Yesterday, I called Charter Communications to set up Internet service, after AT&T fucked up every order I set up with them. Like, every single one. The gentleman I spoke with told me the technician would be at my pad between 8 and 9 AM. While I was out with Toby's morning walk, I got an automated call from Spectrum, informing me that the tech was en route. It was a quarter til 8. Toby and I hied our way back to the pad and about 10 minutes later, Chase the Spectrum Tech was standing, smiling, at my door. It was 8:06! He had everything set up within 30 minutes, and even checked with the other tech in the van to see if he had a lighter or matches for me. I haven't the ability to make fire at the moment, so I'm starting to feel like Naoh!
On occasion, I have been asked how I get anything done, because it seems I’m doing everything all at once. Well, I am doing everything all at once, but it’s really all about what a person gets used to. It’s also about how a person’s mind works.
My mind has always been way too busy for its own good. Many of my teachers in school allowed me to doodle as I took notes, because the only way I could fully focus on the work at hand was to allow my mind to drift in other matters. I know that seems counterintuitive, but it worked for me, and I soaked knowledge up like a sponge. The same concept applied to reading for me. I have to be reading more than one book at a time, and I have to read each page at least twice, because the first time is a kind of overall imprint, and the second review is more of an in-depth absorption. I read by paragraph, not by sentence.
I think faster than I can write, even with typing, so I often skip words, which can be frustrating.
When I began working in Quality Assurance at BMG, we were all allowed to do as we pleased whilst auditioning new releases, just as long as we could remain focused on identifying sound and technical issues with the recordings. I got into the habit of writing and working on art while I listened. It took the pressure of having to listen to shite. When we began testing video games and upgraded to computers, my focus had to change. I could audition new releases while testing new games. I was also tasked to teach myself the computer, then give instruction to my boss and coworkers, so I would often find myself listening to an album, playing a game, and learning the PC by trial and error, all at the same time. It was never an issue for me. I adored it.
After BMG decided it no longer cared about the quality of its products and I ended up in the Pit (Special Orders Services/Point of Purchase promotions), my need to multi-task came in extremely handy, garnering me a lot of praise from a lot of labels, and some really nice raises. There were days I would be working on a dozen different promotions projects, and still be writing on my own stuff. When we got plugged into the Internet at work, I was introduced to LJ and created the Cliffs of Insanity to help me deal with the madness of working in the music business. Even though the coping mechanism only partially worked, as is evidenced in my obvious madness even today, it further developed my multi-tasking skills, allowing me to be able to listen to music, talk on the phone, communicate via email, process orders, organise promotions, bitch in my journal, and write on my fiction simultaneously. The more I did, the more I could do, and the more I needed to do.
I never had any capacity for patience, though, and what little patience I had, began to deteriorate. I am now pretty much devoid of any patience, but the mind is still on overdrive, and I often find myself incapable of doing just one thing. I feel incomplete and lazy. I feel disconnected, not only from the world as I perceive it, but also from myself. I also need some distraction in order to keep Cadmus in his Tulpa form at bay. If it weren’t for multi-tasking, Cadmus would have driven me the rest of the way mad as a hatter long ago.
I know a lot of people find multi-tasking to be a pain in the arse but, for me, it is a blessing for a mind that will sleep when it’s dead.
I am kind of freaking out right now. At the age 5, I was enrolled in 1st grade, at which time I was swiftly and truly schooled by my classmates. I was not normal. Period. I wasn't allowed to dance to music like I'd always done before, without getting called names and being laughed at. My teacher gave me a time out for not being able to recite the Lord's Prayer, and when we were supposed to play games that called for teams, there was team A and team "Shit, she's the only one left." It was apparent, in no uncertan terms, that nothing about me was normal. And since my family moved around a lot, I wasn't normal at any school, so it had to be me, not them. I was given the advice to ignore it and they'd eventually go away, but they didn't. This ended, for the most part, while I was working at BMG, when I finally lost it on some asshole at J Records I was forced to work with. I had one more incident of bullying behaviour just yesterday, and I reacted viciously. To be honest, I can't remember everything that happened there, but I think I just on that thin line that separates verbal confrontation from physical altercation. Thirty-two (non-consecutive) years of bullying boiled up in my body, and I just fucking exploded. But I'm not here to talk about bullying. It seems I've done a lot of that since I've been on the Internet, and finding others like myself. The Island of Misfit Toys is a real place on Teh Intarwebz, located a little further north-west of Dr. Moreau's Island, and separated from Fantasy Island by the Sea of Dreams (yes, we can see y'all from from our winders). Enough of that, though. Let's get down to bidness.
I'm here to talk about feeling paranormally different since waking up on the 14th. The doctor said he removed 17 pounds of excess skin, fat, and other crap that wouldn't have ever otherwise gone away. I'm talking about hearing the nurse softly say in my ear, "breathe deeply", and then I woke up with parts of my body that have always been part of me since I began to gain more weight than other kids my age, at four years. The midsection of my stomach is mostly flat, but the lower part, the part that hangs down to your thighs when you stand, and makes you think that you have no lap whatsoever when you sit down - - well, it is gone. Totally fucking gone. Working on my computer has even changed, because my stomach was my prop, so I could work on my writing, promotions, and blogging while Smidgen curled up on my chest or upper abdomen. Now, I'm having dificulty trying to find a decent computer spot, so I can write this. I feel as though, if I were back east with the friends I have, I would hear them whisper about me not being me, reinacting one of the earlier scenes of Invasion of the Bodysnatchers.
On 14 September whilst waiting to be rolled back to the operating room, I was lying on my back with my elbow and hands touching the mattress, or I had my fingers interlocked on my midsection, and my elbows just dangled at each side. If I wanted to put my arms at my side, then my elbows could touch the mattress, but my fingers wouldn't meet. I couldn't do both and I never could. It was just a fact of life for me, even after the gastric bypass surgery in 2004. Now, my elbows can rest on the bed and my fingers can interlock at the same time. The Mother Unit was amused that my discovery of this amazed me so much. I know that doesn't sound like much, but when you've never been able to do it before, it's kind of a thing. The effect on my lower back was nearly instantaneous. A lot of that pull is gone, which was the main purpose for asking to get the procedures in the first place. Total success, right there. Despite currently feeling as though I have been thrown into the Iron Maiden at an Iron Maiden concert, my back already doesn't hurt as much, and I'm hoping the pain will continue to wane as I heal. I can feel the difference in my knees as well.
Psychologically, the immediate effect has not been as positive as I would have liked, but that's not the doctor's fault. Everything he did was exactly the procedures he signed on to do, and he did them expertise. The thing for me, though, was that I went to sleep in the body I'd had for around 32 years, and I woke up a stranger to myself. I'm not doing as well as perhaps I should in respect to mentally catching up to the physical tranformation. There are differences you would never think of, such as, seeing my own "cho-cha" (thank you, Missy Elliott) for the very first time in my entire life. Only a few hours after the surgery has over, I learned the women's cho-chas were supposed to look like this. It is still quite a surprise, because most laypeople or medical personnel would never think that such a change would be shockingly phantasmagoric. It's as though the doctor pulled everything up. From now on, whenever I see some crazy person in the park talking down her/his pants, I'm going to wonder if they had a panniculectomy and abdominoplasty. Such a shock to the visual senses is bizarre and unsettling. On the other hand, I might be that homeless crazy person taking to her own privates sooner than later.
I was told that the surgery took hours because the doctor wanted to be as thorough as possible while he was working. Based on some of the surgery pictures he'd shown me during our consultation, I have no doubt he was thorough. In fact, I think he did more than was authorised, probably because he knew I might need it down the road. I was already dead to the world, so why not? After a little bit of online research, what little time I've been online, I'm thinking that that extra something was some liposuction, considering I have two balls that catch the bloody water draining out of me, and bruises that just won't quit on my lower stomach, thighs, and cho-cha. Everything is relatively level now. I had fatty bits on my back that are gone now, too. After all this heals I will appear to be, more or less, like someone carrying a few extra pounds, but nothing people would gawk or throw vomit fat jokes in her direction.
My entire dieting life, I was told to chant the mantra "there's a thin person inside me that yearns to get out!" I was conditioned to dislike everything about me that anyone could see, while striving to look like the ones who are always at the front of the line to get their kick in before the day over. I was filled with a hell of a lot of animosity by the time I was approved for gastric bypass surgery, so much so that I had before and after pictures taken in the event someone told me I looked good. My plan was to whip those pictures out and ask them what they thought now! Over a time, especially when Aunt Tudi's health started to decline, I just grew weary of my verbal fight with society, and just gave up on avenging the evil so quantumly ingrained in us all by this mockery of our exsistence.
But, the other day, I was told it was good to see me, a "much thinner" me. I didn't say anything then, because I've been feeling like every hell imagined in every dimension that could currently be calculated by any Physics Academic, and to be perfectly frank, I did not want to be in a tiff, or what have you. Now, I'm a tad concerned that, in my heart, I know I may throat punch anyone who has ever known or seen me prior to the surgeries, but still comes out with that programmed bullshit, especially if they refer to having surgies to assist me lose the weight that was killing me as "taking the easy way out." I am not above going all Jack Torrance with an ax on any motherfucker who crosses that line, and thanks to those oh so very easy surgeries and recoveries that were alllll done for cosmetic reasons and nothing else, I'm lighter, limberer, and enthusiastically motivated to shut you up by ripping your jaw bone off your stupid brainless head and feeding it to Toby. Strangers who do not know me will get you one free pass but, if a stranger proving how much of a douche nozzle they are by judging another within my earshot may very well end up in an intimate relationship with my shoes and elbows. I haven't forgotten all the Kung Fu I was taught, and I'll probably be able to do them better now. You can be my practice.
The flesh a person is in, is not that person, but it can affect them in unimaginable ways. I feel like a stranger in a strange land now. I can't quite grasp the extent of my aura. Toby caught a glimpse of mm the other day, and barked at me as though I were a stranger. I'm wondering how Smidge will handle seeing her new old bed, unimpressed that it no longer has the cushioning she requires. I can get around things a bit easier, but still move like I need to squeeze, and that makes me look like I'm up to no good. I had some of these issues with the first surgery, but the effects came much more slowly, so my adjustments were more easily accepted. This time, not so much. Not even after the gastric bypass did I have a figure. Now that I do, I don't look right.
But just because I'm struggling doesn't mean I've lost one iota of my venom for humanity as a whole. Once built, or stolen, I can just shoot my lethal laser gun at the global urban centers while wearing some dumbass latex cat suit.
FUCK THE WORLD
PS: If you find any spelling or grammatical mistakes in this, chalk it up to unbridled anger combined with full body pain. Thank you.
There may be people out there who have the impression that I’m a misanthropic asshole with no sense of gratitude.
It’s true, I am a misanthropic asshole, but I am grateful for a lot of things and beings, including people. I thought it might behove me to step out of “character” for a few minutes and make a list. So here we go.( cut for courtesy )
1. The Mother Unit - for rescuing me from myself last year, and having more patience with me than I ever would with anyone, including myself.
2. My friends. Even though I’ve lost a few since 2011, I’ve retained many very important souls in my life, many of which I met here on LJ. Despite my general dislike for our species, I harbour much fondness for my Tribe. Many of you stuck with me through the darkest period of my life, often saving my skin and literally saving my life and sanity when I did nothing to deserve such kindness, and there’s really no way I can ever sufficiently repay you for that. I just hope that I can do something for each of you someday, that might properly express how much you mean to me.
3. Smidgen and Toby. They cradle my soul like no one else would be willing to, or could. The unconditional love cats and dogs give us may well be the primary way god/dess is trying to tell us that we aren’t alone, that we count in some way. Despite my agnosticism, Toby and Smidgen are the ones who keep me from full-on atheism.
4. Music. Music is the closest thing to the concept of Force that we can get. I’ve long believed that the multiverse in which we dwell is a song that is still being composed. It is the purest form of communication, and it is something that every living being expresses in one form or another. We are all songs, we are the music of creation, we are the mathematics and art of dreams and concepts.
5. Fey Publishing - for taking a chance on me and my strange tales. My third book will be available soon, thanks to Fey’s original owner, Sophie Childs, and its current sovereign, Kristen Duvall. Click on their names to learn more about these brilliant women. I owe them both a great deal, for their initial and continued faith in me, and for their patience as I struggled through my own personal bullfunky to finally get the third Vampire Relics book to Dark Fey’s door.
6. Shriekback, in particular Barry Andrews, for letting me have a ringside seat to their ongoing awesomeness. Since 1990, they’ve been an almost constant source of inspiration and comfort, soundtracking my life’s highs and lows, and everything in between. If we lived on Arrakis, I would owe Barry a huge water-debt.
7. The Impractical Jokers and The Epic Rap Battles of History. My entire life, I’ve been a huge supporter of all brands of humour, but my quest for things that would make me laugh became a desperate effort following Aunt Tudi’s death. Of all the things I explored in my quest for laughter, The Tenderloins (Impractical Jokers) and the guys behind The Epic Rap Battles were the only ones who never failed to bring me a joy that was otherwise almost impossible to find.
8. You Tube and Netflix. When you don’t have a TV, these two wonderful services are a wonderful, and often preferable, alternative.
9. Dr. Harrington. Of all the therapists I’ve had over the years, this is the only one I’ve ever felt actually listens to me. His wry wit, proclivity to play devil’s advocate, and his willingness to swear are just three of many things that impress me about the man. And he’s a good person, a genuinely good person.
10. The Internet. When someone asked me how I felt about the Internet back in 1998, I told them that the Internet was the universe’s largest library. You could find out anything by exploring the endless halls of virtual books. You need only be aware of the pervert at the end of each aisle and act accordingly to avoid them.
11. Sleep. When you’re a chronic insomniac, the value of sleep increases a thousandfold. I was never one of those kids who balked at bedtime; I was always a fan of slumber, mainly because of my vast dreamscape. Being able to achieve lucidity at times only added to the wonder of it all. After I began suffering from insomnia, those rare occasions where I’d achieve a few hours of really good sleep with a possible bonus of now rare dreams, reached a level of miraculous for me. I am never not profoundly grateful for sleep.
12. Drum circles. I’ve always been fond of them, but rediscovering drumming and, in particular, trance drumming, has reconnected me to deity on a level I thought was no longer possible. There’s something about surrendering to a group rhythm that is both spiritual and therapeutic. Thankfully, drum circles in San Diego are never on short supply, unlike the Upstate of South Carolina.
13. Earth. I try to never take my home planet for granted, especially now that my species seems hellbent on destroying the only home we’ve ever known. In vast expansiveness of the multiverse, this magickal sphere upon which we all live makes it seem more likely than not, that life is more prevalent than we can imagine. And Earth is teeming with it, in mind-boggling varieties throughout an inconceivable history. This “pale, blue dot” may be tiny in the scheme of everything, but the planet is unique and precious, a work of divine art, from the towering trees of the Amazon to the majesty of the Smoky Mountains, all resonating with the subtle song of water, that which gives life as we know it. We have no right to visit so much suffering upon the body and spirit of our galactic mother. Throughout every day, I am stunned by the miracle of our home, and I grieve for everything that has lost in the wake of our destruction. I walk through life, grateful to Earth for her presence, and therefore ours, and I hope that my fellow humans and I can find some semblance of forgiveness for our transgressions.
So there it is. Thirteen things for which I am very grateful. I’m sure there’s more, but these are the Big Ones in my life, at this moment. What do you treasure? For what are you grateful?
Okay, enough of the squeeing. I just had to inform the word that great things are a'comin'!
When the former nobodies of the world rise up against the creator of their fandom, and essentially take it over despite his protestations, it may be time to start listening. And when they do it so well, it leaves others slack-jawed from watching it, it might actually be time to pass on the crown and sceptre.
Submitted for your approval. First the original song and video, then the one made by the "nobodies."
It seems that the more depressed I get in real life, the more manic I become online to try to counteract it all. The past couple of days have been pretty bad, with missing Aunt Tudi terribly, reliving all my regrets about her, and being completely alone here in the house, in utter silence. I have been so lonely, and so lost.
Then, every time I'd feel the tears welling up, I'd throw myself into cyberspace and write anything, everything, even if it didn't need writing. And I'd seek out pictures and post them constantly on Facebook. And I would obsess over everything.
I see myself being pulled to those things and people that have comforted me in the past, when no one and nothing else could. And my focus would be diamond-sharp. It's been scary of late, but these are the only things I can think about. I grasp desperately for these sources of solace, and I find myself trying to take everyone along with me, despite their probably being sick of me and my insanity.
And then there's Cadmus. My one great tormentor, my demon child, has suddenly become a safe and familiar haven. This entity that's filled with rage and hatred, so capable of unspeakable cruelty, always eager to take the road that will bring him closer to the dark matter of the spirit...I am running to him for some sort of sanctity and reason in my life.
What does that even mean?
All I know, is that I'm woeful, my sleep patterns (as if I had any) are flipped inside out, and I'm...well, I'm serenading monsters, quietly seething. I don't want to cry anymore. I want to laugh in the face of all of it, and come out the other end as unscathed as I can be. I'm tired of grieving and regretting. If I don't stop it, I may just succumb to the void that is my mind-child. Only the Mighties know what I'd be capable of then, what lengths I would go to, to achieve some sort of peace in my world.
I honestly can't believe how many people are wanting signed copies of the book. And here I am with crap penmanship. Guess I should start practicing.
It's been hours since I've had an Internet connection and it's driving me crazy. What's going on? What's the skinny, the dealio, the ultimate news? I have nothing of it and I want it badly! I feel like a limb has been chopped off and no one designed a prosthetic for me. It sucks to the nth degree. I feel like fretting, but I'm too busy feeling sorry for myself to fret. The time is 9:20 PM DST.
Damn damn damn.
The time is now 7:30 DST. Still no connectivity. The monkey on my back is jumping up and down and screeching. I think it's a howler monkey. I'll be heading to the library at 9 PM to catch up with my emails and see how the book is doing. This could not have happened to me at a worst time! Dammit on a kebab stick!
No wait...I have it! I have connectivity! It's alive, I tell you, aliiiiiiive!
I am listening to grievous Russian music. I have no idea what it means, but I'm certain that it's depressing, which just adds to my morbid mood. I will quote from this song if I have to talk to someone from Yahoo. It will not be pretty. I will become a Communist. I will drink Vodka. I'll have to buy some first, but I will buy some and I will drink it and then it will be on, sister. It will be ON.
If any of you people have tried to communicate with me since the weekend, I have not been ignoring you. I just haven't gotten your email. Send me Vodka.
Unless the Mighties smile down upon me, my session here will end in 15 minutes. Damnation! I want my computer back! ::falls over on her tummy, kicking and flailing her arms like one of the many brats she despises so:: Something has to be done, I swear to the Goddess in Her boundless patience. My computer must return to me safely. Now. Immediately. I don't do patience well. I know this is a lesson for me to learn, to study and examine about how useless I am when it comes to not getting my way. But now is not that time to learn that lesson. Now is the time for me to have unlimited Internet access, dammit.
I've been writing the old-fashioned way: with a pen applied to paper. My handwriting is atrocious. I figured I'd better transcribe what I have so far before I lose the ability to read what I've written. Right now, concentration on the scribblings and memory will get me through but, the longer I wait, the less of a chance I'll have to transcribing the mess. This bit was inspired by my recent reconnection with the Craft combined with the Tarmian Ways and rituals. Actually, I want to include a good amount of Tarmian tradition and way of life in this sequel. The Chalice wouldn't exist had it not been for the firm platform of dozens of notebooks of Deaghydhe/Tarmian language, ritual practice, myths and legends, and character developments on which it rests. I want Kelat's pre-Vampire days to be more prevalent in The Blood Crown. Her memories, particularly the ones she passes on to Cadmus that will help him retrieve the Blood Crown, will bring to life the ancient alien Elfin creatures who inherited the Earth millions of years before Humanity stirred in the dreams of the Earth Mother. Kelat is, after all, the Mother of Memory. I should focus more readily on that and let her live up to her Tarmian title.
Okay, so here it is.
( Kelat'menan ~ the Mother of Memory )
That's what I have so far. And I have three minutes left online. Crapola. Maybe I can get back on Saturday.
Hope all is well with you people, those I call My Friends. ::blows a Sithly kiss::
Oh, and HAPPY ALBAN EILER!!
I can't access Yahoo mail....the message says "Temporary problem accessing your mailbox. We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience. The problem with your mailbox has now been logged, and we are working to restore your access. Thank you for your patience."
Patience? PATIENCE?? I don't have no steeeenking patience. I want my mail, now.