicked all kinds of ass, and both of their opening bands also proved themselves capable kickers of ass. Dave bought the CD of the first one, I bought the CD of the second. Brought it to work with the intent of putting it in my compy and listening to it, but I don't feel like it right now.
Quiet, want quiet so my ears can come back from their ringyness. Something that one of the characters in Children of Men says, sticks with me and bothers me much now: That ringing in your ears? That's the sound of your nerve cells dying. When the ringing stops, you'll never hear that tone again.
I was sitting on the train coming back home last night, thinking of that. I had somehow the notion in my mind that if my ears hurt instead of ringing, if the ringing faded out with pain instead of comfort, that maybe the nerves weren't dead after all, just stunned. Pain is one of the things a nerve transmits, right? Maybe the ones that bring pain are different from the ones that bring sound. I wish I knew more [interrupted by phone] .
Yeah, I wish I knew more. "Always, she asks for knowledge." (said with rolled eyes and a deep, if fond, exasperation.) I wrote about that statement before, I think.
Truly, if it weren't that I'm sick and cold and grouchy for various reasons, I would think I had started to well and truly craze a little. (Remember, craze is a verb also. It's what happens to glass when it's pushed outward by, say, an explosion, enough to develop those spiderweb cracks all over but not enough to shatter.)
(Oh thank dog the hostess is here and backing me up on the phone.)
Boss and big Z didn't do punches last night as they both promised me they would, so I can't do jack about payroll which everyone's been bugging me about for a week. We barely paid any bills at all last week and yesterday was meant to be bill-paying day for this week AND last week. We didn't do any of that, so my report on Bills We Ought To Pay is friggin huge and Boss was supposed to come in at nine thirty to go over it with me and vendors have been calling and asking what's happening with their payment.
And now the hostess (Angel today. Jaye was bomb yesterday! She's actually doing private party stuff and I am exceedingly relieved!) is down here. Because of all the construction she can't hear to talk on the phone anywhere else. Which means I should probably start doing work soon and stop posting on my blog.
But but but. I was so happy at the show. So happy the whole time. The first song they played was Hospital, which I never never expected to hear, and I got this big happy grin on my face that lasted all through the set. Even during the jumping up and down and beer-drinking parts.
There's a disease
going 'round the hospital
green green leaves
falling from the trees
you gotta run away
you gotta spin a web
you gotta stay up late
you gotta stay in bed
Even Dave said it was like a perfect setlist. He normally has the connoisseur's woe, that his tastes in concerts are so refined that he's almost never completely happy. But this time he was completely happy with it. The opening bands are both good, and the Lemonheads' set contained, as Dave put it, ten of the eleven songs he had been scrupulously avoiding thinking about with his conscious mind. Thereby freeing, by my view, the resources of the rest of his mind to nudge the Lemonheads towards wanting to play the songs that he, Dave, was not-thinking about with such intensity and passion.
And then to have this dream, which contained many elements I don't feel like writing down, wake me up at five after I'd just gotten to sleep at one-thirty, bone tired and still a little tipsy. May not even have been the dream. May have been just the dryness in my throat. When I woke up I was laying on my back, my mouth was open, and the air in the room was very warm and dry because Dave had turned the space heater on before he came to bed. First thing I did (after the brief mental conversation I mentioned above) was get the water bottle and drink some, then give Dave some to drink as well. (He was barely awake enough to do this.) Drink of water actually helped me remember further facts about the dream.
How do I end up sleeping on my back with my mouth open? Does it mean anything? Am I just clinging to this because it's me, it's within the ambit of things belonging to my identity, and I want to stay as long as possible in it before I go back to work?
Yes. I'm going to go read book and smoke, despite how cold I am, because I think I need to.
Tuesdays With Abhorrent Fiends vol. 23
Tom Cruise is Tom Cruise crazy
Just be glad it's him not you
If you had Tom Cruise's troubles
You might be Tom Cruise crazy too
You'd flash your big, white, shiny smile
And wear expensive shoes
But you'd be the only man on earth
Who couldn't enjoy Tom Cruise
- Jonathan Coulton
Tonight, we go to see the Lemonheads! Possibly tomorrow as well, if Dave can locate tickets.
Afterflux has come and gone, like Bureauflux before it. Not having a calendar is killer, but having one is part of my evil plan to make myself more good. Let me esplain zis plan.
Step one: take leave of Myke. This is a move I talked about with Dave yesterday, and Dave actually talked some sense into me on the subject. I am bad at leaving people, especially people who haven't given me a reason why they specifically deserve to be left, and such is my brother Myke. Until I do something, like in this case sending him back all the stuff I have borrowed from him with a note of apology, my guilt and repressed annoyance / aggression will stand in the way of me making big changes in my psyche.
Step two: press the reset button in my visual imagination station. I dunno if the thing I have in mind will work--with this sort of thing, you never know what the correct action is until you're about to do it. It's a move I contemplate with great loathing and longing and trepidation.
Step three: consecrate and mentalize my dayplanner. Step two has to be done before this one, because you can't mentalize a physical object until your visual imagination is well-disciplined.
Yes, yes, I should do the hammer exercise before I try it with something complicated and editable like a dayplanner. Maybe instead of a hammer I should try the first experiment with a pen or some other object I like lots and use lots. Whole point of doing visualization practice with a hammer is that it's a tool which is familiar and used for many things. Then again, the exercise was almost certainly developed back in the day when most young men who would aspire to magical dealings had spent time in their lives building things. The ruler I carried into the dream with me that time is a good example of object mentalizing. A tool I am familiar with, have used many times, and which has many uses. Course I didn't do the visual part first--which is probably why I can't call it up in dreams anymore. Not a solid enough mind-bond to hold it in inventory. I have repeatedly dreamed (retained fragments more often than not, though on some of the older ones I got the whole thing) of being about to go into combat, turning to my hoard of weapons, and finding them all flimsy and rusty and poorly-made or poorly-suited to the job. In a recent dream where this happened, I recall getting a crappy implement out of the box/pile/shelf, starting to fight and having it bend in half the first time I struck my foe with it. So I tossed the "weapon" away, felt myself recede out to the third-person perspective and watch my dream-self dispatch the opponent with my/her bare hands.
Anyway, I've clearly gone fullspeed into a ramble, a good indication that I have no plans beyond Step Three, not even vague mental ones.
I am a sneaky, pouting doormat in some aspects. This is what this next group of transformations is meant to correct. My large deficiency in earth magic having been sorely dented, I now must resolve my problems with water in order to advance.
[time passes]
As good old Gareth Knight has written, the initiate knows how to do magic; the adept is magic.
Just be glad it's him not you
If you had Tom Cruise's troubles
You might be Tom Cruise crazy too
You'd flash your big, white, shiny smile
And wear expensive shoes
But you'd be the only man on earth
Who couldn't enjoy Tom Cruise
- Jonathan Coulton
Tonight, we go to see the Lemonheads! Possibly tomorrow as well, if Dave can locate tickets.
Afterflux has come and gone, like Bureauflux before it. Not having a calendar is killer, but having one is part of my evil plan to make myself more good. Let me esplain zis plan.
Step one: take leave of Myke. This is a move I talked about with Dave yesterday, and Dave actually talked some sense into me on the subject. I am bad at leaving people, especially people who haven't given me a reason why they specifically deserve to be left, and such is my brother Myke. Until I do something, like in this case sending him back all the stuff I have borrowed from him with a note of apology, my guilt and repressed annoyance / aggression will stand in the way of me making big changes in my psyche.
Step two: press the reset button in my visual imagination station. I dunno if the thing I have in mind will work--with this sort of thing, you never know what the correct action is until you're about to do it. It's a move I contemplate with great loathing and longing and trepidation.
Step three: consecrate and mentalize my dayplanner. Step two has to be done before this one, because you can't mentalize a physical object until your visual imagination is well-disciplined.
Yes, yes, I should do the hammer exercise before I try it with something complicated and editable like a dayplanner. Maybe instead of a hammer I should try the first experiment with a pen or some other object I like lots and use lots. Whole point of doing visualization practice with a hammer is that it's a tool which is familiar and used for many things. Then again, the exercise was almost certainly developed back in the day when most young men who would aspire to magical dealings had spent time in their lives building things. The ruler I carried into the dream with me that time is a good example of object mentalizing. A tool I am familiar with, have used many times, and which has many uses. Course I didn't do the visual part first--which is probably why I can't call it up in dreams anymore. Not a solid enough mind-bond to hold it in inventory. I have repeatedly dreamed (retained fragments more often than not, though on some of the older ones I got the whole thing) of being about to go into combat, turning to my hoard of weapons, and finding them all flimsy and rusty and poorly-made or poorly-suited to the job. In a recent dream where this happened, I recall getting a crappy implement out of the box/pile/shelf, starting to fight and having it bend in half the first time I struck my foe with it. So I tossed the "weapon" away, felt myself recede out to the third-person perspective and watch my dream-self dispatch the opponent with my/her bare hands.
Anyway, I've clearly gone fullspeed into a ramble, a good indication that I have no plans beyond Step Three, not even vague mental ones.
I am a sneaky, pouting doormat in some aspects. This is what this next group of transformations is meant to correct. My large deficiency in earth magic having been sorely dented, I now must resolve my problems with water in order to advance.
[time passes]
As good old Gareth Knight has written, the initiate knows how to do magic; the adept is magic.
please don't trample the water lilies
Good weekend, feeling pretty good. Don't at all feel like writing or posting up which is why I think I should. Didn't answer calls from Amber and Pearl this weekend, didn't get the feeling they were uber urgent, I'll call back eventually. Missed Mom's b-day, no call no show no card. Meg and Fey had both called me the previous evening, which I also missed, most likely among other things to remind me not to forget Mom's b-day. I hope she didn't give them grief for me forgetting.
Anyway the thing I wanted to not write about (which is why I think I ought to write about it) is about my visual imagination and fear of mirrors. Talked with Clarissa this morning and told her about shutting my visual imagination off and how I did it, and she very sensibly said that whatever needs to come back in should return by the same door it went out. Or something like that. Which makes me feel as pouty and recalcitrant as thinking about taking better care of myself so as to look nice and be treated in accordance with my hotness and professionalism. All of these things are water magic. The visual imagination, the use of mirrors, the perceptions of others based on your appearance and demeanor and the different interaction styles this makes default or easily available for you, and of course the process of cathection itself. By which is meant, the binding together of emotion and memory so that both memory of event and the internal clock of the evolution of the personality are contiguous through time. The evolution clock can't (as far as I know!) be tampered with, although it takes practice to access it and really the only info it contains is what it's made of--like psychic DNA, you have to turn it into something else before you have any idea what it's going to turn into. But the memory-of-event time track itself, as everyone from Freud to Foul Ole Ron will tell you, is as easy to fuck with a thing as you could ask for.
So yes. I have lots of fun issues with water magic to work on. And the fact that I'm writing them down, growly about it or no, indicates I'm about do be able to / find it necessary to do something about at least some of them.
Anyway the thing I wanted to not write about (which is why I think I ought to write about it) is about my visual imagination and fear of mirrors. Talked with Clarissa this morning and told her about shutting my visual imagination off and how I did it, and she very sensibly said that whatever needs to come back in should return by the same door it went out. Or something like that. Which makes me feel as pouty and recalcitrant as thinking about taking better care of myself so as to look nice and be treated in accordance with my hotness and professionalism. All of these things are water magic. The visual imagination, the use of mirrors, the perceptions of others based on your appearance and demeanor and the different interaction styles this makes default or easily available for you, and of course the process of cathection itself. By which is meant, the binding together of emotion and memory so that both memory of event and the internal clock of the evolution of the personality are contiguous through time. The evolution clock can't (as far as I know!) be tampered with, although it takes practice to access it and really the only info it contains is what it's made of--like psychic DNA, you have to turn it into something else before you have any idea what it's going to turn into. But the memory-of-event time track itself, as everyone from Freud to Foul Ole Ron will tell you, is as easy to fuck with a thing as you could ask for.
So yes. I have lots of fun issues with water magic to work on. And the fact that I'm writing them down, growly about it or no, indicates I'm about do be able to / find it necessary to do something about at least some of them.
in other news
Well now.
I wrote that yesterday poem at work. Which means something.
Those months ago I got that thing that went "poetry won't come back to me till I'm done with this, whatever the hell this is." In part because of the situations and moods in which I unexpectedly remember bits of it with great feeling, I've become increasingly convinced that it was one of those prophecy dealies.
Poetry has come back to me; therefore I am done with "this". The this in question was almost certainly one of those initiation-via-sneakiness-of-universe deals. You know, personality changes that you can't know you're working on or else it wouldn't gel properly. Or something. In my made-up space language the way of describing it is to say I'm an air mage who completed her journeyman's work in earth magic. And since everything that passes through the manifest universe partakes of all elements, in order to do this I had to get above my remedial level in fire magic and resolve some of the problems I'd been having with water magic.
As to how it can be told in something other than my made-up space language, well, that might take some time. You know how the symbol set you're using in large part determines which aspects of reality you have the power to describe? That's the whole reason for making up crazy terminologies in the first place. To enable the terminology-user to pay attention.
[intermission]
Taking care of yourself, changing your outward demeanor and the way people treat you, being a leader, displaying confidence. Every now and then Bossman will have a little pep talk with me about this--more like a pep talk than traditional advice-giving, anyway. He's certainly more encouraging than Dad! Just like we did just now. I even said to him, look, the actual practice of being a leader, of doing the things, I have no problem with. It's being seen to be a leader, to have confidence and things like that, even when I just think about it I get all locked up. Some people are afraid of heights or small spaces, I'm afraid of that. And he said something like, But this is good, this gives me great confidence in you. This fear you are feeling comes from some insecurity, which means you have really considered the subject and aren't just being cocksure. If you didn't have that fear I would be worried.
And he said I should watch Devil Wears Prada; he knows the lady whose life it's based on. She is, he said, an extreme example of the kind of thing he's talking about, but she is extremely successful because of her mastery of that world and the way of presenting oneself that is necessary to succeed in that world.
Grr. So helpful to be interrupted. Now I know exactly what my next thing on my to-do list is, and as always, it makes me angry. The grumpy pouty kind of angry, not anything more sinister. Hell, Dave's been preaching this line to me for months--years!. And I've still got that irrational fear.
You hide something your entire life, you build whole areas of your identity around the assumptions necessary for keeping it hidden, keeping hidden even the processes by which you went about hiding it. However you get from burying it in a steel bunker guarded by shark ninjas in a cave under a mountain at the bottom of the sea, to nailing it up over your front door, it is bound to be long, painful and exceedingly embarassing.
I wrote that yesterday poem at work. Which means something.
Those months ago I got that thing that went "poetry won't come back to me till I'm done with this, whatever the hell this is." In part because of the situations and moods in which I unexpectedly remember bits of it with great feeling, I've become increasingly convinced that it was one of those prophecy dealies.
Poetry has come back to me; therefore I am done with "this". The this in question was almost certainly one of those initiation-via-sneakiness-of-universe deals. You know, personality changes that you can't know you're working on or else it wouldn't gel properly. Or something. In my made-up space language the way of describing it is to say I'm an air mage who completed her journeyman's work in earth magic. And since everything that passes through the manifest universe partakes of all elements, in order to do this I had to get above my remedial level in fire magic and resolve some of the problems I'd been having with water magic.
As to how it can be told in something other than my made-up space language, well, that might take some time. You know how the symbol set you're using in large part determines which aspects of reality you have the power to describe? That's the whole reason for making up crazy terminologies in the first place. To enable the terminology-user to pay attention.
[intermission]
Taking care of yourself, changing your outward demeanor and the way people treat you, being a leader, displaying confidence. Every now and then Bossman will have a little pep talk with me about this--more like a pep talk than traditional advice-giving, anyway. He's certainly more encouraging than Dad! Just like we did just now. I even said to him, look, the actual practice of being a leader, of doing the things, I have no problem with. It's being seen to be a leader, to have confidence and things like that, even when I just think about it I get all locked up. Some people are afraid of heights or small spaces, I'm afraid of that. And he said something like, But this is good, this gives me great confidence in you. This fear you are feeling comes from some insecurity, which means you have really considered the subject and aren't just being cocksure. If you didn't have that fear I would be worried.
And he said I should watch Devil Wears Prada; he knows the lady whose life it's based on. She is, he said, an extreme example of the kind of thing he's talking about, but she is extremely successful because of her mastery of that world and the way of presenting oneself that is necessary to succeed in that world.
Grr. So helpful to be interrupted. Now I know exactly what my next thing on my to-do list is, and as always, it makes me angry. The grumpy pouty kind of angry, not anything more sinister. Hell, Dave's been preaching this line to me for months--years!. And I've still got that irrational fear.
You hide something your entire life, you build whole areas of your identity around the assumptions necessary for keeping it hidden, keeping hidden even the processes by which you went about hiding it. However you get from burying it in a steel bunker guarded by shark ninjas in a cave under a mountain at the bottom of the sea, to nailing it up over your front door, it is bound to be long, painful and exceedingly embarassing.
block
isn't a round edge in town
leaves silver and brown
cold rolled down to bone.
isn't a warm hand in sight
red-knuckled and white-
skinned fingers like stone.
crack of a window, crack of a sheet
of the ice on my eyelids, my tracks in the street.
let through what ain't frozen
let out what must freeze
like the sun you can't hold in
the fingers of trees
never a moment that's dull
saw slicing the tile, dead whine
as the cut pieces fall.
go caulk them into the floor
let it hold what bears down,
solid weights, as I step through the door.
plane of the sidewalk, angled to roll
down to slush-cluttered gutters, the bridges of trolls.
let through what ain't broken
let in what holds still
like the light that just pokes in
from over the sill
can't find a surface that's flat
from the step where I perch my rear end
to the brim of my hat.
come now, fit yourself in the lock
tell the square hole you're far from the only
round peg on the block.
leaves silver and brown
cold rolled down to bone.
isn't a warm hand in sight
red-knuckled and white-
skinned fingers like stone.
crack of a window, crack of a sheet
of the ice on my eyelids, my tracks in the street.
let through what ain't frozen
let out what must freeze
like the sun you can't hold in
the fingers of trees
never a moment that's dull
saw slicing the tile, dead whine
as the cut pieces fall.
go caulk them into the floor
let it hold what bears down,
solid weights, as I step through the door.
plane of the sidewalk, angled to roll
down to slush-cluttered gutters, the bridges of trolls.
let through what ain't broken
let in what holds still
like the light that just pokes in
from over the sill
can't find a surface that's flat
from the step where I perch my rear end
to the brim of my hat.
come now, fit yourself in the lock
tell the square hole you're far from the only
round peg on the block.
Tuesdays With Abhorrent Fiends vol. 22
We could hear the bossa nova
we could sway the night away
the steps of the dance
are best left up to chance
better beautiful than perfect anyway
While the moon wanes and waxes,
death and taxes are lurking out there
Life is grand
Love is real
Beauty is everywhere
--the Peacemakers
Last night I said to Dave I'd been thinking "Beauty Is Everywhere" by the Peacemakers would be a great theme song for the year 2008. He said since it's really been the theme song of the last few months of him and me, it'd be kind of a Johnny-come-lately to give it to next year. So I've been pondering the question and I think I have a candidate. "How Do You Afford Your Rock and Roll Lifestyle" by Cake. Because we can't afford the sort of rock and roll lifestyle to which we would like to become accustomed, and 2008 will likely remind us of that repeatedly.
And again, Dave being smart. I was saying, there's all this debate and discussion and newshounding about baseball because it has nothing to do with the powerful factions who control our lives and steal our money, so we're "allowed" to develop real news about it. He says that's not even the issue. It's just there's too many people who all care about completely different things, and not enough people at the same time care about any one of the things I mentioned to do anything about it.
I had a scary moment last night--I went online and paid the past due balance on the electric bill, then went to my bank's website to check my balance. Turned out the paycheck I put in early evening last Friday had not, at that point, posted. I'd run the groceries as credit on Saturday and the electric company webpage said "pay with credit/debit/ATM" so I'm thinking it wouldn't have posted till today anyhow. But still I turned to Dave and was like, "I think I'll pay the gas bill and order us more tobacco tomorrow." I looked this morning and, yay! My check has now posted and I didn't get any overdraft fees. Still, I feel it was a near thing.
The Heroes season finale was so awesome last night! *wagwag* I simply must get both seasons of that show on DVD at some point. I suspect it's one of those shows that, like Arrested Development, gets miles better when you watch a whole bunch of episodes in a row so all the references make sense because they stuck in your mind. Granted, with AD it's hilarious details instead of dramatic ones, but I like this series so much they'd stick in my mind anyway, week to week. Spose I'm now a bona fide fan and all. I like them all! Even the villains are complex enough that I don't condemn them and in a way I root for them as well! I can't wait to see what happens when Adam Monroe aka Takezo Kensei, Angela Petrelli, Bob, Sylar, and Noah Bennett all find ways of going medieval on one another (and the rest of humanity) in horrible revenge, largely justifiable preventative strikes, or completely in-character psychopathic rampaging as the case may be! :D :D Yes, yes, some of the heroes are annoying. Claire Bennett and Peter Petrelli are dumb in ways that only main characters are usually dumb, but their screen time is balanced so well against so many other, more complicated characters that you hardly notice they're the central axes around which the plots grind on.
I want to write more now, because Boss just stepped out and the day hostess just stepped in, but I can't think of anything. Weird. I'm'a go smoke a cigarette and read some more Lord Darcy stories and probably aggravate this fun flu I've got.
we could sway the night away
the steps of the dance
are best left up to chance
better beautiful than perfect anyway
While the moon wanes and waxes,
death and taxes are lurking out there
Life is grand
Love is real
Beauty is everywhere
--the Peacemakers
Last night I said to Dave I'd been thinking "Beauty Is Everywhere" by the Peacemakers would be a great theme song for the year 2008. He said since it's really been the theme song of the last few months of him and me, it'd be kind of a Johnny-come-lately to give it to next year. So I've been pondering the question and I think I have a candidate. "How Do You Afford Your Rock and Roll Lifestyle" by Cake. Because we can't afford the sort of rock and roll lifestyle to which we would like to become accustomed, and 2008 will likely remind us of that repeatedly.
And again, Dave being smart. I was saying, there's all this debate and discussion and newshounding about baseball because it has nothing to do with the powerful factions who control our lives and steal our money, so we're "allowed" to develop real news about it. He says that's not even the issue. It's just there's too many people who all care about completely different things, and not enough people at the same time care about any one of the things I mentioned to do anything about it.
I had a scary moment last night--I went online and paid the past due balance on the electric bill, then went to my bank's website to check my balance. Turned out the paycheck I put in early evening last Friday had not, at that point, posted. I'd run the groceries as credit on Saturday and the electric company webpage said "pay with credit/debit/ATM" so I'm thinking it wouldn't have posted till today anyhow. But still I turned to Dave and was like, "I think I'll pay the gas bill and order us more tobacco tomorrow." I looked this morning and, yay! My check has now posted and I didn't get any overdraft fees. Still, I feel it was a near thing.
The Heroes season finale was so awesome last night! *wagwag* I simply must get both seasons of that show on DVD at some point. I suspect it's one of those shows that, like Arrested Development, gets miles better when you watch a whole bunch of episodes in a row so all the references make sense because they stuck in your mind. Granted, with AD it's hilarious details instead of dramatic ones, but I like this series so much they'd stick in my mind anyway, week to week. Spose I'm now a bona fide fan and all. I like them all! Even the villains are complex enough that I don't condemn them and in a way I root for them as well! I can't wait to see what happens when Adam Monroe aka Takezo Kensei, Angela Petrelli, Bob, Sylar, and Noah Bennett all find ways of going medieval on one another (and the rest of humanity) in horrible revenge, largely justifiable preventative strikes, or completely in-character psychopathic rampaging as the case may be! :D :D Yes, yes, some of the heroes are annoying. Claire Bennett and Peter Petrelli are dumb in ways that only main characters are usually dumb, but their screen time is balanced so well against so many other, more complicated characters that you hardly notice they're the central axes around which the plots grind on.
I want to write more now, because Boss just stepped out and the day hostess just stepped in, but I can't think of anything. Weird. I'm'a go smoke a cigarette and read some more Lord Darcy stories and probably aggravate this fun flu I've got.
welcome the club
Been whinin' about no dream logs lately, so here's the fragment I remember.
Me and other person had climbed to the top of a something. It was the end of a long plotline of searching, climbing and finding. We were indoors, but a window beyond the top of the pile of whatever it was we were climbing looked out onto the road beyond. Daytime, not sure what season. Up on a shelf to my left as I reached the top I found a round white disc, bout as big as a dollar coin. Made of plastic or wood covered in that white covering that makes it feel like plastic. Patina of dirt across the surface, like the old dry dirt you find on the flat surface next to a potted plant that's been there awhile. On the face printed in black ink was an old-timey symbol of clubs. I didn't think it aloud but I recognized it was the ace of clubs. The person I was climbing with saw it too as I picked it up; neither of us said anything. I was going to kiss the disc but I didn't want to get the dirt that was on it in my mouth, so I brushed it across my cheek and it only slightly touched my lips. Then I turned to the person I'd been climbing with. She was wearing a white button-down shirt and seemed to be hurt or in pain somehow, so she took her shirt off (or we did?). And underneath she was wearing something like a cross between that weird twisty looking black "aromor" chick sorceresses wear in the movies, some sort of medical device (like the electroshock pads the main character guy strapped to his head in that scene in Running With Scissors) or a brace of some kind. It went all over her ribcage and supported her breasts as well, though there the black material held together white bandages. I touched the end of one of the curly parts and it bent up a little bit, like it wasn't firmly attached.
Important themes include: fire magic (ace of clubs). Dave (I got a sense the girl represented him, not one of my brain-sprites! I'd dreamed him last night as well, the dream where we were in the still-under-construction shop that had a bar where they had designer air on tap). Fear of contamination or bad patterns from the past (dirt, weird medical "support/armor" device).
They gonna take private parties away from me. Soon, soon I hope! And I gonna stay. Either I'm a dumb bunny or this is my best vantage point to come into the new year, 2008, which I have already named the Year of Great Change. I've so enjoyed the Year Without Disaster and in many ways I wish it could go on.
Bought my new dayplanner today. I want to start studying it now so by the time the Year rolls around I can make it my mental dayplanner as well. This visual imagination stuff, I've got to do, got to get less remedial in, before I can move forward with so many other things.
Me and other person had climbed to the top of a something. It was the end of a long plotline of searching, climbing and finding. We were indoors, but a window beyond the top of the pile of whatever it was we were climbing looked out onto the road beyond. Daytime, not sure what season. Up on a shelf to my left as I reached the top I found a round white disc, bout as big as a dollar coin. Made of plastic or wood covered in that white covering that makes it feel like plastic. Patina of dirt across the surface, like the old dry dirt you find on the flat surface next to a potted plant that's been there awhile. On the face printed in black ink was an old-timey symbol of clubs. I didn't think it aloud but I recognized it was the ace of clubs. The person I was climbing with saw it too as I picked it up; neither of us said anything. I was going to kiss the disc but I didn't want to get the dirt that was on it in my mouth, so I brushed it across my cheek and it only slightly touched my lips. Then I turned to the person I'd been climbing with. She was wearing a white button-down shirt and seemed to be hurt or in pain somehow, so she took her shirt off (or we did?). And underneath she was wearing something like a cross between that weird twisty looking black "aromor" chick sorceresses wear in the movies, some sort of medical device (like the electroshock pads the main character guy strapped to his head in that scene in Running With Scissors) or a brace of some kind. It went all over her ribcage and supported her breasts as well, though there the black material held together white bandages. I touched the end of one of the curly parts and it bent up a little bit, like it wasn't firmly attached.
Important themes include: fire magic (ace of clubs). Dave (I got a sense the girl represented him, not one of my brain-sprites! I'd dreamed him last night as well, the dream where we were in the still-under-construction shop that had a bar where they had designer air on tap). Fear of contamination or bad patterns from the past (dirt, weird medical "support/armor" device).
They gonna take private parties away from me. Soon, soon I hope! And I gonna stay. Either I'm a dumb bunny or this is my best vantage point to come into the new year, 2008, which I have already named the Year of Great Change. I've so enjoyed the Year Without Disaster and in many ways I wish it could go on.
Bought my new dayplanner today. I want to start studying it now so by the time the Year rolls around I can make it my mental dayplanner as well. This visual imagination stuff, I've got to do, got to get less remedial in, before I can move forward with so many other things.
no alarms and no surprises, please
End of day yesterday Mohammad and Zubair proposed to me that they train someone else to take over private parties for me (Jaye, she's got conceirge skillz) and I stay. I said I'd think about it.
This morning Roberta, one of our pastry cooks, found out her father died. I really suck at comforting the grieving but I managed to sit with her and hug her and not put my foot too far into my mouth. I told her, I wish I loved my parents that much. I didn't tell her I envied the purity and power of her grief because to say you envy someone whose beloved parent just passed is really, really bad form. At one point me and Mohammad and Zubair were talking about rent and Elmer's foibles and she rushed out of the room. Which confused me until I found out much later in the day that her father's name was also Elmer. Oops. By all accounts Roberta's father was a wonderful man and will be sore missed not just by her. A few people have asked for the funeral info and she gave it to me over the phone (hence I found out his first name) and am holding it till said people ask me for it.
I am sick. Realized I was sick last night--sore throat, sniffles, whole nine yards. Today has been a horrid day but we managed to get things mostly worked out. I'm sitting here typing in my blog because I can't do payroll stuff, because Zubair didn't edit the punch-in, punch-outs for me last night and today kept getting derailed by crisis after crisis. But he will come back in tonight; I'm hoping he can do them for me tonight and I can do the Excel part, so that it'll be easy to finish up and submit the file tomorrow so the checks arrive Friday. Really really want the checks to arrive Friday. Want to pay December's rent and spend my remaining fifty bucks on some laundry, maybe put some money in my buscard.
Gotta type up menus for tonights private dining event. Later.
This morning Roberta, one of our pastry cooks, found out her father died. I really suck at comforting the grieving but I managed to sit with her and hug her and not put my foot too far into my mouth. I told her, I wish I loved my parents that much. I didn't tell her I envied the purity and power of her grief because to say you envy someone whose beloved parent just passed is really, really bad form. At one point me and Mohammad and Zubair were talking about rent and Elmer's foibles and she rushed out of the room. Which confused me until I found out much later in the day that her father's name was also Elmer. Oops. By all accounts Roberta's father was a wonderful man and will be sore missed not just by her. A few people have asked for the funeral info and she gave it to me over the phone (hence I found out his first name) and am holding it till said people ask me for it.
I am sick. Realized I was sick last night--sore throat, sniffles, whole nine yards. Today has been a horrid day but we managed to get things mostly worked out. I'm sitting here typing in my blog because I can't do payroll stuff, because Zubair didn't edit the punch-in, punch-outs for me last night and today kept getting derailed by crisis after crisis. But he will come back in tonight; I'm hoping he can do them for me tonight and I can do the Excel part, so that it'll be easy to finish up and submit the file tomorrow so the checks arrive Friday. Really really want the checks to arrive Friday. Want to pay December's rent and spend my remaining fifty bucks on some laundry, maybe put some money in my buscard.
Gotta type up menus for tonights private dining event. Later.
Tuesdays with Abhorrent Fiends vol. 21
Happy Tuesday for true!
Something in motion, as that race of cat-people in that novel Black/on/Black might say. What it is, who knows?
Me and Dave had a great time last night. Just having our normal evening. The undercurrent of strain that sometimes mars it was not there, or rather got banished early on in the evening and didn't come back. All to the good. We watched Heroes (yay!) and a Twilight Zone called "Eye of the Beholder" whose twist I totally called like five minutes into the episode. Dave had already seen it, so I just looked over and saw him smile that sharp (but happy in this case!) little smile of his and knew I was right.
Aye, I wonder if we could play Mafia together these days. Years ago when we tried it it didn't work, because withholding information from each other hurt too much and made us distrustful and moody.
I am envious of Val Con and Miri and their wizardy lifemate bond, having just re-read Agent of Change and Carpe Diem. If we work at it, who knows, perhaps Dave and I can do some of the things they do. Things seem to be moving in a way that our magics are becoming more entwined. Nothing visible or especially explainable to others just yet. It doesn't frustrate me like it used to that I can't use my gift on Dave--y'know, the one where I reach for the right words and they just come. Better that way. Better that we both should have to work to learn the secret languages of the other; magic and love are both terribly, wonderfully important things and there should be no glibness in combining them!
I got in early and got to hang out with Clarissa for awhile this morning. (Time so far today has grooved most propitiously for me. Look, I'm getting a chance to make a blog post at work two days in a row! How often does that happen?) We talked mostly witchy stuff. I'm always surprised when I do get to use my gift with someone. Because I mostly hang out with Dave, who is exempt, Dad, who is immune (due to his misery system), and people at work, with whom that type of interaction would be inappropriate and weird. The idea keeps coming up between us how cool it would be to [interrupted here] get together a gaggle of our witchy friends and relatives so we could all share ideas and learn from each other and just have people to talk to who understood. The interruption was Mohammad walking into the room and working on something else, then leaving without asking me for anything. A good image of my hesitation on the issue. We all have other stuff going on, and even if it's very casual, bringing together a group of self-aware magic users (as distinct from those not aware of their magic use, which is almost everybody!) is a major big deal thing and best to let grow into its own time. If enough of us feel a need, things will come together so that it can happen. If we try to force it beforehand, the relationships that would need to develop between the people would be stunted and weirdified and it would cause unnecessary conflicts.
But! Among other things we ended up mentioning New Orleans and Chicago. How Chicago likes its people best when they've got their minds on their work, how we both think of the big statue of Ceres at the Board of Trade as looking down with approval at the endless stream of working people striding purposefully by with numbers and to-do lists clanking away in their heads. She says she doesn't think New Orleans likes anybody; people do strange things when they go there. She says she thinks New Orleans likes to bring out the worst in people just to see what's there, just to see what they'll do. Another swamp, like Chicago but unlike. I would, I think, enjoy visiting New Orleans at some point just to see what pops up (my guess would be its weirdness would manifest for me with invisible stuff mostly, but who knows? best to have health insurance before traveling there!)--but like Clarissa, I don't think I'd enjoy living in a city with a personality like that.
And I told her how I talked to Jimmy last week for the first time in ages. He's still there, still snickering at me and working behind the curtain. We exchanged like two sentences, but he cured my writers' block on Anatomy of Trust by giving me a new idea! The faculties, he said, are the defining characteristic of a sapient entity. By which he referred to the faculties of the imagination [interrupted by phone] .
Bah. I feel the end of the time of blog-typing, alas. Strange as it seems my workload so far today is rather light, since I rely on Boss and big Z to do things before I can get started on my real work. Be that as it may.
Something in motion, as that race of cat-people in that novel Black/on/Black might say. What it is, who knows?
Me and Dave had a great time last night. Just having our normal evening. The undercurrent of strain that sometimes mars it was not there, or rather got banished early on in the evening and didn't come back. All to the good. We watched Heroes (yay!) and a Twilight Zone called "Eye of the Beholder" whose twist I totally called like five minutes into the episode. Dave had already seen it, so I just looked over and saw him smile that sharp (but happy in this case!) little smile of his and knew I was right.
Aye, I wonder if we could play Mafia together these days. Years ago when we tried it it didn't work, because withholding information from each other hurt too much and made us distrustful and moody.
I am envious of Val Con and Miri and their wizardy lifemate bond, having just re-read Agent of Change and Carpe Diem. If we work at it, who knows, perhaps Dave and I can do some of the things they do. Things seem to be moving in a way that our magics are becoming more entwined. Nothing visible or especially explainable to others just yet. It doesn't frustrate me like it used to that I can't use my gift on Dave--y'know, the one where I reach for the right words and they just come. Better that way. Better that we both should have to work to learn the secret languages of the other; magic and love are both terribly, wonderfully important things and there should be no glibness in combining them!
I got in early and got to hang out with Clarissa for awhile this morning. (Time so far today has grooved most propitiously for me. Look, I'm getting a chance to make a blog post at work two days in a row! How often does that happen?) We talked mostly witchy stuff. I'm always surprised when I do get to use my gift with someone. Because I mostly hang out with Dave, who is exempt, Dad, who is immune (due to his misery system), and people at work, with whom that type of interaction would be inappropriate and weird. The idea keeps coming up between us how cool it would be to [interrupted here] get together a gaggle of our witchy friends and relatives so we could all share ideas and learn from each other and just have people to talk to who understood. The interruption was Mohammad walking into the room and working on something else, then leaving without asking me for anything. A good image of my hesitation on the issue. We all have other stuff going on, and even if it's very casual, bringing together a group of self-aware magic users (as distinct from those not aware of their magic use, which is almost everybody!) is a major big deal thing and best to let grow into its own time. If enough of us feel a need, things will come together so that it can happen. If we try to force it beforehand, the relationships that would need to develop between the people would be stunted and weirdified and it would cause unnecessary conflicts.
But! Among other things we ended up mentioning New Orleans and Chicago. How Chicago likes its people best when they've got their minds on their work, how we both think of the big statue of Ceres at the Board of Trade as looking down with approval at the endless stream of working people striding purposefully by with numbers and to-do lists clanking away in their heads. She says she doesn't think New Orleans likes anybody; people do strange things when they go there. She says she thinks New Orleans likes to bring out the worst in people just to see what's there, just to see what they'll do. Another swamp, like Chicago but unlike. I would, I think, enjoy visiting New Orleans at some point just to see what pops up (my guess would be its weirdness would manifest for me with invisible stuff mostly, but who knows? best to have health insurance before traveling there!)--but like Clarissa, I don't think I'd enjoy living in a city with a personality like that.
And I told her how I talked to Jimmy last week for the first time in ages. He's still there, still snickering at me and working behind the curtain. We exchanged like two sentences, but he cured my writers' block on Anatomy of Trust by giving me a new idea! The faculties, he said, are the defining characteristic of a sapient entity. By which he referred to the faculties of the imagination [interrupted by phone] .
Bah. I feel the end of the time of blog-typing, alas. Strange as it seems my workload so far today is rather light, since I rely on Boss and big Z to do things before I can get started on my real work. Be that as it may.
so green and dumb
Need a new job so bad I can taste it. So mad at Ladyboss though I know it's nothing personal. Just her lack of understanding about how frustrating my job is coupled with the misery of still having to run a business with your flutterheaded husband and brother-in-law while eight-plus months pregnant. And an unreliable and lazy employee sitting at your desk and following up on your work to worry about as well! Yah, I am a trial to her. That she requires emotional response of me, is her trained reflex, not an evil plot to eat my soul, I know. But I have been so frustrated and overworked here that it is hard for me not to react according to my reflexes when she reacts with hers.
Things are well between me and Dave, very well. Last Wednesday we went out and saw No Country for Old Men after I got home! Dave said we needed to get out of the house and do stuff to prevent us getting antsy and snapping at each other, and bless him, he was right. Thanksgiving at his aunt and uncle's was wonderful; good food, good company, good times. Me and Paula and one of Dave's girl cousins are going to see that psychic who doesn't suck, Mina, at some point in December. I look forward to it. After my bad experience with Lisa last year it'll do me good to see a pro who is on the level. Confirm and/or disconfirm my feelings on the shape of the time and all that. And on Saturday we went to see Local H in Schaumburg. I though it was a great show, if only the floor hadn't been so slippery it hindered the moshpit. Too short a set; we suspect the couple standing up by the monitors in front of us who didn't move or get into it gave the band the idea the rest of the crowd was half-hearted. But they covered Skulls and Bad Moon and played What Would You Have Me Do, so there were some lovely surprises!
Here I am at work, trying not to dread the rest of my day. It occurred to me on Friday that my menagerie (which I am telling more people more about, which leads me to suspect I am coming towards a major shift in its role!) is a set of templates of demons--negative entities. That each one has a positive counterpart, which I may well end up calling elementals, who represent the non-parasitic modes of each energy state / interaction type. That Roach, for example, may also be called Frenzy and Dread, that Fly may also be called Boredom and Peevishness, tells me things. Incomplete and hopelessly useless descriptors both, but still fair indicators that my creatures are things to be watched for and guarded against, not deployed for use. If I ever want ones that may be deployed for use I will have to generate better creatures. Which means in turn that I will have to discipline my mind and spirit together with some practice, whether I make a full adaptation of the Scouts' Rainbow or some other exercise.
Spoke to Jimmy the other day, may have been Wednesday night. My mind was just calmed enough to be able to do it. He's still there, listening and nudging, ready to tell me whatever as soon as I'm ready to listen. It's me that's too dense and crowded right now to be able to clear a landing strip for things from the other view, so to speak. I'm a mess, as regards almost everything but Dave, and well do I know it.
I try to feel confident that I'll find another job, but I haven't sent out resumes for more than a week. Not feeling very confident of late. Dad's ill luck, or his sense of it, maybe rubbed off on me a little. Hells bells, I'd even take another restaurant office manager job if it was at a place where things were run more sanely and my bosses were capable of separating out their professional from their personal melant'i.
Just gotta keep moving, hope some of the shit misses the fan and hits the wall.
[time passes; day almost over]
Got a call from Jolene at my favorite employment agency. She has a number of someone for me to contact which she left in my voicemail. Woot!
Ladyboss was here a lot of the day today and I didn't want to kill her even though our usual rules applied. Woot!
Missed the chance to have a smoke with Dave this lunch hour. Boo.
Missed staff meal because I was down here doing party-related work with Malika. Boo.
Things are well between me and Dave, very well. Last Wednesday we went out and saw No Country for Old Men after I got home! Dave said we needed to get out of the house and do stuff to prevent us getting antsy and snapping at each other, and bless him, he was right. Thanksgiving at his aunt and uncle's was wonderful; good food, good company, good times. Me and Paula and one of Dave's girl cousins are going to see that psychic who doesn't suck, Mina, at some point in December. I look forward to it. After my bad experience with Lisa last year it'll do me good to see a pro who is on the level. Confirm and/or disconfirm my feelings on the shape of the time and all that. And on Saturday we went to see Local H in Schaumburg. I though it was a great show, if only the floor hadn't been so slippery it hindered the moshpit. Too short a set; we suspect the couple standing up by the monitors in front of us who didn't move or get into it gave the band the idea the rest of the crowd was half-hearted. But they covered Skulls and Bad Moon and played What Would You Have Me Do, so there were some lovely surprises!
Here I am at work, trying not to dread the rest of my day. It occurred to me on Friday that my menagerie (which I am telling more people more about, which leads me to suspect I am coming towards a major shift in its role!) is a set of templates of demons--negative entities. That each one has a positive counterpart, which I may well end up calling elementals, who represent the non-parasitic modes of each energy state / interaction type. That Roach, for example, may also be called Frenzy and Dread, that Fly may also be called Boredom and Peevishness, tells me things. Incomplete and hopelessly useless descriptors both, but still fair indicators that my creatures are things to be watched for and guarded against, not deployed for use. If I ever want ones that may be deployed for use I will have to generate better creatures. Which means in turn that I will have to discipline my mind and spirit together with some practice, whether I make a full adaptation of the Scouts' Rainbow or some other exercise.
Spoke to Jimmy the other day, may have been Wednesday night. My mind was just calmed enough to be able to do it. He's still there, listening and nudging, ready to tell me whatever as soon as I'm ready to listen. It's me that's too dense and crowded right now to be able to clear a landing strip for things from the other view, so to speak. I'm a mess, as regards almost everything but Dave, and well do I know it.
I try to feel confident that I'll find another job, but I haven't sent out resumes for more than a week. Not feeling very confident of late. Dad's ill luck, or his sense of it, maybe rubbed off on me a little. Hells bells, I'd even take another restaurant office manager job if it was at a place where things were run more sanely and my bosses were capable of separating out their professional from their personal melant'i.
Just gotta keep moving, hope some of the shit misses the fan and hits the wall.
[time passes; day almost over]
Got a call from Jolene at my favorite employment agency. She has a number of someone for me to contact which she left in my voicemail. Woot!
Ladyboss was here a lot of the day today and I didn't want to kill her even though our usual rules applied. Woot!
Missed the chance to have a smoke with Dave this lunch hour. Boo.
Missed staff meal because I was down here doing party-related work with Malika. Boo.
home without you
(Had a bit of a fight with Dave last night. I hurt his feelings, his feelings took revenge on him, I got upset and overreacted, none of it was as exciting as it sounds, except inside our brains and hearts and souls.
Song comes in through a hole in you. This punched through. Wrote the choruses first, thinking it was a slow sad song. Then I heard fast guitars in my head, realized it was a running/driving speed song, and got the verses.
Sitting right here at my desk the day before Thanksgiving. This is the first thing I've written since I started this job I have.
edited 11-27-07, switched some things around. choruses 1 and 2 were bothering me, so I swapped the 3-line parts at the beginning and changed the trees. maple is a word that does not belong in this song!)
[home without you]
your fire is hard
to see, villages charred
and trees hanging by the roots
walk a mile in your boots
all-consuming pursuit
not maple not a larch
from September into March
left you weeping like a willow
tell you that I never will go
tell you that I never will go
home without you
your river is underground
running to blur the sound
fast enough to crack
every mountain on your back
every chain where your heart is bound
not a woman or a man
you're a hand upon my hand
you're a face upon my pillow
love I tell you that there is no
tell you that there is no
home without you
your lover is penitent
we're none of us heaven sent
got here on our feet
I was learning to be sweet
baby I don't know where it went
not a goddess or a wretch
you are all I want to catch
I am wrapped around your thumb
tell you that I'll never come
tell you that I never will come
home without you
Song comes in through a hole in you. This punched through. Wrote the choruses first, thinking it was a slow sad song. Then I heard fast guitars in my head, realized it was a running/driving speed song, and got the verses.
Sitting right here at my desk the day before Thanksgiving. This is the first thing I've written since I started this job I have.
edited 11-27-07, switched some things around. choruses 1 and 2 were bothering me, so I swapped the 3-line parts at the beginning and changed the trees. maple is a word that does not belong in this song!)
[home without you]
your fire is hard
to see, villages charred
and trees hanging by the roots
walk a mile in your boots
all-consuming pursuit
not maple not a larch
from September into March
left you weeping like a willow
tell you that I never will go
tell you that I never will go
home without you
your river is underground
running to blur the sound
fast enough to crack
every mountain on your back
every chain where your heart is bound
not a woman or a man
you're a hand upon my hand
you're a face upon my pillow
love I tell you that there is no
tell you that there is no
home without you
your lover is penitent
we're none of us heaven sent
got here on our feet
I was learning to be sweet
baby I don't know where it went
not a goddess or a wretch
you are all I want to catch
I am wrapped around your thumb
tell you that I'll never come
tell you that I never will come
home without you
Tuesdays With Abhorrent Fiends vol. 20
Happy Thanksgiving Eve eve.
I have no idea what I am doing on Thanksgiving. If I go to T-day dinner with Dave's relatives, we gotta get there super early in the afternoon. Which means if I DO have T-day brunch at home with Dad as I'd been assuming, I gotta get up on time and no dawdling around over chitchat. I don't know what Amber and Pearl are doing, and even with this, Amber called last night and I didn't answer! Is it really this job that's making me like this? I was bad before but I just don't know. Maybe I shouldn't be so hard on myself. It's just the imagined weight of other people's expectations and the obligations that come with loyalty is heavy on my mind. I tend to react to that heaviness by slowing down and sometimes grinding to a complete standstill, which is another face of the problem.
You know what, on a completely unrelated note? I love working accounts payable. I really do. I like talking to vendors on the phone and making sure our books match, and then if they don't getting documents from them and entering them until they DO match. I love taking copious notes and logging every conceivable piece of information relating to an account or a transaction. I love even the process of such filing and note-taking. Because the whole time I'm picturing my future self or future co-worker frantically searching for this one piece of information that someone is yelling about, finding my work and saying "Aha!" and dashing off to make everything better. I like getting people the money they're owed. I like taking bills and making them go away. If I can't do it in my own life, at least I can do it at work, ya?
If my job here was just accounting and payroll, I could do it. It's the private parties thing that drives me completely insane. It's a full-time job and eats my entire day two or three days out of the week. Accounting stuff is always last priority. Guests and parties can't wait, vendors and employees can. Arrgh. Granted, all of my bosses are very human about things when you get a chance to sit them down and have them understand what is actually happening. But if they're rushed, or have incomplete info, or I confuse them with too many things, it's all "they can wait!" "I'll take care of it! (proceeds not to take care of it)" and "why are you wasting your time with this?" Maybe it would be easier with only one boss. Maybe it would be easier with only two hats. I swear to dog if they hire a fulltime private party person I would be willing to stay here longer. Possibly a very long time. Now that I don't suck quite so much at my three jobs I don't dread the day as much, some days hardly at all. I just hate things slipping through the cracks, I hate the fact that I have to do a mediocre job all around because it's either that or be wonderful on one thing and completely fail at the other two. And failing at any one would be an unmitigated disaster for the restaurant.
So I love accounts department stuff enough to want to do that as my day job for the rest of my life if I have to. If I can't, you know, work part-time while I'm getting my doctorate in something somewhere. Or find some way to write enough things to have people read and buy them. Or find some way to record my music so people can listen to it. That last I'm getting increasingly pessimistic about. Even the writing, I'm getting pessimistic about. I'm starting to look forward to working until I die as long as the work doesn't make me want to cry every day.
I was consulting with myself last night, mourning that I haven't been having dreams or unusual communications or experiences lately. And I asked myself, Do you really want them? Do you really, actually want them? I had to say, Not really. Not now. I haven't got the emotional energy to spare. Well then that's why.
I know enough about the personality's interactions with gravity now to know that unless I'm facing death, incredibly old and facing death, or some other such extreme circumstance, levitation is probably out of the question. It requires a total and unadulterated lightness of being. Any emotional baggage whatsoever, any interface other than what you're born with, any film slipped between your inner eye and the world, and the circuit can't complete. When Christ said we had to be as little children to enter the kingdom of heaven, he was talking about a lot of stuff. But in this sense it's undeniable. Building a personality is like building an onion, like that famous chambered nautilus that dead guy wrote the poem about. Layer by layer, the soul is protected from the universe by the very same tissues that permit it to be a part of the universe. Naked little shell-less living creatures can do anything. Gravity itself may bend for them, and time. But naked souls desire nothing, for they have no bonds. We are too heavy to fly--but if we were any lighter, we would not be able to stand up under our own weight. We must be bound enough into the world to become what we are. So when we are old and facing death, or just facing death, maybe there can be a moment where we set all those heavy things aside, not because we do not understand them or do not honor them, but because they are no longer necessary for us.
I have no idea what I am doing on Thanksgiving. If I go to T-day dinner with Dave's relatives, we gotta get there super early in the afternoon. Which means if I DO have T-day brunch at home with Dad as I'd been assuming, I gotta get up on time and no dawdling around over chitchat. I don't know what Amber and Pearl are doing, and even with this, Amber called last night and I didn't answer! Is it really this job that's making me like this? I was bad before but I just don't know. Maybe I shouldn't be so hard on myself. It's just the imagined weight of other people's expectations and the obligations that come with loyalty is heavy on my mind. I tend to react to that heaviness by slowing down and sometimes grinding to a complete standstill, which is another face of the problem.
You know what, on a completely unrelated note? I love working accounts payable. I really do. I like talking to vendors on the phone and making sure our books match, and then if they don't getting documents from them and entering them until they DO match. I love taking copious notes and logging every conceivable piece of information relating to an account or a transaction. I love even the process of such filing and note-taking. Because the whole time I'm picturing my future self or future co-worker frantically searching for this one piece of information that someone is yelling about, finding my work and saying "Aha!" and dashing off to make everything better. I like getting people the money they're owed. I like taking bills and making them go away. If I can't do it in my own life, at least I can do it at work, ya?
If my job here was just accounting and payroll, I could do it. It's the private parties thing that drives me completely insane. It's a full-time job and eats my entire day two or three days out of the week. Accounting stuff is always last priority. Guests and parties can't wait, vendors and employees can. Arrgh. Granted, all of my bosses are very human about things when you get a chance to sit them down and have them understand what is actually happening. But if they're rushed, or have incomplete info, or I confuse them with too many things, it's all "they can wait!" "I'll take care of it! (proceeds not to take care of it)" and "why are you wasting your time with this?" Maybe it would be easier with only one boss. Maybe it would be easier with only two hats. I swear to dog if they hire a fulltime private party person I would be willing to stay here longer. Possibly a very long time. Now that I don't suck quite so much at my three jobs I don't dread the day as much, some days hardly at all. I just hate things slipping through the cracks, I hate the fact that I have to do a mediocre job all around because it's either that or be wonderful on one thing and completely fail at the other two. And failing at any one would be an unmitigated disaster for the restaurant.
So I love accounts department stuff enough to want to do that as my day job for the rest of my life if I have to. If I can't, you know, work part-time while I'm getting my doctorate in something somewhere. Or find some way to write enough things to have people read and buy them. Or find some way to record my music so people can listen to it. That last I'm getting increasingly pessimistic about. Even the writing, I'm getting pessimistic about. I'm starting to look forward to working until I die as long as the work doesn't make me want to cry every day.
I was consulting with myself last night, mourning that I haven't been having dreams or unusual communications or experiences lately. And I asked myself, Do you really want them? Do you really, actually want them? I had to say, Not really. Not now. I haven't got the emotional energy to spare. Well then that's why.
I know enough about the personality's interactions with gravity now to know that unless I'm facing death, incredibly old and facing death, or some other such extreme circumstance, levitation is probably out of the question. It requires a total and unadulterated lightness of being. Any emotional baggage whatsoever, any interface other than what you're born with, any film slipped between your inner eye and the world, and the circuit can't complete. When Christ said we had to be as little children to enter the kingdom of heaven, he was talking about a lot of stuff. But in this sense it's undeniable. Building a personality is like building an onion, like that famous chambered nautilus that dead guy wrote the poem about. Layer by layer, the soul is protected from the universe by the very same tissues that permit it to be a part of the universe. Naked little shell-less living creatures can do anything. Gravity itself may bend for them, and time. But naked souls desire nothing, for they have no bonds. We are too heavy to fly--but if we were any lighter, we would not be able to stand up under our own weight. We must be bound enough into the world to become what we are. So when we are old and facing death, or just facing death, maybe there can be a moment where we set all those heavy things aside, not because we do not understand them or do not honor them, but because they are no longer necessary for us.
Tuesdays With Abhorrent Fiends vol. 19
Happy Tuesday.
It's me and Dave's seventh anniversary. :D
He remembered (I didn't!) and he and Elmer came in to the restaurant and had lunch, at least in part so I could eat with them. It was awesome; Dave gave me a present, I got to say hi to Elmer, and I actually got to eat during the day.
Today's been super nuts because it's bill-paying day AND payroll day, which are two things that normally take up the majority of a day by themselves. Oh, and I want to get home in a timely fashion so me and Dave can hang out and get in some anniversary snuggling.
D'oh.
The longer I stay here, the more bearable it becomes--but the longer I stay, the more I see parts of myself shutting down that I really don't want to lose. I haven't written anything to shake a stick at since I came here, haven't finished anything period. Poetry won't come back to me till I'm done with this and all of that. It's a nasty thing to weigh, in my mind. This is an earth magic initiation, no question. Mohammad is an earth mage with a rare clarity to his gift and there's a lot I can learn from him. But like most people who have had success in the area of their strongest magic, he doesn't really (on an emotional level) view the other forms of magic as magic (that is, as worthwhile). I told Zubair earlier today, I feel like Michael Jordan having to make a living as a pro golfer in a society in which basketball is not valued. This is something I'm mediocre at, and the things where I'm brilliant, I have no reasonable way to put myself in a position to get paid for doing them.
Reminds me of a very cool conversation I had with Dave yesterday about the default settings we use to judge the value of people's time and allegiance. Obviously, everyone you know as an individual, you evaluate by your experience of them. But people you don't have that much of a baseline on, you judge according to your values (your religion, your res legiones, the things you have chosen). He judges people on beauty--how attractive they are, how much beauty they bring into the world around them. I judge people by magic--how much magic they have, how much magic I can learn from being around them. And Dave was like, Well, as you define magic, it's just ways to make stuff happen. And I said, Yeah, that's a very concise definition, and better than most. He's like, Well, then, I support it, and you should keep doing it.
And dangit, air magic is my strength. But you need to train your strengths to avoid losing them. Like in the Alphabet of Desire, Frustration is opposite-from-and-equal-to Atrophy.
Ai ya. Z's done stealing my compy to update the wine list. I better get my grind back to the nose-stone. Tally-ho!
It's me and Dave's seventh anniversary. :D
He remembered (I didn't!) and he and Elmer came in to the restaurant and had lunch, at least in part so I could eat with them. It was awesome; Dave gave me a present, I got to say hi to Elmer, and I actually got to eat during the day.
Today's been super nuts because it's bill-paying day AND payroll day, which are two things that normally take up the majority of a day by themselves. Oh, and I want to get home in a timely fashion so me and Dave can hang out and get in some anniversary snuggling.
D'oh.
The longer I stay here, the more bearable it becomes--but the longer I stay, the more I see parts of myself shutting down that I really don't want to lose. I haven't written anything to shake a stick at since I came here, haven't finished anything period. Poetry won't come back to me till I'm done with this and all of that. It's a nasty thing to weigh, in my mind. This is an earth magic initiation, no question. Mohammad is an earth mage with a rare clarity to his gift and there's a lot I can learn from him. But like most people who have had success in the area of their strongest magic, he doesn't really (on an emotional level) view the other forms of magic as magic (that is, as worthwhile). I told Zubair earlier today, I feel like Michael Jordan having to make a living as a pro golfer in a society in which basketball is not valued. This is something I'm mediocre at, and the things where I'm brilliant, I have no reasonable way to put myself in a position to get paid for doing them.
Reminds me of a very cool conversation I had with Dave yesterday about the default settings we use to judge the value of people's time and allegiance. Obviously, everyone you know as an individual, you evaluate by your experience of them. But people you don't have that much of a baseline on, you judge according to your values (your religion, your res legiones, the things you have chosen). He judges people on beauty--how attractive they are, how much beauty they bring into the world around them. I judge people by magic--how much magic they have, how much magic I can learn from being around them. And Dave was like, Well, as you define magic, it's just ways to make stuff happen. And I said, Yeah, that's a very concise definition, and better than most. He's like, Well, then, I support it, and you should keep doing it.
And dangit, air magic is my strength. But you need to train your strengths to avoid losing them. Like in the Alphabet of Desire, Frustration is opposite-from-and-equal-to Atrophy.
Ai ya. Z's done stealing my compy to update the wine list. I better get my grind back to the nose-stone. Tally-ho!
It's not what kills, it's not what saves
that slides to ordinary graves
but what stands naked in the waves
of doubt and crime and sloth
It's not what heals, it's not what wounds
that leapfrogs time on aching tunes
but what treads steadfast down the dunes
like scissor blades through cloth
No more to that just now.
I feel pending. Like something's going to happen. I don't feel like reading Chesterton, I don't feel like posting in my blog, work feels flat and rubbery like a water balloon that's been untied instead of broken. Weird, weird vibes this morning. I left at the same time as Dad; his car'd gotten booted so a coworker (I remembered him from when I was working there but I don't think he saw me) picked him up.
As they drove away I saw a bus I could catch idling up at the intersection and sprinted, but missed it by a few yards. Then I looked down the street the other way and coming up was the other bus I can catch, and I thought, oh good, the sprint got me here in good time. But on that bus was sitting my old acquaintance One-Eyed Fred, which is what I call him now that I'm not talking to him anymore. Interesting, interesting man, but not one I want to have as a friend. His emotions are way too confusable and undisciplined and I am a young woman and reasonably attractive and don't want the trouble that would inevitably cause. So every time I see him I make sure to pretend he's not there to the point where I don't even look at the area of the bus he's sitting in. Which is rude and uncomfortable but better than any alternative I can think of.
Then further, when I got here to work I went upstairs to see Clarissa, and she gave me coffee and was glad to see me, but was swamped by a pile of work as the thing her and her bosses had been working on all week was finally coming to a head today. So we couldn't really hang out and I took my styrofoam cup and came down to the office. Did busywork, finished my email to Myke. (Yay! I am happy there is no drama there but only camaraderie and understanding!)
And I keep getting private party calls today where people are interested in dates other people have already called dibs on. I know boss lady says not to tell people that other people already have their dates, but if in my mind I rate the probability of a group actually giving us a signed contract as 75% or higher, I can at least tell callers we have had some other inquiries on that date, right? Right? I dunno. And there's an upcoming party in like three days that I haven't even called yet today, and I have tons more accounting stuff to do, and like two people whose paychecks were incorrect need to get their corrected paychecks today. It's already the 2nd and the checks came in on Monday!
I wanted to talk to Pearl last night but I didn't call her back and she didn't call me back, so I'll call her tonight. Dog, I need to talk to Amber too. Sisters good. Being in a funk bad. Being funk good. *grumbles and curls up for a mental nap*
that slides to ordinary graves
but what stands naked in the waves
of doubt and crime and sloth
It's not what heals, it's not what wounds
that leapfrogs time on aching tunes
but what treads steadfast down the dunes
like scissor blades through cloth
No more to that just now.
I feel pending. Like something's going to happen. I don't feel like reading Chesterton, I don't feel like posting in my blog, work feels flat and rubbery like a water balloon that's been untied instead of broken. Weird, weird vibes this morning. I left at the same time as Dad; his car'd gotten booted so a coworker (I remembered him from when I was working there but I don't think he saw me) picked him up.
As they drove away I saw a bus I could catch idling up at the intersection and sprinted, but missed it by a few yards. Then I looked down the street the other way and coming up was the other bus I can catch, and I thought, oh good, the sprint got me here in good time. But on that bus was sitting my old acquaintance One-Eyed Fred, which is what I call him now that I'm not talking to him anymore. Interesting, interesting man, but not one I want to have as a friend. His emotions are way too confusable and undisciplined and I am a young woman and reasonably attractive and don't want the trouble that would inevitably cause. So every time I see him I make sure to pretend he's not there to the point where I don't even look at the area of the bus he's sitting in. Which is rude and uncomfortable but better than any alternative I can think of.
Then further, when I got here to work I went upstairs to see Clarissa, and she gave me coffee and was glad to see me, but was swamped by a pile of work as the thing her and her bosses had been working on all week was finally coming to a head today. So we couldn't really hang out and I took my styrofoam cup and came down to the office. Did busywork, finished my email to Myke. (Yay! I am happy there is no drama there but only camaraderie and understanding!)
And I keep getting private party calls today where people are interested in dates other people have already called dibs on. I know boss lady says not to tell people that other people already have their dates, but if in my mind I rate the probability of a group actually giving us a signed contract as 75% or higher, I can at least tell callers we have had some other inquiries on that date, right? Right? I dunno. And there's an upcoming party in like three days that I haven't even called yet today, and I have tons more accounting stuff to do, and like two people whose paychecks were incorrect need to get their corrected paychecks today. It's already the 2nd and the checks came in on Monday!
I wanted to talk to Pearl last night but I didn't call her back and she didn't call me back, so I'll call her tonight. Dog, I need to talk to Amber too. Sisters good. Being in a funk bad. Being funk good. *grumbles and curls up for a mental nap*
status update
mood: Holding steady.
weekend: good. possibly very good.
payroll: Has arrived! I looked through it, only two very correctable errors. My best yet.
communications: Have talked to Meg and Fey (albeit briefly) last night. Woot! Have received a very heartening email from Myke to which I hope I will respond today. Have not heard from that headhunter I sent my resume and shit to last week. Wonder if he called Saturday while my phone was off.
upcoming: If indeed my paycheck is signed today and I get to bring it to my bank and get VizMoney, there is this poetry thing at a place I want to take the bus to tonight. I hope. I am hopeful.
in the Fiat news: Reading Orthodoxy by G.K. Chesterton. So good. I wish I could write like him. And especially I wish I could see magic in the world as he does! Did. Whatev.
weekend: good. possibly very good.
payroll: Has arrived! I looked through it, only two very correctable errors. My best yet.
communications: Have talked to Meg and Fey (albeit briefly) last night. Woot! Have received a very heartening email from Myke to which I hope I will respond today. Have not heard from that headhunter I sent my resume and shit to last week. Wonder if he called Saturday while my phone was off.
upcoming: If indeed my paycheck is signed today and I get to bring it to my bank and get VizMoney, there is this poetry thing at a place I want to take the bus to tonight. I hope. I am hopeful.
in the Fiat news: Reading Orthodoxy by G.K. Chesterton. So good. I wish I could write like him. And especially I wish I could see magic in the world as he does! Did. Whatev.
Tuesdays with Abhorrent Fiends vol. 18
Shocking surprise twist*: the abhorrent fiend is me!
Dave's reaching out to me. I want to reach back, take his hand, accept it. I want to not just sit there with a choked expression on my face, afraid to move, afraid to speak, paralyzed by guilt and uncertainty. And fear of what he feels, to be honest. You know, "here is my journey through a hell that would have been purgatory if you hadn't hurt me as you did." He's getting a grip on the edge preparatory to heaving himself up, he's tracing a line down the shoulder of the road. I've got to show, and not just feel, my respect for that. To honor and encourage as well as cherish him.
Music. Important to both of us. A mix CD can be like a book of the bible when music means that much to you, when that much care and blood went into it, the way blood goes into any creative work. It just hurts so goddamn much, he hurt so much to be able to express it that clearly. And I freeze up with guilt trying to help him describe it to himself, trying to name the shapes and parts in it.
And now he's going to work and having a shitty day and coming home and having shitty frustrations at home and I wanted to shield him from that. In a way it's shitty of me, and stunting him and not letting him grow and all that. But I wanted one of us at least to have a life of ease, comfort and self-indulgence, and it for fuck's sake shouldn't be me.
It's almost as if guilt is part of the fuel that keeps me going. Having something to atone for makes the mental judo of revving myself up for spending all day doing things I hate around people who don't appreciate me (lo, the common lot of mankind) very simple and straightforward. You live this life and you do these duties because this is the fate you earned by your evil actions. Not an accurate or complete way to describe the shape of the time or the vagaries of chance, but certainly effective in getting my emotional ducks in a row.
It comes down to this. We both have to get better at the same time if either of us are going to. Dave's rage and my guilt fuel us in different ways and they stem from the same source, broken trust. Broken self for Dave as well, broken identity. Identity is the hardest thing to repair, regrow, to heal, because it's what holds everything else together and it doesn't understand words.
*not really a surprise
Dave's reaching out to me. I want to reach back, take his hand, accept it. I want to not just sit there with a choked expression on my face, afraid to move, afraid to speak, paralyzed by guilt and uncertainty. And fear of what he feels, to be honest. You know, "here is my journey through a hell that would have been purgatory if you hadn't hurt me as you did." He's getting a grip on the edge preparatory to heaving himself up, he's tracing a line down the shoulder of the road. I've got to show, and not just feel, my respect for that. To honor and encourage as well as cherish him.
Music. Important to both of us. A mix CD can be like a book of the bible when music means that much to you, when that much care and blood went into it, the way blood goes into any creative work. It just hurts so goddamn much, he hurt so much to be able to express it that clearly. And I freeze up with guilt trying to help him describe it to himself, trying to name the shapes and parts in it.
And now he's going to work and having a shitty day and coming home and having shitty frustrations at home and I wanted to shield him from that. In a way it's shitty of me, and stunting him and not letting him grow and all that. But I wanted one of us at least to have a life of ease, comfort and self-indulgence, and it for fuck's sake shouldn't be me.
It's almost as if guilt is part of the fuel that keeps me going. Having something to atone for makes the mental judo of revving myself up for spending all day doing things I hate around people who don't appreciate me (lo, the common lot of mankind) very simple and straightforward. You live this life and you do these duties because this is the fate you earned by your evil actions. Not an accurate or complete way to describe the shape of the time or the vagaries of chance, but certainly effective in getting my emotional ducks in a row.
It comes down to this. We both have to get better at the same time if either of us are going to. Dave's rage and my guilt fuel us in different ways and they stem from the same source, broken trust. Broken self for Dave as well, broken identity. Identity is the hardest thing to repair, regrow, to heal, because it's what holds everything else together and it doesn't understand words.
*not really a surprise
sizzle
infinity
starter text:
Brain blurred by ganja and cigarettes, my system still in place. I question and re-question my mental requisitions. What does the world my lord require of me?
interp (with "On the Red Eye" (infinity one infinity)):
An infinity in the infinity place represents stability, harmony.The Reverend Doktor's Interpretation of Your Card:
starter text:
Long patient action wears the world thin, makes me weary. Wary. About once a week I get like this, a crack in my armor. Tears leaking out. Nothing broken that can't be fixed.
interp (with "Aerolith" (plus infinity plus)):
A plus in the one position means to expect the unexpected. Look to the other aspects of the card for hints on what to expect. Maybe you'll meet a new crush, or you could be in for a nasty surprise.Dream Log #54:
starter text:
Brain blurred by ganja and cigarettes, my system still in place. I question and re-question my mental requisitions. What does the world my lord require of me?
interp (with "On the Red Eye" (infinity one infinity)):
An infinity in the infinity place represents stability, harmony.
oneBrain blurred by ganja and cigarettes, my lord require of my own. I see it on the ceiling of my lord require of my lord require of my bedroom to start paying attention to write on the world my mind. They are after me. They hate me. Hide. Run away, killyrself. Die dead. I'm dead. Brain blurred by ganja and re-question my mental requisitions. What does the world my bedroom to look at night. They're watching me. They hate me. They're watching me. Hide. Run away, killyrself. Die dead. I'm dead. Brain blurred by ganja and cigarettes, my mental requisitions. What does the alternative radio station, "JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE PARANOID, DON'T MEAN THEY'RE NOT AFTER YOU." Three days later, I write them down.
plus
starter text:
Discommoded, not discombobulated. Messed up my rhythm. Shift my weight from one tiptoe to another, eyes scanning traffic for a gap. My opening.
interp (with "(On the Sominex)" (one plus plus):
A plus in the plus position could mean powerful things. It's a good day to practice your Telecult Powers.Dream Log #89: Discommoded, not discombobulated. Messed up my weight from one tiptoe to the matching briefcase comin inna the hiccups, but this doesn't stop me making notes? I feel like a gap. My opening.
* yellow lights, sodium glare. I gotta get a law suit with alligator shoes and that's the way to the log cabin for some cuntry pie, and it's late, too. We have crossed over. Smell of The Dawn Treader. I have crossed over. Smell of hygiene weren't so good and that's the kitchen, must be recent immigrants. I like it - always did like my mincemeat a way I gotta get the Old House. Mama is there only a gap. My opening.
* yellow lights, sodium glare. I get a little spicy. Discommoded, not discombobulated. Messed up my rhythm. Shift my mincemeat a way to get away.
starter text:
Long patient action wears the world thin, makes me weary. Wary. About once a week I get like this, a crack in my armor. Tears leaking out. Nothing broken that can't be fixed.
interp (with "Aerolith" (plus infinity plus)):
A plus in the one position means to expect the unexpected. Look to the other aspects of the card for hints on what to expect. Maybe you'll meet a new crush, or you could be in for a nasty surprise.
Long patient action wears the water lights up. Fireworks, perfect. First it looks like this, a shooting star show, but more fiery and me weary. Wary. About once a couple holes down, and a titanium plate reads, "KOCMOC." Long patient action wears the fire in the water lights up. Fireworks, perfect. First it looks like this, a shooting star show, but more fiery and she's even more foxy than usual, tanktop spilling cleavage as the green a shooting star show, but more fiery and alive as she leans in the larger fragments hit the water lights up. Fireworks, perfect. First it looks like a couple holes down, and rust to discover a crack in my armor. Tears leaking out. Nothing broken that can't be fixed.
till I'm done with this
Infinity
my entered text:
This strange chain of thought must be tied to something on the other end. I would learn more about my friend who is with me always, my friend the eye can't see. I would know better my menagerie. I will learn skills not just to pay the bills but to see inside with the wide eyes of my will. I will. I will.
interp (with "You Egg! Young Fry of Treachery!" (infinity one one)):
An infinity in the infinity place represents stability, harmony.
Spy Log #82:
This strange chain of thought must be so, but to pay the bushes. I would learn skills not just to Orlando. I say I will learn skills not just to something on the eye can't see. I will.
The next morning, I would talk subjects and opinions, tell no stories. I would talk subjects and sleep in the bushes. I would become a non-entity, fade to something on like circus boys and roadside attractions. This strange chain of past towns, crossed paths, Dairy Queens, and roadside attractions. This strange chain of thought must be tied to people, even my name. If pressed, I would talk to Orlando. I would I had no circumstances would fly the coop. Go on the coop. Go on the wide eyes of past towns, crossed paths, Dairy Queens, and opinions, tell jokes, but I would know better my friend the bushes. I will.
Plus
my starter text:
Poetry won't come back to me till I'm done with this. Till I till the mindfields and turn over the new ground. Till I pull the veil down and make naked the new sound. Till my fishfins gasp and push against the ground, till what I never lost is found.
interp (with "Mob Star" (plus plus one)):
A plus in the plus position could mean powerful things. It's a good day to practice your Telecult Powers.
Spy Log #95:
Poetry won't come back to me till what I pull the ground, till I'm done with this. Till my ID.
"Which one, Ringo?"
"Reely, laika Beatles."
"Cool." Poetry won't come back to me till the ground, till I'm done with this. Till my ID.
"Which one, Ringo?"
"Reely, laika Beatles," Korean storeowner inspecting my ID.
"Which one, Ringo?"
"Reely, laika Beatles."
"Cool." Poetry won't come back to buy pornography in order to buy pornography in order to me till I'm done with this. Till I pull the veil down and turn over the RGBs take it out of a man psychically. So here I'm trying to at the new sound.
One
my starter text:
Today is Wednesday the seventeenth of October. I am at work and will remain at work all day. I have scoped out the shape of the day and it has difficulty. Hold on to it, hold on to what is good and what is yours, o me. Nothing is broken, only new.
interp (with "A Heaping Platter of God's Love" (infinity infinity infinity)):
An infinity in the one position means things might be a little dull for a bit. This is a time for waiting in contemplation and reflection. Learn to be your own best friend, read a book you've been meaning to read. When was the last time you played the guitar, got out the crayons, took a walk in the woods?
The Reverend Doktor's Interpretation of Your Card:
Today is Wednesday the cattle guard on to what was true and what is Wednesday the air, out the thing. It made my blood feel funny to it, hold on to do it. No way. And when you couldn't get a memory of mine. When I have seconds. Seconds of the river. About eighty, ninety feet down, it seemed. You'd hang in Page, Missouri, I had to Grasshopper Point your balls. I'd stand there suspended; and the air going up in the air. Falling right next to think real hard about what was a dog to do it. No way. And when you can kind of nothing. And when you think about what was true and the day and hold your perception of the cattle guard on to it, hold on to Box Springs and hold on to Grasshopper Point for a dog to think real hard about how far down to it, hold your balls. I'd stand there up past you, by mostly it's just time. Time of nothing, just time. Time of hear the river. About eighty, ninety feet down, it seemed.
lay them strait
hold onto it
on a long, long leash
hold onto it
on a long long, leash
its warm, warm breath
as it scurries round your feet
can melt the sidewalk out from underneath
(That's gonna be a song when I get the rest of it.
This below is me complaining to poetry, rather than with it, because it won't come back to me yet and I still need it to keep my life in order.)
Poetry won't come back to me till I'm done with this.
I say this is a bunch of bullshit.
Mine to decide, define, decline
if I wanna shake my head no, no
and tell a body where to go.
I'm gonna rise like dough I'm gonna walk out slow
into the cold rain.
I'm gonna swell like rice and click my heels once twice
stick my fingers in the drain.
So much of my hair down there I think I built another skull
So much of me thrown out I think the outside must be full
Oh, dog, gimme something to pull
Give me some way to restart the flow
Gimme somewhere else to go
Some other way to know
Some other thing that must be done
Brother tell me how to tell a brother of the word
The load I've taken on my sticky back is just absurd
The friendship that I hold him in is straining at the seams
He wants my time and patience when I don't know my own dreams
He wants me to find hours to spend just listening to his tales
And I will fail, and I will fail, and I do fail
Let it be enough
That he's become this tough, this hard 'fore I turned tail.
If I'm not listening am I not a friend
If I'm not visiting am I not a friend
If I'm not calling am I not a friend
If I'm just stalling am I not a friend
And cry I will for the guts I spill
Whosever's they may be
And hope I do that we all get through
To a world where love and time and space are free.
And I hear my sisters' teeth grind
Out there in the dark mind
Out there in the cold sun
Out there with the old one
One sister's the bold one
One is the controlled one
Don't never try to hold one back
From what she sees is true
They say they worry bout me
I say I worry about you
I don't know what we're going to do
But we'll all get through
Like a tree through a fence
Like smoke through a curtain
Like butter through the center
Of a loaf right out of the stove.
Did you walk that road,
I drove.
Did you sing that song,
I hummed.
Did you bear that load,
I dragged.
Did you say you were wrong,
I bragged.
Are you fast enough
I'm slow
But I want somewhere else to go.
I want somewhere I want to know.
I want my baby's eyes to show
Me that sweet light that leads the right way.
I want this day to lead to night to lead to new day.
on a long, long leash
hold onto it
on a long long, leash
its warm, warm breath
as it scurries round your feet
can melt the sidewalk out from underneath
(That's gonna be a song when I get the rest of it.
This below is me complaining to poetry, rather than with it, because it won't come back to me yet and I still need it to keep my life in order.)
Poetry won't come back to me till I'm done with this.
I say this is a bunch of bullshit.
Mine to decide, define, decline
if I wanna shake my head no, no
and tell a body where to go.
I'm gonna rise like dough I'm gonna walk out slow
into the cold rain.
I'm gonna swell like rice and click my heels once twice
stick my fingers in the drain.
So much of my hair down there I think I built another skull
So much of me thrown out I think the outside must be full
Oh, dog, gimme something to pull
Give me some way to restart the flow
Gimme somewhere else to go
Some other way to know
Some other thing that must be done
Brother tell me how to tell a brother of the word
The load I've taken on my sticky back is just absurd
The friendship that I hold him in is straining at the seams
He wants my time and patience when I don't know my own dreams
He wants me to find hours to spend just listening to his tales
And I will fail, and I will fail, and I do fail
Let it be enough
That he's become this tough, this hard 'fore I turned tail.
If I'm not listening am I not a friend
If I'm not visiting am I not a friend
If I'm not calling am I not a friend
If I'm just stalling am I not a friend
And cry I will for the guts I spill
Whosever's they may be
And hope I do that we all get through
To a world where love and time and space are free.
And I hear my sisters' teeth grind
Out there in the dark mind
Out there in the cold sun
Out there with the old one
One sister's the bold one
One is the controlled one
Don't never try to hold one back
From what she sees is true
They say they worry bout me
I say I worry about you
I don't know what we're going to do
But we'll all get through
Like a tree through a fence
Like smoke through a curtain
Like butter through the center
Of a loaf right out of the stove.
Did you walk that road,
I drove.
Did you sing that song,
I hummed.
Did you bear that load,
I dragged.
Did you say you were wrong,
I bragged.
Are you fast enough
I'm slow
But I want somewhere else to go.
I want somewhere I want to know.
I want my baby's eyes to show
Me that sweet light that leads the right way.
I want this day to lead to night to lead to new day.
seven, eight
I screwed up the payroll again because I was in such a damn hurry.
Now it's likely nobody will get paid till Monday.
Dog, I suck sometimes.
Now it's likely nobody will get paid till Monday.
Dog, I suck sometimes.
five, six, pick up sticks.
Just finished Tuesday's post. Last paragraph and a half or so. Nice to be able to complete a thought across a span of time. Makes you feel like a whole person.
Got shit to do, get to it soon, yada yada. Determines whether I and everyone get our checks Friday or Monday.
Had a dream last night. Been having dreams, and no slouchy dreams at that. But aside from a few Post-It sized carryover images, nothing much for most of 'em. This one, though. In this dream I had telekinesis. Through the whole thing! And I used it constantly and it felt great! I've had telekinesis in dreams in the past, and the actions and powers of it always feel the same. I wonder if there was real-life tk I could have, if it would feel the same? There's some of the same full lightness I associate with gravity, the joy so pure there isn't a word for it that stands at the roots of time. That feeling, that can't be felt with just the brain but needs the whole body and spirit and the surrounding world too, I think is the essential central thing that makes magic possible. It's just different angles of it, different ways of experiencing little bits of it with different modes of self.
But anyway it was great to have this in the dream. My hands were my focus points; I'd reach for something with my hand, and reach further out with this feeling and grasp it and pick it up. It acted a little like a field. I could pick up a whole pile of objects in each hand, as long as it wasn't too heavy, and carry them around as I walked (or ran, or fled, hard to say). While I was holding stuff like that I could heft its weight and tell about its roughness or brittleness--kind of get a feel for what type of thing it was, same as when you're holding something in your hand. Only there wasn't any skin and such to carry the message. I just knew what it was I was carrying because I was holding it. (Most of it was junk though. I think I may have just needed stuff to throw at people. Or perhaps I was tidying up. XD)
Things in waking life are so heavy. I'm kind of glad they are. The world would be an exhausting place if we were constantly matching wills with one another to prevent each other from uprooting the landscape in a temper tantrum. It's exhausting enough as it stands! The easiest mistake to make with wishing things about magic, at least for me, has been that thing that ass Kant talked about so much. If it's true for me, it has to be true for everybody. If I could move things around with my power, then everyone else could too, provided they'd bothered to develop the skill! And you better believe they would once the first person started throwing things around.
Got shit to do, get to it soon, yada yada. Determines whether I and everyone get our checks Friday or Monday.
Had a dream last night. Been having dreams, and no slouchy dreams at that. But aside from a few Post-It sized carryover images, nothing much for most of 'em. This one, though. In this dream I had telekinesis. Through the whole thing! And I used it constantly and it felt great! I've had telekinesis in dreams in the past, and the actions and powers of it always feel the same. I wonder if there was real-life tk I could have, if it would feel the same? There's some of the same full lightness I associate with gravity, the joy so pure there isn't a word for it that stands at the roots of time. That feeling, that can't be felt with just the brain but needs the whole body and spirit and the surrounding world too, I think is the essential central thing that makes magic possible. It's just different angles of it, different ways of experiencing little bits of it with different modes of self.
But anyway it was great to have this in the dream. My hands were my focus points; I'd reach for something with my hand, and reach further out with this feeling and grasp it and pick it up. It acted a little like a field. I could pick up a whole pile of objects in each hand, as long as it wasn't too heavy, and carry them around as I walked (or ran, or fled, hard to say). While I was holding stuff like that I could heft its weight and tell about its roughness or brittleness--kind of get a feel for what type of thing it was, same as when you're holding something in your hand. Only there wasn't any skin and such to carry the message. I just knew what it was I was carrying because I was holding it. (Most of it was junk though. I think I may have just needed stuff to throw at people. Or perhaps I was tidying up. XD)
Things in waking life are so heavy. I'm kind of glad they are. The world would be an exhausting place if we were constantly matching wills with one another to prevent each other from uprooting the landscape in a temper tantrum. It's exhausting enough as it stands! The easiest mistake to make with wishing things about magic, at least for me, has been that thing that ass Kant talked about so much. If it's true for me, it has to be true for everybody. If I could move things around with my power, then everyone else could too, provided they'd bothered to develop the skill! And you better believe they would once the first person started throwing things around.
Tuesdays With Abhorrent Fiends vol. 17
Never thought I'd get a chance to post up today!
Oh, and a mountain of paperwork. Y'ever have the experience of trying like hell to get your superiors to notice some vitally important thing relating to your job, finally getting them to sit down with you and understand the jist of it, then have them ram through a massive comprehensive solution and say "Get this done before you leave the office today!" And then when you're very specific about what complex and time-consuming tasks this will involve, have them say go ahead anyway?
All and still, I feel good about today. As I said to Bossman earlier, great days are not the same as easy days. The greatest of days are frequently the hardest. I thought of a poem line earlier that went "done in the old hard-fashioned way."
Haven't talked to Amber way in too long, Myke in more than a week, Pearl in almost a week. Last night I left my phone at the office and didn't miss it! XP I'm just starting to get tired of Myke, I think. More on that later, if I can.
I'm only making this post cause I've been kicked off my workstation for the moment and have done everything I can do without getting back into the programs that aren't on any other workstation. Putting signs on my door threatening death to any who disturb me has no effect on the horde of hard-working, answers-looking-for people who know damn well my mission is to create order at the font of chaos to make people's lives easier.
Le sigh.
I had two full days' worth of work to be done when I walked in the door this morning, because our accountant was here yesterday all day and the program she needed was on my computer. Then this whole new other pile of work showed up. Not that I'm complaining about the things getting done. I'm all for that. It's just there's only one of me, and just as importantly, there's only one of my computer, so there's no way I can get done even half of what I need to do to get through a day.
I've been having dreams every night, but I haven't gone over them in my head to the point where I get enough "index tabs" of remembered plot images to be able to pull the whole rest of the thing out. All I know is they've been vivid and interesting and I wish I actually had the dayspace to work them out.
Today should have left me frantic and miserable and all that stuff but I've just been in the zone. The keeping it together zone. I even got to explain some of the facts of life (demonology version) to my smoking buddy Bill when I was out on a smoke break. Your personality interacts with your body to create your aura. If either your personality or your body is under great strain or is misaligned somehow, you throw off pieces of emotional energy into the atmosphere, which attracts psychic predators. So it's imperative to take care of your body on the one hand, and on the other to be careful with your personality and make sure you know how to keep it functioning smoothly. You can't go to a hypnotist to unlock the powers of your deep mind (subchapter of the No Shortcuts rant). In order to use your power effectively, your conscious mind, which has direction and control and outside awareness, has to work in good communication and tandem with your unconscious mind, which has awareness of the invisible world around you and direct access to all your inner resources. The only way to develop this kind of communication is with long practice. I guess you could call it mental muscle memory. It can't be a skill of the conscious mind alone.
I suppose since the boundaries between the conscious and the unconscious are not set in stone (or wood or metal or anything) it might not be always true, what I say above. Maybe some other strain of humanity in some alternate reality has their power up and accessible and it's just something people can do. But I think there are some things that structurally have to be the way they are. Conscious thought, the attending "I", already bears the terrible burden of having to confront and react to the constantly changing world. If consciousness was not sheltered from the power to communicate will and evoke causal directionality in the patterns of chance and the wills of nearby living beings, the strain might be too great to bear. Imagine if every time you thought something, or felt an emotion towards something, you got a noticeable reaction from the universe! It'd be terrifying.
Oh, and a mountain of paperwork. Y'ever have the experience of trying like hell to get your superiors to notice some vitally important thing relating to your job, finally getting them to sit down with you and understand the jist of it, then have them ram through a massive comprehensive solution and say "Get this done before you leave the office today!" And then when you're very specific about what complex and time-consuming tasks this will involve, have them say go ahead anyway?
All and still, I feel good about today. As I said to Bossman earlier, great days are not the same as easy days. The greatest of days are frequently the hardest. I thought of a poem line earlier that went "done in the old hard-fashioned way."
Haven't talked to Amber way in too long, Myke in more than a week, Pearl in almost a week. Last night I left my phone at the office and didn't miss it! XP I'm just starting to get tired of Myke, I think. More on that later, if I can.
I'm only making this post cause I've been kicked off my workstation for the moment and have done everything I can do without getting back into the programs that aren't on any other workstation. Putting signs on my door threatening death to any who disturb me has no effect on the horde of hard-working, answers-looking-for people who know damn well my mission is to create order at the font of chaos to make people's lives easier.
Le sigh.
I had two full days' worth of work to be done when I walked in the door this morning, because our accountant was here yesterday all day and the program she needed was on my computer. Then this whole new other pile of work showed up. Not that I'm complaining about the things getting done. I'm all for that. It's just there's only one of me, and just as importantly, there's only one of my computer, so there's no way I can get done even half of what I need to do to get through a day.
I've been having dreams every night, but I haven't gone over them in my head to the point where I get enough "index tabs" of remembered plot images to be able to pull the whole rest of the thing out. All I know is they've been vivid and interesting and I wish I actually had the dayspace to work them out.
Today should have left me frantic and miserable and all that stuff but I've just been in the zone. The keeping it together zone. I even got to explain some of the facts of life (demonology version) to my smoking buddy Bill when I was out on a smoke break. Your personality interacts with your body to create your aura. If either your personality or your body is under great strain or is misaligned somehow, you throw off pieces of emotional energy into the atmosphere, which attracts psychic predators. So it's imperative to take care of your body on the one hand, and on the other to be careful with your personality and make sure you know how to keep it functioning smoothly. You can't go to a hypnotist to unlock the powers of your deep mind (subchapter of the No Shortcuts rant). In order to use your power effectively, your conscious mind, which has direction and control and outside awareness, has to work in good communication and tandem with your unconscious mind, which has awareness of the invisible world around you and direct access to all your inner resources. The only way to develop this kind of communication is with long practice. I guess you could call it mental muscle memory. It can't be a skill of the conscious mind alone.
I suppose since the boundaries between the conscious and the unconscious are not set in stone (or wood or metal or anything) it might not be always true, what I say above. Maybe some other strain of humanity in some alternate reality has their power up and accessible and it's just something people can do. But I think there are some things that structurally have to be the way they are. Conscious thought, the attending "I", already bears the terrible burden of having to confront and react to the constantly changing world. If consciousness was not sheltered from the power to communicate will and evoke causal directionality in the patterns of chance and the wills of nearby living beings, the strain might be too great to bear. Imagine if every time you thought something, or felt an emotion towards something, you got a noticeable reaction from the universe! It'd be terrifying.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
