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| Down the Toilet... |
| 08.01.10 (5:50 pm) [edit] |
| ...Is where this blog site has gone. I should not be getting comments from people trying to sell me Cialis, or weight loss pills, but I am. That's all I get. One more blog site on my "NOT to-do list". Damnit. Must be nice to sit back and collect advertising dollars. |
| 1 Comments |
| What Now? April 27/10 |
| 04.27.10 (4:24 pm) [edit] |
During my sleep a couple days ago, I had a heart-to heart conversation with a departed loved one. A long conversation. I knew who it was in the dream, but they were very indistinct. By the time I had been awake 15 minutes afterwards, I couldn't remember WHO it was (how sad is that) but that something had been resolved. That they knew how much I cared and missed them.
Even though I promptly forgot who it was that I spoke to, the conversation had an impact which has lasted these last few days. Beyond the grief at being "reunited" and having them leave again (I distinctly remember begging to be allowed to stay with them) there was joy at having been directly heard. Relief that I was sure they knew what they meant to me, especially since I didn't know when I would see them again. I wish I could remember for sure who it was. They said their goodbyes and I know they are gone to me now in this life, unlike some who can visit many times. All I know for sure is that it was a man. Reflecting on it, I'm fairly certain it was Murph.
I have known for several years, with a certainty that Christianity never gave me, that life continues on after death, though not as we know it. Knowing that death is not the end has not made parting from loved ones much easier to bear. I am still HERE, while they are not. Lately, I've been feeling like...like it would be OK if I were not here anymore. As painful as it would be to the ones I left behind, I would be much happier. I would be with everything I miss so much. Some days, I am not only OK with it, I wish for it. Those days, coincidentally, are generally when I'm out at my land, feeling my Uzi frollicking around me. Despite the fact that that is where my food garden and animals are going, I may have to make someone else take the responsibility. It hurts me too much to be there, and I am needed.
In the past three months, I've regretted decisions, or lack thereof. Things I can never take back, things I can never fix. This has never happened to me before. I have always made it a point to not do things I would regret, or if I did, to fix it as best I could or at least not dwell on it. These days, I am full of regret. Things have piled up on me, and apparently my shovel is broken.
No, I'm not depressed. I've been through it enough to know the difference. I'm just hormonal, and tired, SO tired of loving and losing.
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| 1 Comments |
| Jan. 13, 2010 UPdate and preemptive eulogy |
| 01.13.10 (5:21 pm) [edit] |
| The boob pills have worked/are working. After 7 months, I am "almost" an A. There is something there sticking out without a padded bra. I will post measurements, names and dosages when I get a chance. For now... Old Dog (Capri) is not doing well. She hurt her back several months ago, and I was convinced at that time that she would never walk on her own again ( I had to hold her rear end up with a towel for her to go outside for almost a week), but she rallied. Got back to her normal, hairless, bad-skinned arthritic self. You see, she has a severe hypothyroid disorder and severe allergies for the past few years...it has not responded to medication, and I gave up trying a short while ago and decided to let nature take it's course. It has affected every hormone in her body. This is her third "bald" winter, and this year she didn't even get a little winter fluff. She was cold all the time anyway, but now it's worse. Especially since her back gave out on her again a month or so ago, and this time, shown no sign of getting any better. Sometimes she's in pain, and half an aspirin twice a day seems to help much, but sometimes she's OK, although she refuses to use her rear legs at all except when she squats to eliminate. She often cries for someone to take her to the bathroom, but I'm gone all night and asleep off and on for most of the day, and the rest of my household will rarely be burdened with an inconvenient carry-out trip to the yard, and certainly not with the changing of bedding that comes with the inability to make it to the "potty". I'm the one who does not generally believe in putting sick animals "down", so the family dog is now my sole responsibility. I'm told she should have been killed years ago. Which means the mess is mine. It was mine anyway, always mine, the least I could do along with feeding, watering and washing, for this poor elderly dog who had seen my children from toddlerhood to adulthood. The dog who was sometimes smarter than I was. The dog who knew nasty people even before I did (now THAT'S fast!) but held grudges much longer. I say I don't agree generally with putting animals to "sleep", and that's true. Even in this case. Pets--especially cats but also dogs, have the ability to just "give up". When they're ready to go, they just do. They rarely linger in pain for very long. I've had HUNDREDS of pets since I was small, and I've seen it time and again. I have to admit, though, that I have less experience with dogs than with cats. I am currently seeing things in Capri that a cat would not tolerate. I cannot tolerate it much longer. Next to the woodstove, she is shivering. I have to lift and turn her every couple of hours because she gets uncomfortable lying in the same position for too long, and cannot do it herself. It hurts her to be moved, but apparently is worth the price. Her skin is still bald and covered in a rash that she can no longer scratch. Her rear legs still work but any movement of them causes her pain. She can't use them at all. Earlier tonight, I made the decision to have her put to sleep on Friday, when I get paid. But now, again, I find myself vaccillating. Is it what SHE would want? Obviously not, since if she wanted to die, she would just go off her food and water, go into a coma and die. If she doesn't want to die, what right do I have to make her do it? I believe she is getting closer to that decision, but I'm not sure I have the balls to witness it. Much better to make her go to sleep and never wake up. Neither decision will have a happy ending, but neither will our own lives. It's a dichotomy. I don't want to kill her for convenience's sake. I don't want her to linger for love of me. Until Friday and my final decision, I will take care of my old dog as if she were a tiny motherless puppy, as I have done for a month. As I will do until nature takes it's own course, if that is my ultimate decision. |
| 0 Comments |
| I'm such a geek,Dec. 8/09 |
| 01.13.10 (4:09 pm) [edit] |
| I have an addictive personality. I know this well. If I try something, and I like it, I generally go balls out. If I don't like it, I leave disappointed, disillusioned and maybe even angry, and then move on to the next "fix". This applies to pretty much everything in my life, from subjects in school, to my kids, to beer, to video games, to friends, to animals (I currently have 8 pets and one of them is pregnant), but especially when it comes to games. The whole "balls out" thing can be a problem, as anyone who lived with me when I went through the Bejeweled addiction (I actually lost a rather large amount of money over that one) or when I got my hands on Final Fantasy T2 can attest...when I wasn't working, that was what I did. For days I barely ate, slept or shat. I completed missions in my sleep. The book I was reading disappeared for a week. The wonderful thing about that game though, is that it had a clearly delineated ending. Once all the quests were completed, all the boss levels finished, I put it down and never gave it another look. I actively avoided games for awhile to avoid any kind of weird fixation transference, and if Peter was playing Runescape or Dylan playing Icewind Dale or World of Warcraft, or even if Eric was playing Thousand Year Door (that eventually also became a game I lost showers over) I would avoid even looking at the screen, and dishes would get done. Second Life snagged me for a couple of days, but that turned out to be one of those bitter disappointment things. But... A game where I could explore for weeks and never see even a tiny portion of the landscape? Where I could quest for months, and be no closer to reaching any sort of conclusion? Where I could RP or simply beat the crap out of anything that moved, and where "anything that moved" was often OTHER PLAYERS and not a computer with bad AI? A wonderful, magical place where I can kill goblins to get money, which enables me to collect and upgrade armour, which allows me to kill stronger goblins? HELL YEAH! This sounds like a lot of lost sleep, which is why I've avoided delving into MMOs for 13 years, and this particular one for the last 5. I've been playing a free trial version for the better part of three days. The only reason I'm not playing right NOW is because all the 'realms' are down for maintenance. So far I'm not seeing anything to disappoint, which means I've got a problem. It means I'm going to be spending money I really shouldn't for something that won't get me ANYTHING but an even filthier house. That is, of course, unless I eventually sell my character on Ebay, and we all know THAT isn't very likely. I become very attached to my creations, and in this case my creation is a particularly lovely and skilled human female rogue. Oh, boy. |
| 0 Comments |
| October 13/09 |
| 10.13.09 (6:03 am) [edit] |
| In the past seven months I have developed a head 25% full of grey hair, and now a rather matronly behind. Mom always told me I'd have trouble keeping weight off once I hit middle age. She didn't tell me it would happen overnight, though. Bad dog, no cookie. The butt has got to come off. I think I've got fat deposits in my brain. |
| 0 Comments |
| Quest 2, September 20 |
| 09.20.09 (8:59 pm) [edit] |
| Lets start with the bad news: I weigh 125. I put it on like a girl, too, so I have a fluffy butt and thunderthighs. None of my jeans fit, not even the stretchy ones I wear if I know I'm going to have a few beer. I LOOK pretty good, I think, but I feel like shit. Most people seem to think my discomfort is hilarious--"OOH, you put on 15 pounds? You're just OBESE!" (insert eye-rolling and guffaws) But the thing is that more weight equals more allergy meds, more salbutamol, more labetalol and atenolol, because anytime I go over 118, 120 or so, they almost quit working entirely. Actually, I have a list of allergy pills as long as my arm that now will not work for me at all. And, it's been a miserable allergy season to begin with. My libido is still down, but it's better than before. Getting decent sleep didn't last, I'm back to 4-6 hours at a time, and unfortunately I'm having trouble staying out of bed for more than 12 hours at a time...and three of those are spent vegging. I'm dog-tired, which is at odds with the fact that woof has the wind in her tail and wants to run and play and run some more. It's funny that I've been a night owl all my life, and now that I'm working all nights, during my nights off, I can't stay awake. I need iron. I know this now for a fact, but I refuse to take iron supplements. The most readily absorbable iron comes from red meat, the rarer the better, but the only meat I have in the freezer is venison, and I will NOT eat it raw. Even if I had the energy to shop, the stores are not open when I'm awake, so I have to get Pete to do the bulk of the grocery shopping. He tends to pick up stuff I can't afford. I want to send him for a cheap beef roast (the leanest cuts are the cheapest, which suits me just fine). You can make a LOT of steaks (blue rare! YUM!) out of 12 bucks worth of eye of round. But I know if he can't find it, he'll come back with whatever he can find, and chances are good it would be 30 bucks worth of top sirloin or something. Potatoes and spinach just won't cut it. I may have to pick up some multivitamins or something. Blechhh. The good news thus far: I actually have enough boob that I jiggle when I jump up and down. I'm a double A. I'm pretty sure the new boobs will disappear, however, when I get rid of my new ass. |
| 2 Comments |
| Qureast, July 28/09 |
| 07.28.09 (4:45 am) [edit] |
| I remember being about 7 years old and asking my 35-B mother when I would get breasts. She gave me a pat answer borne from her then-perpetual discomfort of all things even remotely sexual: "When you're older". I remember being on the far side of 9, and having her stare at my naked chest and comment out of the blue: "Your breasts are budding". I looked down and saw that my areolas were indeed slightly swollen and protruding, unlike they had been before. I thought perhaps my time for a "training bra" may be coming soon. 3 years later, 5 inches taller, 55 pounds heavier and already 8 months into the menstruating community, not to mention a lot of up-close-and-personal sex and gender education and never having gotten past the 'bud' stage, I began to accept that my chances of ever having real 'womanly' boobs were slim to none. I began to wear falsies...at least I could stand up straight, as opposed to hunching and flexing(at this point I had some pretty impressive pecs for a 12 year old girl, and I was able to use them somewhat to my advantage) to hide what I didn't have, and push out what I had. The falsies made my chest look a small A, but I felt and looked much more feminine. They tended to shift, but I fixed this by pinning them to the inside of my bra. Why spend $15 on minimally padded bras when you could spend $3 for regular ones and $10 for the pads that you could switch between bras? I'm going to cut this story a little short for now, because at that point in my adolescence rumours abounded, things became very painful and even dangerous for me, and suddenly I was reliving some of the most painful memories of my early childhood and spending way too much time analyzing myself. In retrospect, my conclusions are the same, but that's neither here nor there. I cast away many of my ingrained, brainwashed mindsets, but never managed to let go of the desire to have 'womanly' breasts; to be able to put on a proper fitting AA bra and not have it gape! To have my chest fill out ANY sort of normal female underwear. I've never been athletic, but I had the torso of, well, a dude, just from splitting wood a couple of times a week. It didn't help that I enjoyed arm-wrestling and regularly beat guys twice my age. I always feel like a silly twit for wearing bras at all, but I do it because my boobs are hypersensitive (and not in a good way) and my nipples poking out of my shirt is not only embarrassing, it's BEYOND uncomfortable. My official bra size is a 35 AAAA, but they don't make those for women, and even if I could afford custom, I don't care THAT much. I can wear a 34 AAA... Most of THOSE are made for young girls who don't (and never will) have the developed upper body I have. Same with 34 AA. They either chafe, give me a tiny uni-boob, or both. Plus, they cost more than 'standard' sizes. So, I wear readily found but ill-fitting 34-A padded bras. During pregnancy I made full 34AA in size, and breastfeeding, fully engorged with excess milk, I was almost an A. Mammaries are not what make breast size however--men have them as well (yes, this means that if you happen to have a penis, you are also potentially capable of breast feeding), and luckily how well you can feed your children is not dependant upon breast size at all. Size is basically a result of estrogen receptors in the breast controlling fat deposits. No matter how much weight I put on (as my mother suggested), I will have no boobs. Being one of those people who can gain and lose weight at will, I tested this theory up to a point. I get very physically uncomfortable over 120 lbs, so if I had to reach, say, 130 to get boobs, well too damn bad. I'd much rather be comfortable than curvy. Shit, I'm 5 foot 3. I know my health fairly well, and my current 114-soaking-wet is just fine. I threw away the falsies years and years ago, having come somewhat to terms with how I am, but I still wear padded bras most times. I hate to admit it, but hypersensitivity notwithstanding my nonexistant boobs somehow make me feel like less of a woman. It doesn't help that from the waist down, I look like an average, slightly-out-of-shape 30-something woman, but from the waist up, I look like a 16-year-old jock dude. I still haul and split wood (maul and sledgehammer) three seasons of the year, though less often all told than once a week. That's the only heavy work I do. Ever. Off and on through the years, I considered surgical augmentation, even though I personally could tell the difference from a mile away. I can only imagine what they must feel like, or act like under athletic conditions. However the possibility of a loss of sensation was mildly attractive to me--I would have boobs AND I could go braless! There have been three times in my life I was able to readily afford implants. I'm still a carpenter's dream. But lately, my vanity (or whatever you want to call it) has gotten the better of me again. Surgery is not an option, and even if it was, my answer is a resounding NO. I don't want to be ugly. My non-surgical choices boiled down to taking cow hormones or phytoestrogens. A month ago after much research I decided to give a specific herbal regimen a try. I ordered a 4-month supply and am following it rigorously. As recommended, I have also increased my already high-protein diet and I'm 'trying' to eat more foods that are "woman friendly" like oats and soy. I am also taking all my body measurements--bust, chest (inhaled comfortably), waist relaxed and sucked in, top of hip and bottom of hip; so that I can see if there is any measurable gain and if it is in proportion to an overall weight gain or water retention, or if it is cyclical in synch with my monthlies. I'm going into this expecting very little except for a 250 dollar dent in my pocket, and perhaps a little 'reliable' anecdotal evidence whether yay or nay. But, hope springs eternal, and silly superficial Jan is hoping for boobs. Just an A. An A is all I ever wanted, but if all I get is to fill out an AA, I will consider it a success and will buy a new bikini top to wear next time I go swimming instead of fully clothed in jeans, padded bra and t-shirt . I've been taking the pills and using the cream for a month now. I try to take it at the same time each day, but as with other medications I take, I often feel like I forgot to take it at all, so I take it again, which means that some days I'm pretty sure I've doubled up. The sides of my boobs under my arms are mildly sore, but so far that is the only boob-related thing that is out of the ordinary, and I certainly can't point to anything other than normal hormonal changes as being the cause. Another unusual thing has been that for the past two weeks or so, I'm able to get about 7 1/2 hours of sleep per day. IN A ROW. Decent, solid sleep, maybe only getting up once for a pee or a snack and going right back down, but mostly IN A ROW. More than 3 or four hours at a time is a rarity! I doubt phytoestrogens would have caused it, but I don't care. I just generally feel SO much better sleep-wise than I have in a very long time. I have not gained any weight, but I seem to have lost some muscle tone in my upper body (NOT a good thing) and my behind is most definitely wider than before. This is most likely due to the fact that my current job can be very calisthenic but certainly not weight-intensive: but I'm mentioning anything unusual for posterity. Another maybe-side-effect is that my libido has suddenly gone through the floor in the past three weeks. I have almost no desire to get off, and when I try, it takes longer and is much less intense. Obviously a little more disturbing than the sudden ability to get decent sleep! For now I'll just take the sleep, but I know from experience with other medication side-effects that if my libido stays low for long, or especially becomes non-existant. I will not be happy no matter what other benefits I gain. I kind of think like a guy in that respect. It's certainly not the be-all and end-all, but I like to get off. Hell, it took me long enough to figure out how to do it consistantly, so I hate it when something messes with my groove. If all these new developments are due to taking small amounts of herbs that happen to be high in substances that mimic human hormones, I'm very damn glad I didn't buy the prolactin stuff. But anyway. I decided to try it, and I'm taking measurements. I should do pictures too, but I haven't done it yet, so a month in, the pictures may be worthless, scientifically speaking. At the end of the four months, whether or not I get some boobs, I will post the company name and most likely end my quest for breast. Hey, at least my boobs will never sag! |
| 2 Comments |
| July 19/09 |
| 07.19.09 (11:41 am) [edit] |
| Burn it to the Ground- Nickelback Well it's midnight, damn right, we're wound up too tight I've got a fist full of whiskey, the bottle just bit me Oh That shit makes me bat shit crazy We've got no fear, no doubt, all in balls out We're going off tonight To kick out every light Take anything we want Drink everything in sight We're going till the world stops turning While we burn it to the ground tonight Oh We're screaming like demons, swinging from the ceiling I got a fist full of fifties, tequila just hit me Oh We got no class, no taste, no shirt, and shit faced We got it lined up, shot down, firing back straight crown We're going off tonight To kick out every light Take anything we want Drink everything in sight We're going till the world stops turning While we burn it to the ground tonight Oh Ticking like a time bomb, drinking till the nights gone Get your hands off of this glass, last call my ass Well no chain, no lock, and this train won't stop We got no fear, no doubt, all in balls out We're going off tonight To kick out every light Take anything we want Drink everything in sight We're going till the world stops turning While we burn it to the ground tonight Oh We're going off tonight To kick out every light Take anything we want Drink everything in sight We're going till the world stops turning While we burn it to the ground tonight |
| 2 Comments |
| YIKES May 15/09 |
| 05.15.09 (12:29 pm) [edit] |
| I've got a really wonderful nude photo shoot almost all in place. It's been about two years in the planning. Without giving too much away, I've bought almost all the items I need (paints, draperies, etc.), selected the locations and micro-organized pretty much everything. And it's a good thing I did, because there are a couple of hitches that are keeping it from becoming a reality. The first, and most obvious one, is my own reluctance about 'appearing' nude, nude or not--If it was just me, I could do it, I think. I'm no Cindy Crawford (as evidenced by the comment on my first 'nude' attempt which said something to the effect that I looked like a boy), and if I was too embarrassed, I could just NOT post the photos. Which leads to the second problem. I've done two short dry runs of the shoot, during which I have learned two things: Number one, to get the effect I want, I need a second person to paint my back and backside. I thought I could do it on my own, but it doesn't look that great, and I don't want just frontal shots. Number two, to get the SHOTS I want, I also need a second person, because I am going to be fairly high up in a tree for some of them, and although I can get a remote for the shutter, I can't get one for camera positioning or shutter speed settings. I intend to use only natural light. I don't have the time to keep climbing up and down the darn trees, as much as I would like to. Most of my time is spent working and sleeping, so when I do this it has to be fast. Which means I need someone to help me. There is only one person in the world I can ask, one person I know who wouldn't make this about sex in any way shape or form--my sister DancingRain, and I'm embarrassed to even ask her; we both grew up in a very prudish, stifled environment, and I'm not sure it wouldn't embarrass HER to paint my buttocks or see/photograph my genitals and breasts (such as they are). I don't even think she's seen me nude since I was ten, and her memory of her childhood started to go missing around 1986 or so. Which kind of means she will be "seeing" me for the first time, IF I ask her, and IF she says yes. My own hangups are making me want to run and hide at this point, so I'll shut up now, but you get the point. |
| 0 Comments |
| April 28/09 |
| 04.28.09 (12:45 pm) [edit] |
| So, for the past 5 weeks I work midnights at a coffee shop. It's been a revealing experience. I LIKE my job. I LOVE to make customers happy. Most of our customers at that time of the night and day are regulars, and I'm enjoying getting to know them and managing very well not to throttle the two regular assholes (and occasional random assholes and drunken idiots) that come in. I fake "I'm so glad to see you" very well, and the genuine smiles it earns in return are worth A LOT to me. Makes me smile for real. But just in case you thought I wasn't going to whine and bitch, let me allay your fears. The owner and head manager are SO anal and controlling, they're making my sphincter hurt daily, just thinking about it. We cannot wear ANY jewellery, not even earrings, unless it can be hidden and quieted (e.g. a pendant has to be under our shirts and taped to our chest), fine. I took off my necklace that holds a lifetime of totem trinkets, and my grandmother's ring. No big. I know where they are. If we don't have short hair it has to be held up and off the collar, fine. My hair is so wispy tying it up is useless, but I put my hair in a half-bun (doubled over ponytail) since it's long enough that a simple ponytail won't work to keep it off my collar. I don't have ponytail rings so I use elastic bands. Work provides our uniforms, but they didn't have a belt small enough to fit me and had to order one. Apparently a 30 inch waist in a woman 5'3" is something of a rarity these days. A belt is needed, because otherwise the radio pack for our headsets will drag down the side of our elastic-waisted pants and our shirts may come untucked, which is FORBIDDEN. Fine. I throw on a temporary belt. Head manager started ragging on me the NEXT DAY, and multiple times since, about the belt I HAD to wear from home (I actually had to borrow one from Peter since I never wear belts, and it had *gasp* a buckle!) and hinted I should buy a new one. I demurred and finally I got a "company belt" three days ago. Then, I walked in for work, hadn't even punched in yet, and I got "spit that gum out of your mouth" from said anal head manager. I was confused, since several other employees CONSTANTLY (and obviously to the point that it's gross) chew gum, but I did it. Then, there's a discreet refferal to the "store policy handbook" which is the size of Encyclopedia Brittanica, about my hair: buns are not allowed, it has to be ponytailed, and since several paragraphs are dedicated to the definitions, I am able to determine that apparently my hair was being held in a bun. I let out the ends of my hair and hope the hair net keeps them in. (It doesn't). But, I'm conforming, so if you find hair in the cream cheese on your bagel, blame Liz. Then another bulletin goes up: barrettes, scrunchies, hair clips, bobby pins and rubber bands are not allowed, it HAS to be a ponytail band. In a "NATURAL" colour, so that it can't be "noticed", and gave a huge list of band colours that weren't allowed! They left us with blonde, brunette and redhead as colours for PONYTAIL BANDS! It's supposed to be about uniform presentation to customers, but THEY never see the back of our heads! NOW, I've got to go SHOPPING for specific hair accessories? Fucking ridiculous! That's just the tip of the iceberg!--the only thing they DON'T have us (mainly me, it seems) doing at this point is goosestepping and heiling Hitler! Even the most straightlaced conformist would have trouble with this bunch. And let's just say I am NOT. I'm debating shaving my head yet again, see what they say about THAT. At least I wouldn't have to worry about the length I would have to cut off (3 inches) to keep it off my collar, and I wouldn't have to go shopping for freaking colour-specific (BROOWWWNNN) ponytail rings. The only exceptions they allow are people who have to wear a hajib or turban for religious reasons. I'm tempted to change my religion. I would still have to stick that jaunty sun visor on top though, bald, hajibbed or turbanned. Wouldn't THAT look cute! HEH HEH Oh, yeah, and for all this bullshit I get paid minimum wage, and somehow only managed to get paid for 74 hours for two weeks when I worked 90. Fucked up. But, my choices right now are this job or completely dependant upon welfare, which won't give me a red cent if I get fired. Sieg Heil! |
| 0 Comments |
| April 10 |
| 04.10.09 (1:08 am) [edit] |
| The Rocky Road to Dublin, The Irish Descendants style In the merry mont' o' June, From me home I started, Left the girls of Tuam, So sad and broken hearted, Saluted father dear, Kissed me darlin' mother, Drank a pint of beer, Me grief and tears to smother, Then off to reap the corn, Leave where I was born, Cut a stout blackthorn, To banish ghost and goblin, In a small new pair of brogues, rattlin' o'er the bogs, Frightened all the dogs,On the rocky road to Dublin. One, two, t'ree, four five, Hunt the hare and turn her Down the rocky road And all the ways to Dublin, Whack-fol-lol-le-ra. Well, in Mullingar that night, I rested limbs so weary, Started by daylight, me spirits bright and cheery Took a drop of the pure, To keep me heart from sinkin', That's the Paddy's cure, Whene'er he's on for drinking. To see the lassies smile, Laughing all the while, At me curious style, 'Twould set your heart a-bubblin'. They ax'd if I was hired, The wages I required, Till I was almost tired, Of the rocky road to Dublin One, two, t'ree, four five, Hunt the hare and turn her Down the rocky road And all the ways to Dublin, Whack-fol-lol-le-ra. Well in Dublin next arrived, I thought it be a pity, To be so soon deprived, A view of that fine city. So then I took a stroll, Down among the quality, My bundle it was stole, In a neat locality; Something crossed me mind, Then I looked behind; No bundle could I find, Upon me stick a wobblin'. Enquirin' for the rogue, They said me Connaught brogue, Wasn't much in vogue, On the rocky road to Dublin. One, two, t'ree, four five, Hunt the hare and turn her Down the rocky road And all the ways to Dublin, Whack-fol-lol-le-ra. Well from there I got a way, Me spirits never failin' Landed on the quay As the ship was sailin'; Captain at me roared, Said that no room had he, Then I jumped aboard, A cabin found for Paddy, Then down among the pigs, played some hearty rigs, Danced some hearty jigs, The water round me bubblin', When off Holyhead, I wished myself was dead, Or better far instead, On the rocky road to Dublin. One, two, t'ree, four five, Hunt the hare and turn her Down the rocky road And all the ways to Dublin, Whack-fol-lol-le-ra. The b'ys of Liverpool, When me safely landed, Called meself a fool; I could no longer stand it; Blood began to boil, Temper I was losin', Poor ould Erin's isle They began abusin', "Hurrah me soul," sez I, Shillelagh I let fly; Galway boys were by, And saw I was a hobblin' Then with a loud hurray, Joined in the affray. Quickly cleared the way, For the rocky road to Dublin. One, two, t'ree, four five, Hunt the hare and turn her Down the rocky road And all the ways to Dublin, Whack-fol-lol-le-ra. |
| 0 Comments |
| March 23/09 |
| 03.23.09 (1:51 pm) [edit] |
| Approximately 1 PM Sometime yesterday, while the boys and I were out getting water and wood and doing laundry, Eric's go-cart was stolen out of our backyard. His prized possession, the one thing he begged me for every birthday and Christmas for years, until I had finally had the money to get it for him. I possibly wouldn't even have known for days, except a neighbor (J.N.) from up the road stopped Pete and told him that J.S. had tried to sell it to him. J.N. is going to talk to the boy and his parents. Apparently he pulls shit like this all the time. If it's not back in my yard by tomorrow, I'm going to have to call the police. I'm itching to do it right now, because the longer I wait, the less likely I will be to ever see it again (I don't have the $2500 dollars to replace it. I don't even have TWO dollars), but at the same time I'm not looking forward to the ensuing energy-sucking experience of having to put on the proper societal mask to use the phone and talk to the police who will, most likely, eventually show up at my door. Words cannot adequately express what I am feeling right now. Heartbroken comes pretty damn close. I am so upset. Eric SO doesn't need this shit. Today is his 18th birthday. Approximately 11 PM There is indeed a God, by whatever names or concepts you may use. Somebody was smiling on us today! By 2 O'Clock I couldn't stand sitting on my thumbs any longer. I went looking for it. I combed the 4-wheeler trails, on foot for over two hours. The trails should have been ICY, but guess what? There were the carts' distinctive tracks all over the place, and the machine (which was never meant for such rough terrain) had churned the trails into muddy soup. No sign of the cart, so I came home and called the police, and Dick. The police said they were sending someone over, and I'm still waiting, so it'll probably be at the ass-crack of dawn tomorrow. Dick came over and chatted up all the neighbors--he knows them, I don't, and he (unlike me) has no compunctions about accusing someone of stealing without proof. He actually browbeat a confession out of J.S. with the help of the boy's parents, and I discovered that he's been in trouble for stealing before. J.S. shortly came down to my house, apologized, and offered to show us where to pick it up. It's in rough shape--it was never meant to be a dune buggy, much less on such narrow trails--they blew a belt really badly which knocked loose the guard and tore wires out, one side panel is completely gone and the other is smashed to bits, one tire will no longer hold air, the mud guard under the engine is broke in half, and the safety flag on the back was snapped off. There is too much dried, frozen mud on it to tell if the frame was bent or shocks blown. But, it's certainly nothing that can't be fixed, and the kids' family offered to pay for it as they can. The boy's ( I say boy, but age has nothing to do with it--they are both Eric's age and plenty old enough to know better) partner in crime, however, hightailed it as soon as he heard the police were called, and apparently he's ticked off at J.S. for "caving". He wanted to sell it. HIM I may or may not want to watch suffocating to death on his own blood. But because I'm feeling charitable, I may or may not be satisfied with watching him puke it for a few days. So...It's back, and my relief eclipses the badness of it all. And, if that's not good enough news, I got hired at a Tim Hortons (coffee and doughnut shop), starting Wednesday evening. If I said customer service was not my strong suit, it would be the understatement of the millenium, but for the paycheck I can smile and fake it until something better comes along. Either way, I end the day on a high note, if an exhausted one. |
| 8 Comments |
| March 21/09 |
| 03.21.09 (12:49 pm) [edit] |
| Dick used to get work thrown at him on a regular basis. A lot of work. Good jobs paying decent money. He refused 99 % of those jobs because "it isn't what I want to do". He's perfectly content to let other people house and feed him while he waits for the elusive grail. As a matter of fact, he prefers it that way. Me? I can't even get a callback about a midnight cleanup job at a Doughnut shop. Bitter? Who, me? Nah. |
| 0 Comments |
| March 9/09 |
| 03.09.09 (2:52 am) [edit] |
| It's approximately 1:30 in the morning. I'm in the living room sorting laundry and folding socks (hey, I'm a night owl, always have been. Get over it). The boys are long fast asleep, Eric since 10:30 and Peter since 11:30 or so. Suddenly, loudly and clearly, I hear Eric calling me. "Mom?" Except it sounds as if he's calling me from outside my "back" doors, the patio doors off the kitchen, instead of his room just down the hall. Clear as day, as if he had an important question to ask. I say "What?" no answer, so I go to his room, knock (no answer),open the door and shine the flashlight in. He's sound asleep, and I've NEVER known him to talk in his sleep, not even the nonsensical gibberings most people are guilty of. OK, so maybe it was Peter, though he'd have to be yelling...knock,wait, walk in, shine flashlight...also sound asleep. Also not a "talker", though even if he was,I would not have heard it because of where his bedroom is and the fact that while Eric's bedroom has heat ducts from the living room, Peter's does not. I look out the back doors, where I thought I heard Eric's voice coming from. Nothing. I must have imagined it from the sighings of the wind, or in-season cats yowling outside. I go back to my sock pairing, separating holey ones. Within seconds, I hear Eric again...this time, "Mom!", unmistakably Er's voice, addressing me specifically and urgently. It sounded again as if it was coming from outside my back door, which from the living room (where I was) is almost directly opposite me, about 20 feet away. Someone needs something/is in trouble/something is wrong! I shout "what?" thinking my first check was grossly mistaken or that Eric had promptly fallen back to sleep after calling me the first time. No answer. Check kids again and go out back door, straining to hear something, ANYTHING except wind. Wind refuses to sound like Eric or make any noise that resembles "Mom". I KNOW Eric is not calling me, nor Peter (Their voices sometimes sound quite similar) I grab the flashlight (I'm rather nightblind most of the time), run to the back door again and peer out, looking for tracks, something, anything, and, seeing nothing, take the flashlight around the house again. Nothing. Nothing but high-power elemental wind. Not even a 'yote singing in the distance to break the wind noise. There are several explanations for this occurrence. Drawn from my own personal knowledge and experience, the most reasonable one is that I experienced a brief and (hopefully) transitory auditory hallucination. It would be my first fully auditory. While most likely, I'd rather it not be a hallucination (or "an" hallucination to you backward American folk who think 'h' is a vowel or something) The second one is that Eric's pour soul needs more nurturing than I am providing. and is calling to me from sleep, which makes sense, because he's so worried about our financial situation that he's having panic attacks and has become so hypochondriachal that I'm having a HUGE time not just being annoyed by it. The odds that the wind could sound exactly like Eric, specifically calling me, TWICE, are incalculable. And, while I believe in spirits and "ghosts" (though my definitions are probably very different from yours) That wasn't it. It was not angels, and certainly not demons. All that is left is me, I think. |
| 2 Comments |
| Garbage garbage garbage burn burn burn Mar 6, 2009 |
| 03.06.09 (2:34 am) [edit] |
| Going through my living room. Going through my closets and drawers. Haven't yet tackled the two bookshelves, except to stack his crap and my books and (truly important) papers to make a little more room, but that'll be next, along with the shelves that hold photo albums. Keeping stuff I know he'll miss tomorrow or three years down the road, burning the rest. And there's a LOT of it. I've only done most of one room so far, and I've burned about two garbage bags full of old bills, receipts, packaging and CRAP. I've put about two regular-sized grocery bags full of this stuff in my woodstove every day for a week, and I haven't even finished my living room, which is about 12 x 20, including my front entranceway. I am reading every old bill, ticket, receipt, notes, jotted phone numbers, magazines, notebooks etc. one by one to sort into a "send to dick" pile, a "necessary or wanting to keep" pile and a "burn burn burn" pile. The burn pile is winning 1000/1. I stunk out my neighbour today burning this shit. He actually came over and complained, and he NEVER complains. He is the most tolerant, easygoing guy you could ever hope to meet. Old magazines smell much worse than a chunk of maple or elm apparently, and give off ridiculous amounts of smoke, especially, I suppose, when you burn three at a time along with a few random Q-tips and some odd packaging bits that never got thrown away for some strange reason. If I had an incinerator, this would be faster. I can now get into my coat closet for the first time in three years, and we've been here less than five. Don't get the wrong impression--it's not just paper junk that was cluttering this place up (a lot of that was mine, but if I don't need it for reference or taxes then burn burn burn purge purge purge) it was boxes of parts for a boat that will never see the water, bits of machinery and electronics that will never work, boxes of candy dishes and books about real estate law, boxes of baby things that he was given and deemed too good to give away, boxes of (LP) records that we already have, sometimes in duplicate or triplicate, all things kept because he "might use them someday" or "they might be worth money someday". A floor-to ceiling stack of non-functional stereo equipment, because he will 'fix' it someday. Gone today, from the one room. Today, the living room mess is mostly gone, since he picked up a trailer load today. He "tried" to adhere to my "front to back" rule so that I can at least tidy and fix a room at a time, but, the main bedroom is looking even rougher than normal...I discovered the floor on the south side has sunk almost 4 inches and will need to be shored up, as my nother would say, "the touter the suiter" (from the French tout de suite, meaning fast), and I never would have discovered that if dick hadn't moved out his boxes o' crap and never-used desk from that side of the tiny room. The kitchen looks pretty rough too, as one mess is displaced to get another one out the door. He collects old appliances, anything silver plated and art glass among other things, namely pretty much everything. But, sooner or later, it WILL be out the door, or burn burn burn. I've heard more than one comment about my house being disgusting, smelly, untidy; mostly, ironically, from dick's family. Pretty hard to vacuum around 10 boxes of SHIT, but the messy house was always MY FAULT 'cause I've got a twat, I guess, and couldn't bother to dust a bazillion items that were never meant to be in a house in the first place. Funny, that. Last month, as the END of my 20 year marriage started to sink in a little, I felt as if someone close had died. It got bad enough that I wanted to die myself. Now? This month I want to PURGE. It's taken and taking all I've got not to throw EVERYTHING out into a huge pile in the backyard or onto the creek and light it on fire. I want it gone, and I want to watch it GO. NOW. I feel like I should be sad or something. All I can feel is elation that I can see my walls and floor and doors (at least in the one room) again. Today, I feel better than I have in a long time. Tomorrow, today may well smack me upside the head. Experience has shown me that although I feel relief RIGHT NOW, I will pay for todays physical and emotional journey in spades. But, either way, this stuff needs to be sorted through, outta here, garbaged, burned. It's 2 in the morning and my neighbour is asleep, so burn burn burn |
| 1 Comments |
| Feb. 2009 |
| 02.26.09 (3:55 pm) [edit] |
| I haven't been online in over a year. The reason? No phone. Much has happened. My marriage is over, the only remaining step is to make it official. Dick spent the last four years pretending I didn't exist (unless he wanted money or sex) and I gave him his wish. I went back to work at GHM, and was laid off the day before my birthday, just when bills were almost caught up. I've got a phone back YAY!) but power could be years yet. I'm broke. Completely. I've had to apply for Social Assistance, but no word on that yet. Peter's part-time salary doesn't even cover the cost of the fuel it takes to get him to work. We are living off of whatever we can beg or borrow. January was a very rough month for me emotionally: for the first time ever, I almost wished I didn't have children so I could put a gun in my mouth with some measure of peace. February has so far been marginally better, but tomorrow is Peter's birthday and I can't DO ANYTHING for him. Pulling my hair out here. |
| 4 Comments |
| Turdy Tree |
| 12.19.07 (10:59 am) [edit] |
|
This is Lambie. December 25 is his birthday. He is 6 days younger than I am :) |
| 1 Comments |
| Eyes in the Dark : One Moon Circles |
| 12.11.07 (3:01 pm) [edit] |
|
I fell asleep sometime between 4 and 4:30 this morning. Pretty usual for me--I've never been able to condition my body clock to sleep during 'normal times'. What's UNusual is that I stayed asleep until 2 this afternoon! I slept solidly for about 10 hours! I didn't even get up to pee, unless I got up in my sleep...that has happened before; maybe I better go check the corners of my room :P...funny story behind that, though I wasn't very amused when I found out at the time(s). I don't feel particularly well rested, but I'm not overtired, either. Maybe it's just the last hurrah of the cold I got that settled solidly in my ears.
Something odd has been happening around here. I'm seeing animals that aren't there: In my peripheral vision I will see a strange cat at the door or window, asking to be let in, or wandering around inside the house...turn my head to look and it's gone. (This happened to me years before, but it was a cat I KNEW, and I stopped not-seeing him when I found him) I've also seen large shadow-dogs standing around or racing across my back yard at night...dogs that move like the wind and make no sound on the snow. The only dog THAT big around here is me :) . The corners of my eyes have caught a couple humanimal-shaped shadows at well, but only inside so far. Watching me. Either these things are actually there, just beyond the range of my normal sight, or they're NOT there and my melon has reached new levels of screwed up. Or maybe old levels, like an LSD flashback...I had a similar hallucination once while undergoing a drug trial (the legal kind) -- out of the corner of my eye, I watched a stick figure dance across the room in mid-air. I remember thinking the same thing at that time, which was "shouldn't this be scaring me?" Well, it's not, and this time I'm quite happy to have it stay that way. At least until I see something to be scared OF. *shrugs* |
| 9 Comments |
| Good Day |
| 12.08.07 (4:01 pm) [edit] |
| The Doctor's appt. went pretty much exactly as expected, thank goodness for small favors. I was not subject to (much) poking or prodding, and didn't have to go into any history that was not related specifically to my thyroid. The only downside is that he wants me to have an ultrasound every six months, starting now. I intend to weigh the pros and cons of that each time I'm supposed to schedule the appointment. Starting now. I'll get this one over with and then we'll see. I think. At least I don't have to swallow anything radioactive. I had a few extra dollars and decided to pick up a bottle of 40 on the way home. The result of my $5.50 spending spree was World War III after Dick and Peter got home, and a very satisfying hole in the bathroom door...and then I went outside to blow off more steam, froze my bum, came back inside, drank my Old English and wound down, and we all made nice and lived happily ever after. The bathroom doors need to be replaced anyway, have since we moved in. The problem seemed to be that Dick thinks I should not buy myself beer, ever, since I'm the only one that drinks it, and his father's an alcoholic, and he hates liquor and blah blah blah. I should buy something we can all enjoy. He conveniently forgets that he buys himself chocolate or soda nearly every day. I will concede that often the kids share the chocolate and/or soda, but as a general rule, I do not. So I will buy something for ME. End of story. Besides, going to the doctor means beer at the end of the day :) I got a phone call from a friend today. It doesn't happen often, so it generally stays with me a while when it DOES happen. Usually in a good way. This is one of those times :) I feel loved. As a little added bonus, I've got nearly all the laundry done and hanging to dry. My carpet is in desperate need of a vacuum, having not seen one in several months, but I'll save that for another day. |
| 6 Comments |
| Another Day, Another Dollar Spent |
| 12.04.07 (12:10 pm) [edit] |
| The rage is leaving. I don't have adequate words to describe what a relief that IS, anymore than I could adequately describe what it WAS. There is still a constant level of irritation, but...words fail me. I suppose you could liken it to slamming your finger in the car door. The door won't open, and until it does, you can't think of anything else but the all-consuming pain in your fingers. You will do anything to make it stop, and like a wounded animal, you are capable of anything until it does. When the car door finally does open, your fingers may hurt just as much, but in a different way...and the relief at getting out of the jamb is HUGE. I finally have that long-awaited appointment with the endocrinologist this afternoon. Actually, it was supposed to be this morning, but they called me as I was literally ON MY WAY OUT THE FRIGGIN' DOOR and rescheduled for 2 this afternoon. I'm already pretty sure I know what he's going to say, since the cyst is calcifying and therefore stable. He will say surgery is unwarranted unless it begins to grow again or starts to hurt. I think he will say this because I went through something similar with a ping-pong ball sized ganglion in between the bones of my forearm. This is just fine with me...I don't even notice it anymore. I wouldn't even bother going except it took me months to arrive at that decision, and months longer besides waiting for the damned appointment. I am so NOT looking forward to driving in/on this snow. Especially since one of the tires is soft and I have no way to blow it up. I should probably leave soon on the very real chance that I will have to crawl there at the speed of smell. |
| 0 Comments |
| My mother's voice |
| 11.19.07 (5:57 pm) [edit] |
| I'm out of tobacco. So? You need to quit anyway. I'm just getting over being the crankiest I've ever been, and I know that if I quit I risk being cranky again. So? Think of the money you will save. Besides, it's all in your head. It costs me less than $20 a carton. It's pretty much free if I smoke butts, which I've been doing for several days now. And, of COURSE it's all in my head. EVERYTHING is all in my head, just as everything you experience and percieve is all in yours. That's disgusting, don't you know how bad that stuff is for you? Of course I know. No you don't, or you would have quit years ago. But I enjoy it. A lot. How can you enjoy something that is so bad for you, and makes everything stink besides? I just do. Smoking just feels damn good to me, and it keeps my hands and mouth busy so I'm not pulling on my hair, picking my lips apart, or jamming food I'm allergic to into my gob. You should take up knitting. So, what will you do now that you're out of your precious coffin-nails? Wouldn't this be the perfect opportunity to quit? They'll kill you, you know. Well, if I get desperate, I'll go comb parking lots and sidewalks for butts I can roll. Shit, I've been doing that on and off since I was 11. That's disgusting. It must be even worse for your health that way. I don't get it. I quit in one day and never looked back. Jesus could help you if you let him. I know you don't get it. Now, I want a cigarette more than ever. |
| 0 Comments |
| Nowhere to go |
| 11.16.07 (12:57 pm) [edit] |
| The last time I was this...angry, whatever, was when I found out that my sister's then-boyfriend had been abusing her. If I had left the house that night, I would have killed him, there is no doubt in my mind. I remember nothing I tried worked, until I started pouring beer down my throat and was drunk enough that I physically COULDN'T kill him, much less drive to his house. Luckily by the next day I had enough of a handle on myself that I realized what a colossally BAD idea it would have been. Knock alcohol all you like, but it saved several lives that night. I had never been that...enraged before, nor have I since, until the past few days. I am THAT angry again. There is no one person I can direct it at thankfully, but unfortunately it's leaking all over everyone and everything. I've considered actually going to the hospital several times. For the thought to even cross my mind, it has to be bad. I'm afraid someone is going to get hurt, and it will in all likelihood be me. It's bad enough that I start to pant and I constantly feel like my head is going to explode. I'm kind of worried I'm going to give myself a stroke. I've got it all planned out what I'm going to SAY at the hospital too, if I get desperate enough to go..."My head is pounding and I rarely get headaches. I don't think my beta-blocker is working anymore" (because I think it may be true--betablockers basically blunt the effects of adrenaline. They also keep blood pressure down, and I'm pretty sure that right now, mine is...NOT). It sure as hell sounds better than "If this doesn't stop I'm going to start poking myself with sharp objects until the rage and depression lets up or I bleed unconscious". Either way, I'll most likely end up with a prescription that I won't be able to fill, but one of those ways tend to get a lot of unwanted attention from social-worker and psych consult type people. I know this will pass. I just hope it's soon. It's just too weird. In the meantime, if I'm avoiding you, or I snarl at you, please don't take it personally. I apologize. It's not YOU. It's everybody :/ |
| 4 Comments |
| Nothin' to Do |
| 11.13.07 (3:43 pm) [edit] |
| There are some things I want to wax eloquent (HA!) about. I had one such topic all written out in my head earlier today. The reason why it's not here, now, is because everything, and I do mean EVERYTHING is pissing me off right now. The most innocuous thing annoys me, and for the rest, there are people I want to stomp until they wish they were never born. It's all I can do to be nice when no harm is meant. I don't suppose nice is the right word, more like it's all I can do not to be a raging slavering bitch from hell. Let's not even talk about the people who are SO FUCKING STUPID (and the situations that are) that if they yanked a dogs ear and the dog bit them, they'd blame it on the dog. People who wouldn't know their ass from a hole in the ground if shit didn't come out their ass six times a day. People who, if they had mad cow disease or rabies, you couldn't tell. Yeah, I think I'll wait until I'm a little less rabid myself. |
| 2 Comments |
| Octobers' Energy |
| 10.22.07 (2:33 pm) [edit] |
| I've been doing some "energy body stimulation" work nightly for a month or two now. Basically what this this entails is you focus awareness on a target body part (say a thumb) and draw imaginary lines all over it, until you can "feel" the sensation of a line being drawn. You practice this until you can target any point on (or IN, for that matter) your body and progress until you can do whole-body awareness all at once (I haven't got there yet, I'm having a lot of trouble with my spine and upper torso). What this does is stimulate muscles and nerves into pre-motor activity. It feels like whatever part of your body you are 'working' on is starting to fall asleep, or is in the end stages of waking up. It's supposed to be healing and anti-inflammatory. The book I've been reading about it said explicitly to avoid drawing energy in or near the genital chakra, which I have scrupulously followed--but the effect on my libido has been...interesting, and the energy work is the only thing I can ascribe it to. I have discovered, to my amazement, that I HAVE a libido. Before, I was happy to, uh, service myself once a month, and even that I could take or leave. Now? For the past month or so I've been what can only be described as horny, two or three times a week and sometimes daily. I'm not sure whether or not to be happy that I'm more "normal" sexually in terms of frequency, or be annoyed at the inconveniences this presents. I'm leaning WAY towards annoyed. |
| 0 Comments |
| Real or Fantasy |
| 09.07.07 (1:44 pm) [edit] |
| Even weeks afterwards, I'm still hesitant to blog this. But, I have some strange need to "get it out there", even though I've been given some avenues of research (and opportunities to do so) and I am pursuing those. So--super-strange dreams? Too much caffeine? Some mild form of insanity? Or a normal, common, transient experience? To give a little history, I've had episodes of sleep paralysis for years. They haven't frightened me since I found out what they were, but they are sometimes still extremely disturbing, especially if dream images overlap... case in point, a couple of months ago when I awoke with the usual--barely able to move, felt like I couldn't breathe, heart feeling like it's going to burst, tried to move around to wake myself up, and then a snarling, snapping THING came at my face out of nowhere. Luckily, THAT doesn't happen often, but sleep paralysis happens often enough that I sleep with a noise machine (or, when I COULD, the t.v. or radio on all night). Noise seems to help prevent the problem. This experience differs from my regular dreams in that when I dream, I generally know I'm dreaming and can change it or end it and wake up if I want to. Waking dreams I generally have to "wait out". When I was staying at Moms' house, I didn't bother with nightly noise. One of the nights I woke and realized I couldn't move. Sigh with frustration, wiggle my feet in an attempt to wake up...but, something was different...I realize I am floating several inches above...ME. I am, in effect, in two places at once, feel very surreal and tingly, but it's not at all unpleasant, and on a whim, I try to force myself "up" even higher. I think I managed an inch or two and then woke up feeling rather elated at my "success" although what I was trying to succeed at, who knows. Maybe I thought that maybe the waking dreams weren't the frightening, uncontrollable inconveniences I thought they were. I actually couldn't wait for another paralysis episode to come on so I could attempt to tinker with it again! But of course when you WANT these things to happen, they never do :/ Until a few nights ago. I woke up in the paralysis, and tried to "levitate" like had happened before, but what happened was that "I" sat up, and my legs were stuck inside my legs. It sounds crazy, but that's what it felt like. Another mighty heave, and I was suddenly standing at the end of my bed. I tried to turn and look at myself on the bed, to see if I actually WAS in two places at once, like I felt: but when I tried I felt weak and paralyzed again, and the room went dark. I decided not to try again, because I was enjoying this new sensation of being "free" of my body and I wanted to be able to see! Just as suddenly, I realized that the state of mind I was in was very familiar--I had experienced it many many times as a child, usually during flying dreams. I figured it was something I had long since "grown out" of, since the particular "feeling" I got during those dreams was much different than any other dreams, and it was something I haven't experienced in many years. It is very different to explain how different the state of mind I was in WAS from regular dreams, or even waking dreams. The sleep paralysis had been changed into something...else. WHOO HOO! I decided to "go out" the window. There is a desk in front of my window, and although this shouldn't have been an actual physical barrier, since I was not actually PHYSICAL, somehow it was. So, I decided to go out the door, and see if I could "lift off" from there. Hell, it has been a very long time since I have "flown", and I was anxious to see if I still could. At any rate, I looked towards the door to the hallway, and there was a figure there, about 12 feet from me. It was about the size and shape of a person, and I knew it was SOMEONE... there were no recognizable features...and yet, I felt it was looking at me. I wasn't frightened, exactly, but I did SO NOT want to go near it. Then I woke up. All this took just a few seconds. Opening my eyes to the pitch black of my room was somehow more disconcerting than the dawn-like light I had just "been" in. It occurred to me in the moment I woke up, that the person blocking the way to the hall was "me", although that would have meant I would have been in THREE (FOUR??) places at once, and I don't know how that would be possible. It has not happened again since, and although I would love to fly, I'm just as glad to not experience those alien sensations, any of them. But, I guess perhaps this also gives me some hope that, like regular dreams, perhaps I can finally take some measure of control over the paralysis episodes.I'm probably crazy, but I want to learn how to turn this thing "on" and "off" if at all possible. Like I said, I would love to fly, but I would also dearly love to get some proper sleep without waking up unable to move!! |
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