I Like Rain

I like the kind of rain that lasts all day. I like the kind of rain that storms and blows and bangs so hard that it feels like the house is going to fall down. I like standing up to that rain; daring it to strike me; daring it to blow me over.

I like swings. I like to close my eyes and dare the sky to fly higher than me. I like to feel the wind across my face. I like the sound of the creaking metal as it gets in time with my heartbeat. I like swinging in the dark when there's no one around except me, and my experience is my own, shared by none.

I like loud music. I don't necessarily like music turned up loud though. I like music that wails. I like music that beats. I like music that pounds. I like music that doesn't resolve. I like music that makes me feel how I do when I'm swinging in the middle of a dark field with my eyes shut. I like music that you have to listen to a few times through just to get your brain around it. I like joyously happy music. I like strong music. I do not like pretty music in and of itself. If it's pretty as by-product, then it's okay. But to just be pretty; no I don't like that. I don't like dainty either.

I like composers like Holsinger and Ticheli and Dana Wilson. I like Enya. I like soundtracks a lot, because they convey various emotions. I like both programmatic music and absolute music. I like music where the singers are really singing; where the instruments are really going at it; where the performers are really conveying their emotions through their sounds and their voices. I like intensity. I like the intensity to be almost unending.

I feel that intensity like that gives others a taste of the maelstrom inside of me.

I like to sit in a hot car for as long as I can stand it; until every breath is a struggle; until I am covered in sweat. I like to stand in a cold wind until every extremity is frozen; daring the world to try to make me fall.

Sometimes, when I lean my head back, I feel like I'm in a dream, as if the world is standing on end and I am actually upside down and weightless.

I like taking showers in the dark. I like being able to feel and hear the water in ways that aren't possible with my eyes open.

I like to laugh. I like to hold my breath. I like to make loud blasting noises with my french horn. I like to be hugged. I like to hug. I like to curl up in a nest of blankets and read book after book. I like being told to relax. I like relaxing. I like having daydreams and not telling anyone about them. I like strong silence. I like to talk. I like to scratch itches. I like to salt and vinegar potato chips, but only the Lance: Thunder Chips kind. I like to drive. I like driving in scary situations occasionally. I like emotionally charged films. I like being horizontal. I like roller coasters. I like the idea of parallel universes. I like to write. I like to make things work. I like to come up with ways for things to work. I like to have order. I like to have chaos. I like to think. I like to be.

Facebook

From the horse's mouth:

"Facebook is a social utility that helps people better understand the world around them. Facebook develops technologies that facilitate the spread of information through social networks allowing people to share information online the same way they do in the real world. Facebook is made up of many networks - individual schools, companies or regions - each of which are independent and closed off to non-affiliated users. To join Facebook, people can authenticate into a school or work network, or they can join a regional network. They can then create profiles to connect with friends, share interests, join groups, send messages, writes notes and post photos.

Facebook launched in February 2004, and the website now has over 9.5 million registered users across over 40,000 regional, work, college and high school networks. According to comScore, Facebook is the seventh-most trafficked site on the web and is the number one photo-sharing site.

Facebook is a private company located in Palo Alto, California."

And now facebook has public, so anyone can join. And if that doesn't work, then email me at lastcrazyhorn AT gmail DOT com (minus the spaces and all that, you know the drill) and I'll personally invite you.

My current issue with facebook is that I don't think the owners know what they're doing. For example, anyone can form a group on facebook. As a result, there are lots of duplicate groups that all say the same damn thing; some just advertise better than others.

In addition, there are message boards and walls (a place to reply) on most every group (it's up to the creator whether or not they want to have those features) that get updated a lot, but you can't find out whether or not it was updated unless you purposely check in every day.

Which leads me to my next issue. They put all of the groups that you are in on one page. There are 12 different categories for groups, but they just list all the groups together alphabetically. So if you have 100 plus groups, you can't find anything and it takes the page forever to load. Now what they need to do (and this is just my opinion) is put the groups page into different pages (or at least sections), arranged by category. Then, within those sections, they should put the groups that have been replied to or updated recently at the top, like a message board would do.

I mean, they introduced the news feed as a way of connecting folks and allowing people to see the new things happening on all of their friends' pages, so why can't we see what's happening on our group pages?

Facebook needs mods. It could get its own members to do it--weed out the extraneous groups or find a way of combining them.

I've tried suggesting things to facebook, but I can't tell if anyone's listening to me. Why would they? FB has 9.5 million users . . . 9.5, I mean, holy shit folks. That's a lot of people. It's still only a tenth of the number of users that myspace has, but still.

Now don't get me wrong, I really like facebook. I mean, if you really like something, you want to see it come to its full potential, right? And right now, Facebook just ain't there.

If I Had Known That My Car Only Had One Start Up Left In It, I Would Have Taken It Into The Repair Shop This Morning

Unfortunately for me, I didn't. I was planning to do it today (Wednesday), but it died before I had a chance.

Luckily for me, I was only a mile away from my home when it happened.

Oh and I got bit by an ant too.

Did you know that there's a new movie coming out called The Prestige? When I saw the preview, I thought for a second that the 2nd Batman movie was coming out, because it was about magic and it has both Christian Bale and Michael Caine in it; and not only that, but it was by the same guy who did Batman Begins. Weirdo.

'Course, it also has David Bowie in it. I find that oddly fitting since I've been listening to the soundtrack from the Labyrinth for the last 3 days straight.

You know, it's funny, I was a fan of Christian Bale before he became famous for Batman Begins. I actually liked the movie "Reign of Fire." Go figure. I have a thing for post-apocalpytic movies/books. I also like Independence Day and The Day After Tomorrow.

Pet Peeve

When it rains, it pours, eh? Well, you wouldn't know it from watching the local weather stations around here.

There are three main local news stations around here; News 13 (ABC), News 7 (CBS) and News 36 (NBC). And of course there's Fox 21, but we don't watch Fox anymore. Actually, there's only one reason that I ever watch the channel and that's for the Simpsons; and that's only infrequently.

Now, News 13 covers the mountains of North Carolina (Asheville especially); all of the western counties up to Boone and going east as far as Rutherford county. News 7, on the other hand, mainly covers the upstate of South Carolina. And News 36 covers mainly Charlotte and its surrounding counties.

So where am I? Smack dab in the middle of all three news stations, covered by none.

Here in beautiful Cleveland County, North Carolina, we get virtually no coverage from any of the three local news stations.

I swear, the apocalypse could be happening in Cleveland County and News 36 would be focusing on some light rain happening in Charlotte.

The problem is that I'm not really joking all that much. I've been in several really bad thunderstorms here before, only to turn on the tv and find them commenting on the drizzle happening in the next town over (Spartanburg/Asheville/Charlotte). I mean, it looks like the trees behind the house are about to topple over with the hurricane force winds and we might all drown before the next day, but to turn on the news, you would think that the night was dry and the weather was calm.

Or worse yet, to turn on the news and see the radar and the red all over our county popping with lightning bolts, and then have them focus on all the other counties, while ignoring the very real threat happening in my county . . . grrr.

It's almost as if they think someone else is covering my county. Well, I've gotten so pissed off, I've actually considered trying to call them and bless them out for it. But every time that I actually get fired up enough to do it, the lightning is popping and I'm afraid that I'll get electrocuted for being on the phone.

Sigh.

Someday, I really am going to do it. But until then, you all can look at my nephew. He was born 4 months early at 1 pound and 4 ounces. He's scheduled to be released this Thursday. :) Strangely enough, in this picture, he's doing something that I do periodically. He has my same tongue. Go figure.

Feeling Lousy

Processed sugar + me = Bad news

Please don't let me have anymore to eat tonight . . . or tomorrow, for that matter.

I would go to bed, but I'm not sure if it'll take.

I mean, if I could sleep, it would probably help. But as of right now, I'm running to the bathroom every 10-15 minutes--and have been for the past 3 hours.

Urgh.

Okay, so I put the words "unhappy stomach" into Google images and these are a few of the pics I got back:







Yeah, don't ask me.

I don't know.

Welp, I'm Pleased

My best friend from college emailed me today with some very tentatively exciting news.

But first, some background information. As it says in my profile, I am taking the year off and then am hoping to do music therapy. As you can see from my sidebar, one of the schools that I'm interested in is TWU - Texas Woman's University. I'm hoping to go there for grad school in the fall of '07.

Now, I've been telling my friends my plans for the past 3 or 4 months now. In fact, every time that I talk to Debra (best friend), I say to her (only half-jokingly) that she should come with me to TWU.

And today she emailed me and told me that she was actually considering it! She's was a photography major in college; and TWU has a master's degree in photography.

Now wouldn't that be cool if we could both go? Yup, two random Mars Hill students end up in a graduate school halfway across the country. I hope it happens.

In other news now, I've started looking into what it would take to get my EMT licensure. As a person who might end up working in a hospital someday, it wouldn't be a bad thing to have on my resume.

And speaking of hospitals, I applied at my local one today. Under "Jobs applying for," I put "Any non-RN certified positions available." Yeah, that's showin' 'em.

Yeeeaaah.

Right.

And here's another hero:

Clair de Lune

Tonight, I'm listening to Jim Croce on the DVD player while listening to Debussy in my head.

My newest project this week is learning to play Debussy's "Clair de Lune." Actually, given my current piano skills, this is more like a two month project.

I want to clear something up as well. When I say "Clair de Lune," I'm not referring to the website, tv show or the poem. Okay, now that that's settled, we can go on with the important stuff.

I mean, I'm talking DEBUSSY!!! Hella cool (as my friend Kristi used to say back in high school).

If you want, you can either buy it for $2.99 or download it for free.

Trust me when I tell you that this is the one you want. I'm currently obsessed with it. It's just beyond beautiful. One of my best friends in college (she was a piano performance major) played it on her senior recital. It was . . . amazing.

'Course, you know that "Clair de Lune" is french for "moon," right? It's one of the 2 french words I know; the other is "oiseaux" which means "birds." Thank you Olivier Messiaen. He used to transcribe bird song into his music--that and colors. He was a synaesthete; he heard modes in color. He's going to be a thesis topic someday, I can just feel it. I wrote my senior project on him. Actually, I wrote a piece of music called "Moon." Funny how that's such a popular name. If I ever get it published, I'll post it here. But I want it under copyright first.

However, I digress.

I also told you that I was listening to Jim Croce. I think that my favorite Croce song is "If I Could Save Time In A Bottle." Much like my previous combination of The Flaming Lips and Mahler, I can't tell you why these go well together in my head; but just that they do.

Vincent D'Onofrio

I'm not much for writing tonight. I'm all written out at the moment. So, let me put up a few pics of one of my heroes that I mentioned before. Maybe w/ the pics you will be able to understand (if you don't already), why he's called "The Human Chameleon."

Pretty nifty.

Nice muscle tone -














Yeah, don't ask me:


One thing sure about the man is he certainly has no trouble growing facial hair . . .


I'll be back tomorrow with more strange and rambling interests. Until then.

When logic and proportion, have fallen softly dead

I like that song, as a general rule. They used it in the credits at the end of the "The Game." That was a good movie.

It's funny; I was doing a google search for that movie and I came across something rather interesting.

Did you know that they're making the book "Ender's Game" into a movie? Man oh man, I hope that they make "Ender's Shadow" into a movie as well. I always liked that book more than Ender's Game. And if they don't make Ender's Shadow into a movie, I hope that they at least show Bean a fair amount.

I mean, if you read the summaries (written by three different people), one person did mention the mixing of the two stories, but the other two didn't even touch on it.

I've always felt like a Bean of the world; especially on Backwash. I mean, I think the only reason that I have a popular column on there is because of two main points:

I update at least twice a month (if not more)

and

I provide lots of links that interest me

You know, I was the number 1 columnist on BW for almost a month straight? Well I take part of that back. Most of that particular month, I swapped out, back and forth, the top spot with another columnist- Zenball Wizard/Bill. But if anyone else were to be making so much as an effort to write, then I would have been booted out of the top slot so fast it would have made your mouse spin.

I'm just too calculating. I think too much about how to make myself a popular writer. And it's not that being popular is so important to me; but let's face it, most of us want to be read.

What I'm trying [badly] to say is that the writing that some do and do so well, is almost natural for them (or so it seems, what do I know); but in turn, I don't have it. I might be a semi-popular writer some day (I can hope); and I can be a semi-professional, esteemed, accomplished horn player some day (still hoping); but I'll never rise to greatness. I just don't have it in me.

I can handle that. I can handle being #2 or #3 for the rest of my life. I don't mind. I have fun either way. But I'll never take the top slot unless people just don't try.

And then what kind of fun is that?

BTW -

I created another blog for my current 1337 obsession. It's called $+0|* /-\|\||) !|\|(|-| |\|0|2+|-|. It's all in 31337 $|*33|<.

Disjointed Musings

I don't have a lot of time to talk tonight because I actually need to be getting to bed for once, so I'm going to try and make this a short post (hopefully).

Today, I found myself seeing the early roots of an obsession with 31337 (or known more clearly as "elite," for hacker or gamer speak). The wikipedia definition of it is actually quite clear and instructive.

I've always liked strange or unusual speech patterns. It's partially because I was obsessed with literati for awhile (the online scrabble-like yahoo game). As a result of playing it endlessly for months on end, I suddenly found myself looking at all letters and all words in an attempt to move the letters around into new or better words. Alas.

But 1337 5|*34|< (or "leet speak") is a wild ride in and of itself. It requires great skill if done properly.

However, I'll continue on that thought line again 1473|2.

Of course, this gets me thinking, yes? I am a synaesthete. I see numbers and letters in color--but not the same colors. I'll give you more thorough explanation of that later, as well. So here's the question: What kind of effect does Leet/1337 speak have on synaesthesia? As you may have already noticed (if you didn't already know), leet is composed in great part by numbers.

Therefore, I'll say it again. What kind of effect does Leet speak have on synaesthetes?

Hmmm. I'll get back to you.

Stuck in the perpetual motion

O believe, you were not born in vain!
You have not lived or suffered in vain!

All that is created must perish.
All that has perished rises again.
Cease trembling!
Prepare to live!

O Pain, all-pervading,
I have escaped from you!
O Death, all-conquering,
now you are conquered!

That's from Gustav Mahler's Symphony No.2 "Resurrection." Originally, I had to listen to it for my music history class. By some chance of fate, I managed to avoid ever hearing it before then. The version I own now is the 1975 performance, conducted by Zubin Mehta.

When I first heard that section of the fifth movement (all in German of course), I nearly cried. It was as a result of having listened to the entire thing; because I understood what it meant to be saying those words.

It's a fairly longish piece; between 80 to 90 minutes. It's a pretty wild ride that is fairly exhausting to listen to it in its entirety. I think that it makes the listener feel, in some sections, as if they are going through hell with him. It's contains a very fiery and violent nature at times; yet it is hauntingly beautiful at other times.

I don't remember precisely the storyline behind all of the movements, but I do remember the basic points that struck me with particular force that one day. It's starts out with a funeral. And then, about halfway through, the music represents a loss of way, a loss of faith in the world around oneself.

At the end, not only are we reconfirmed, but we're told that it's going to be okay. That's the section that I posted up above. I just remember getting to that section and breathing a sigh of relief, thinking to myself that "it's okay." There is a point to it all.

Most of it's pretty harrowing stuff. The whole time that I was listening to it, I was thinking that I understood the feelings that were being conveyed to me. But now, now that I have really lost my way? It means more now.

So what of the title of today's post then? Let me just put it this way--my brain tends to work on a couple of different levels at one time. During most of the afternoon today, I had two songs in my head. I had the '"Oh glaube, mein Herz, oh glaube": Etwas bewegter' section of the fifth movement of symphony no. 2 in my head (specifically starting about 1 min and 40 seconds or so into the Mehta version-#9); and I had song "When Yer 22" by The Flaming Lips stuck in my head.

That may seem like a strange combination to have stuck in one's head. I guess that the raw energy displayed in both songs makes up for the strangeness of having them both in my head simultaneously.

That and the lyrics. Look at the lyrics for both songs- When Yer 22 and Mahler's Resurrection. On some strange level, they jive.

Eh, it's all shiny.

Fictional Characters That I Admire

In no particular order:

Professor Dumbledore - from HP

Ryan Cawdor - From the Deathlands series

Boba Fett - specifically from the Bounty Hunter Wars trilogy

Batman

Maniac Magee

Dick Tracy

Horatio Caine

Hawkeye Pierce

Col. Potter

Captain Malcolm 'Mal' Reynolds from Firefly

Captain Picard

Egon from Ghostbusters

Elliot Stabler from Law and Order: SVU

Olivia Benson from Law and Order: SVU

Bobby Goran from Law and Order: CI

Fox Mulder

Dana Scully

Donatello from TMNT, the movie

Doctor McCoy - "Bones"

Lord Peter Wimsey (Edward Petherbridge's version, especially)

Danny-boy specifically from "The City, Not Long After"

Broxholm from "My Teacher Flunked the Planet"

Johnny Rico from "Starship Troopers"

Captain Spencer from Rick Shelley's trilogy (the one starting with The Buchanan Campaign)

Wolverine

Bean

Fred from "So You Want To Be a Wizard" by Diane Duane

Tom and Carl from Diane Duane's Wizard series

And I would warrant a guess to say there are definitely more out there, but currently my tired addled brain cannot think of them. Alas.

Perhaps tomorrow I shall enlighten you all on why I admire these particular characters.

Anger And Fear . . . *Singing* (Think the tune to "Silver and Gold")

So, I missed a day. Big whoop. I just couldn't find myself motivated enough to write last night. I was a bit pissed off last night--as I am once again tonight--only now, for some reason, I can write. For some reason, that my brain has yet to have devulged to me, I'm back in therapy. This is my 7th attempt at it in 5 years. If I end up giving up on it again, I'm just going to throw in the towel and say fuck it.

It's funny; I've only gotten two pieces of good advice from any of the seven therapists that I've had:

Left-handed poetry.

When I was told that when I'm feeling disconnected from the world, I should get off the Internet and get into the real world.

In reference to the left-handed poetry (the only suggestion that I feel warrants any kind of explanation), I had a therapist that told me once that I should try doing non-dominant handed poetry. You see, the idea here was that it would somehow connect to the other half of my brain or something. Well, I was skeptical of course, who wouldn't be? And I'm not entirely sure that she wasn't just blowing wind in my face either; but I tried it and it did interesting things. For one, I ended up incorporating colors that I never ever used into my poetry. I was also able to write about things that I hadn't before.

See now, you have to understand one other thing that I believe. I think that I should have been left-handed. I'm a french horn player (a left-handed instrument); I wear my watch on my right hand (because it's easier to get on with my left-hand); I'm a left-handed sculptor; and I can write legibly with my left hand (albeit about half as fast).

But I digress. In terms of good advice from other medical sources (ie - my family doc, a good man and a good friend), I was given this other piece of advice which I have wholeheartedly followed. He told me that I should try keeping a mood journal in order that I might be able to see trends and keep an idea of where I was in my mood levels (as opposed to just having various moods sneak up on me). You see, it used to be that I would just fall into these moods and stay down or up--bizarrely--for periods of time. Now, while I still do that some, I can tell when it's going to happen, because I'm more aware of it all.

Now, he only suggested keeping track of my mood and my physical state (I track them on a scale of 1-10; and I have each number defined); but as time went on, I started adding variables. See, first I split up my mood into my morning mood and evening mood. Then I split up my physical state into physical and gastrointestinal. Remember, I have IBS and my stomach leads a lot of what I do day to day. And stress makes my IBS worse. So, naturally, then I incorporated anxiety--or fear--levels and anger levels. Lastly, I track my evening heartrate (remember, I have tachycardia and it's good to make sure my meds are working--I take a low dosage beta blocker for my anxiety/tachycardia).

On a side note, mood tracking is generally suggested for people who either suspect that they are bipolar or who actually are. Probably my doc originally suggested this because there was a period of time where we thought that I might be bipolar. But no. Just regular uni for me.

I started charting all of these variables on a chart that I set up in Paint a few months ago. I still write them out in my mood journal every night, but every so often I put them all together in order that I might see various trends.

For example, here's a chart from last September. It only has my morning and evening moods, my physical state and my anxiety levels. This is pre-beta blocker; so my anxiety levels are pretty much out of whack. I have an anxiety disorder which is made pretty clear by this chart. When my anxiety goes up, the rest of me goes crazy. I think it's pretty clear.



Okay, now here's the month of June. I think of this as sort of the ideal month, because the levels are pretty straight; my anger level isn't really acting up much--although there is obviously a correlation between anger and anxiety; and my levels aren't down in the dumps the entire time.



But I'll tell you what we want to avoid at all costs. We want to avoid another month of February. That was the month where my anxiety got so out of control that I started taking toprol (my beta-blocker) regularly. My anxiety got so bad that . . . let me put it this way--before February of '06, I had a fear of elevators. I wouldn't ride in them at night or on the weekends or alone. I freaked out a couple of times and would generally try to take the stairs whenever possible. During the month of February, when I was student teaching, I started getting on elevators hoping that they would break down. I started hoping that they would break down so that I wouldn't have to go back out into the world.

Look at the red and the blue marks. Those are my mood colors. Look how they jump up and down 3 or 4 points every fucking day. And look how low they are for the last week or so of the month. I didn't get out of the depressed range for a week (depressed range is anything below 5). Now you tell me, how fucked up is that?



Now, I said towards the beginning of this rather lengthy and drawn out post that I was currently pissed off. That's because my current therapist, therapist #7, thinks that I'm OCD and that this mood charting is one of my OCD compulsions or whatever shit.

It's bullshit. She's not willing to see that this is a valid activity, and rather she's trying make it into a neurosis.

I'm not OCD. Yes, I have OCD tendencies, but I'm not fucking OCD.

I gave her permission to talk with my doc this past week. Maybe he'll be able to clear it up with her.

Oh and she thinks that I ought to go see a psychiatrist. Luckily for me, I have no money.

You Wanna Know What's Really Fucked Up?

Crossover stories, that's what. I don't care what two stories they're crossing over, it's all wrong to me.

And what's more is that a lot of it's really badly written.

I read a M*A*S*H/Star Trek: TNG story once. That was really weird. The whole time I'm reading it, I just kept thinking, "No! This isn't happening!" It really messed with my brain.

I just stumbled across an Oz/X-Files crossover slash fanfic a few minutes again. As soon as I saw the name "Alex Krycek," I thought to myself, "No fucking way." But unfortunately, it's true. Oh god it's true. It's a little more than special.

And then of course, how could we ever forget the all-time bad example of the Star Trek/X-Men book that I found in a used bookstore, one summer many years ago. After reading half of it, I could see why it was in the used bookstore. Bleah. It's called Planet X and it really sucks.

Actually, from what I can gather, it's a sequel from a comic book. I just hope that the comic book is better than the novel. However, I do find it interesting that most of reviews on amazon are in favor of this shit for brains book. I mean, I could have written the story better than that. 'Course, I'm planning on getting published at some point; I already have a book written, I just have to edit it (and publish it).

And of course, the same old problem is almost always involved in combining two different storylines. You have to figure out a way to make them come together in a semi-plausible way. Luckily for the Oz/X-Files crossover, the only thing crossing over was one character.

Although, I did see an SVU/Oz crossover that I didn't even bother looking at, because you'd have to be a genius to pull that sucker off and most slash writers that I see (no matter how good they may be) are not geniuses.

Anyway, I like slash--preferably good slash. I'm currently on a Oz binge, so we'll see where that leads me. Two new websites that I have yet to completely peruse are The Slash Slut's Link Page (whose site motto is "One guy is hot, but two are hotter), and Squidge.

Ragged Edges

I've started to wonder if my sometimes incredibly painful heartburn might actually be masking or substituting in place of panic attacks.

Right now, I've been having really bad heartburn for about 5 hours straight now. I've got prescription heartburn (I usually just think of it as HB) meds and I've got over the counter meds, and I've taken both [twice] tonight and they're not really having any kind of effect on my overall well-being. In fact, it's getting so bad that I'm seriously considering making an appointment with my doctor tomorrow, regardless of the fact that I don't have health insurance and it'll cost an arm and a leg. It's that bad.

And now that I'm thinking about it, I've realized that the sensations I'm feeling right now are pretty close to how I feel at the height of great panic or stress.

In fact, if this pain doesn't let up soon, I fear that I might be two or three steps away from being curled up in a fetal position screaming at the moon. For me, heartburn is almost always tied in with anxiety, in addition to whatever I ate to set it off; so it makes perfect sense to me that this could soon lead to a panic attack, or it already is a panic attack.

I'm feeling really nauseated (not to be confused with nauseous - which makes other people sick); my chest feels like it's about to rip itself apart; I'm sweating; my hands are shaking; and I feel like curling into a fetal position and hiding because I feel like I'm out of control-like I'm about to go nuts. The only thing that I can see that I'm really missing for my characteristic panic attacks is my heart rate. It's too low. But then again, I'm on prescription beta blockers and that's probably what's keeping it down. But still, my heart rate has hit 80 and that's up about 8 beats from where it was a little while ago.

I just know that it's hard to focus on much of anything right now and even rereading some of my sentences I have just written is proving hard to do.

Well, writing has made me feel a bit better. I don't want you to think I'm overreacting to my situation. It is real. I'm just going to see what I can do about it.

Nightmares

My longtime roommate and best friend, Debra, has told me time and time again that my dreams are some of the most violent that she's ever witnessed.

Well, last night I had another violent dream--only unlike the ones she was referring to, I actually remembered this one. That's been happening a lot more often frequently, my remembering of my dreams. And when I say remember, I'm not just referring to the state of fuzzy remembering that you have an hour or so after you wake up; I mean, the kind of remembering that continues on through the day; the kind that you find yourself looking at your watch periodically through the day and thinking, "god, why haven't I forgotten this dream yet?

That kind of dream.

The dream was actually composed of two parts: one original and one revised. Funny how that sometimes will work in dreams, huh? You actually get a chance to fix something.

I dreamed that the warden from Oz was pissed off at me.
I also dreamed that I was related to Ryan O'Reilly (an inmate).

So, for some reason, I decided to break out all of the windows of a school bus at the local high school in order that I might get back at him for screwing our family over or something half-crocked like that. I remember that in the dream it was cold; I could see my breath. I had just finished breaking out all of the windows when I realized that I hadn't worn gloves; so therefore they would be able to get my fingerprints. I freaked out over the course of this dream, actually going through excuses like, "oh well, I had ridden the bus, so of course my fingerprints would be on the windows," and other shit like that before the the second half of the dream unfolded.

Suddenly I found myself doing it all over again, only this time, I had gloves on. I had just finished, when I saw Warden Glynn gunning for me, literally. As in, he had a gun out and was trying to kill me. Either I didn't have time to run to my car, or else I didn't bring one, because I started running full out down the road. And then I knew exactly where I was (as if I hadn't already); I was running on the highway that goes past my old high school (scary thought in and of itself, no?).

I jump into this ditch right and into the woods. I'm thinking the whole time about how the warden has hated me and the family from day one and how much he'd really like to get rid of me, right? And I also know that there's no way that I can just hide in the woods and wait it out, it's not one of those dreams, you dig?

So I get to these weird tree stumps--only, they're about 20 feet high or so and I somehow find myself on top of them. They form some bizarre twisted sort of fort; but they aren't very stable, and as I clamber up higher on them, one actually tears off and falls down--nearly taking me with it. There's also a short ivy railing around the edges, which I can see warden Glynn through. And then he starts shooting at me and I know, know without knowing how I know, that he means to kill me and that I will be dead and that no one will cry.

And then I wake up.

This is the third oz nightmare I've had in the past 3 weeks. And yet I keep watching the episodes on netflix. It's just like those books I mentioned in yesterday's post. They gave me nightmares too, so I just stopped reading them at bed time.

Needless to say, the dream creeped me out.

Vomited From Time's Belly

James Axler's Deathlands series literally gave me nightmares every time that I read the books before bed.

For those of you who don't know about this series-and I trust that many of you don't, since I got acquainted with him only via a used bookstore-his series are based in a future gone wrong, post-nuclear holocaust. The name, "Deathlands," is what the people of his now call America. And as you read the series, you understand why they call it Deathlands . . . It's not as if I've read a very many of them or anything; I've only read 7 of them (Dectra Chain, Red Equinox, NorthStar Rising, Genesis Echo, Shadowfall, Ground Zero, and Emerald Fire); but they've all stuck in my memory for many years now.

I remember one dream in particular. It wasn't very complex; it just consisted of a house and a man and a child. They were taking shelter there during a rainstorm; so no big deal, right? Only, in the dream, since it was an acid rainstorm, the acid began to eat away the roof; and then it started dripping into the house, burning all that it came in contact with.

It freaked me out. A lot. I had that dream in high school, but I still remember it completely--or, at least I still completely remember the fear associated with it.

So did I stop reading the books? No. I just stopped reading them at night.

I also had this very complex dream where mentally retarded adults had been taken in and used as slaves by the barons of the local castle (don't ask, I don't know where I got this dream from). The dream went on for a while, detailing the fact that they had a lottery which they all would partake in every week (and it had something to do with destroying the environment). I dreamed that either I was living at the castle or that I was merely visiting, I can't remember. What I do remember in clear detail was the end of the dream. The river of acid that the barons had contributed to for so long had changed course and was headed towards the castle (along with an angry mob). And I was trying to get out of the castle, but I had to go downstairs to rescue someone first . . . and that's when the river got there, and I found myself floating on a table through a burning river. Then, luckily, my alarm clock went off.

On a slightly different note, another facet of the storyline was an old guy named Doc Tanner. He was plucked from his own time in the 19th century by the scientists in the late 20th century (briefly before the end of all things). They call it "time trawling." However, he made such a nuisance of himself that he was trawled forwards again into the Deathlands time frame.

So that has always set me thinking (usually late at night) about what would happen if one day, you were just minding your own business and you were just plucked out of your time and thrown into another?

And (it gets worse), what if you weren't thrown forwards, but rather backwards? Therefore, every time I have this thought, I always take a mental tally of everything that I have with me; everything that I would be able to use back then or what I would find myself needing.

I suppose that it's like the same sort of thing you would ask yourself if you found yourself on a deserted island, like in Cast Away or Lord of the Flies.

Usually, when I have these thoughts, it's because I'm carrying the least amount of things with me. You see, I'm one of those people who always has stuff with them. I was worse in college, but nowadays, whenever I'm out, I always carry a backpack/purse containing a water bottle, some kind of food, a cd player, a book, my wallet & checkbook, a pencil/pen, inhaler, umbrella, tylenol and heartburn medication. It just makes me feel safer.

But, as I said earlier, I always have these thoughts at night, when I'm carrying very little with me. For instance, right now I am shoeless, wearing torn shorts and a t-shirt with Merlin on the front. I have my hair in a ponytail (okay, so one hair tie); I'm wearing two rings-a silver one and a mood ring; I'm wearing a watch w/ lousy indiglo (only lights up the numbers, not the hands); I'm wearing a silver necklace with a purple stone (which may or may not be fake); I'm wearing my glasses (which I will probably need a new prescription for the next 3 years or less); and I have a tube of halfway used chapstick. Oh yes, I'm doing great. I'm also wearing underwear (tops and bottoms, thankyouverymuch).

Okay, well at least I'm dressed, right? Sort of? Well, in addition to what I've mentioned, let me also mention everything else that I also have that is definitely not an asset. I have asthma, an anxiety disorder (accompanied by tachycardia), heartburn, horrendous monthly cramps, IBS, lower back problems, joint problems (I'm double-jointed in every joint, which creates joint problems), periodic sinus headaches, lactose intolerance, chronic depression, teeth problems (I've already had two crowns and one root canal and I'm not even 23 yet), bladder problems (small bladder type, howdy), vertigo . . . um hi?

So if I were to be thrown into the past, or if I were to find myself adrift on a desolate island, then I think I would just say fine and go and kick it. The idea freaks me out, much like those dreams always freaked me out.

Maybe I'll write a book about it someday.

Mirror, Mirror, On The Wall . . . Who's The Fairest Of Them All?

I told you earlier that two summers ago, I spent the entire time telling myself that I loved myself, in an effort to reestablish myself.

Well, this summer (or rather, this year), I've got a new goal. I'm going to tell myself that I'm pretty every day and every time that I see other people. I truly believe that the mind has the power to change one's self and how others view you; so I'm putting it to the test. How often have you been told that if you think you're pretty, others will see it too? How about this, try exchanging the word "pretty" with "confident;" does it sound familiar now?

This sounds incredibly dorky, but I swear that it's going to be really difficult for me to do.

I mean, I have enough problems with talking to people in a voice that others can hear and respond back to, let alone standing up straight and going at the world full-throttle. But I'm going to make it happen. I decided this today, while walking down my little podunk street in the middle of my little town.

And of course, the other problem with this comes from the inability to allow myself to be pretty. In essence, I need to allow myself to be, regardless of the negative thoughts I have in my center. I need to be able to walk down the street without worrying how others are seeing me. In general, I'd like to have some kind of strength of personal nature that would accompany me and that others would be able to see and feel. As if, just when meeting me, people could say to themselves, "This person has character."

That's what I would like to have happen.

And these ideas, I have thought of on my own. I didn't get them from therapy, books or websites. These are my own perceptions of the world and how I need to fix myself in order that I might flow better in life.

Mine.

Up

I don't know why I've been updating my blog only in the early hours of the morning. If you only knew how unusual this was for me, you'd laugh, I think. Generally speaking, I've always been an early morning kind of person; not because I like getting up, maybe, but because I like the quiet and the personality of the early morning.

Anyway, I must tell you about this book that I'm reading; well at least, I think that I'm reading it. It's really quite bizarre. I can't tell if I'm reading it or dreaming it, to tell you honest truth. The only way that I knew to check that I was truly awake still was to come in here and post a blog for you.

I was actually thinking about putting the update of this blog off until tomorrow, in the actual waking hours of the day. I guess my subconscious had a different idea.

The name of the book is Bones of the Moon, and it's by Jonathan Carroll. I've heard the name Jonathan Carroll before, but I'm mostly sure that I've never read anything by him.

The book itself is, as I told you earlier, odd--to put it lightly. The heroine's name is "Cullen;" but she's not really a heroine yet, in terms of her own reality, that is. But I have the feeling that she could be, but maybe not here. See what I mean? It's all very confusing.

I've always felt that way about my own dreams. There's a feeling that I have when I'm in a dream, as if everything contorts and all that is flat is bulky and all the colors are inverted, and I'm floating, but I'm standing and . . . ergh, I don't have the words for it. If I could describe it, maybe I'd be an award winning writer, right? Hah. I'd settle for just getting published--although, I am a step in the right direction, I do have a book written. It just needs to go through another draft first.

Of course, since the main character in my book spends most of the book in a dreamlike state, you would think that I had gotten better at describing it. And don't get me wrong, I did, but only in the terms of my character.



If I could use that to describe in words how dreams feel to me, then perhaps I could make you understand how I feel. Unfortunately, in one of the rarer moments in my life, language has failed me.

But only briefly.

Until next time.

Hate

The worst thing in the world is to deny yourself of hate.

I look at that sentence and think, oh god, what did I just say? But it's true, regardless of what I think or what anyone else thinks. Try it on again:

The worst thing in the world is to deny yourself of hate.

How'd it sound the second time around? I think that it sounded worse. But then again, I'm guilty of it, so I really can't be an objective witness here.

Hate burns. It's not pleasant. It takes control of your body. Yet, at the same time, hate cleanses. It allows; it is.

In denying your hate, you deny yourself; you deny your feelings. You make yourself live in a world that does not exist, but rather in one that is propelled by lies, by deceit. You force yourself to smile, when you feel like spitting. You force yourself to speak when you feel like screaming. You force yourself to go about your day to day business as if nothing bothers you; as if nothing's wrong.

In that sense, then, hate and fear are brother and sister; both require that you deny yourself in an effort to control the overwhelming feelings that are churning around you.

So how do you answer hate's call? Do you say to yourself, "no, I do not hate?" Do you say, "no, I will not hate?" Do you say, "It does not bother me? I am fine? Everything is good?"

What do you say to make those feelings go away?

Of course, what I am speaking of is the simple acknowledgement of your hate. I am not telling you to grab a gun and go kill all of your coworkers. I am not saying that.

I am merely speaking of the act of actually admitting that hate to that inner voice inside your head.

For example, there's this girl at the place that I worked last who hated me. But she wouldn't admit it to anyone, not even herself, because it conflicted with her idea of who she was; she didn't think that she was capable of hate. And yet . . . and yet she hated me. I could tell, because sometimes, just sometimes, I caught her looking at me with this look. And then other times, she would be fine one moment and then icy towards me; just me. I don't think that I can explain it, but I could feel it.

I hate my computer. There, I said it. It never works right; it's slow and it freezes up a lot. I avoid saying that I hate it by telling people that it's special, but truly, I hate it. It annoys the piss out of me.

I hate it when I make stupid mistakes in front of other people.

I hate not having any money. I hate wishing for things that other people can just go out and buy.

I hate being unsure of myself. I hate telling people in band to hush, even though it's my responsibility as section leader and they should know better.

I hate the blindness of other people--how they miss everything that I see. I hate it so much that I don't even talk about it to other people anymore; I just pretend that I don't see or hear all the rest of the world.

I hate that my supervising teacher (when I was student teaching) always made me feel like a dunce no matter what I did. I hate that I could never do it right and I hate that I hate it.

And most of all, I hate that when I get up in the morning, I am never quite sure how I'll feel or how big the empty space inside me will be that day. I hate the empty space. It feels almost as though my outer side will cave in on itself someday, because something was scooped out and left in that student teaching semester that can never be retrieved--only replaced.

And if I end replacing that space with only hate, I'll hate myself for the rest of my life, I swear to god.

It's almost as if a bright center composed mostly of confidence, energy and self-worth was stored there, only to have it ripped out . . . leaving me nothing more than an empty shell that still looks the same and acts the same, but isn't.

So I admit that I hate that empty space. And I hate that bright center for leaving--forcefully or not. I think the worst of it is that it wasn't ripped out so much as it just merely shrivelled--drying into dust. It shrivelled, leaving me a shell. And the worst part is that no one at the school that I student taught at noticed that shrivelling.

And I Hate that most of all.

The Magic In the Silence Between The Stars

The last time that I lost myself was in the summer of 2004--the year after my sophomore year in college. The semester before that had been the hardest semester that I had ever experienced before in my life. I was taking 12 (count 'em, 12) classes and going slightly crazy with all of them (even so, I still managed to pull off a 3.95 gpa). My short term memory has never been the same since; same goes for my sense of myself.

It was in the silence that I found myself. I practically stopped talking for the entire summer afterwards. I limited myself to just talking about things that were absolutely necessary (ie - family functions). But in terms of me actually talking, I did very little. I was content instead to just sit and look around at the world that had suddenly unfolded itself around me.

You see, from January through May of the year 2004, I almost killed myself several times. The only thing that kept me from doing it was the fact that I couldn't think of a good way to do it. So that summer, I spent my time in silence rediscovering the world and the light and the air. I had been previously living in a world so dark that I could barely see my hand in front of my face; but that summer was different. It was so bright that I practically had to blink to look it straight on.

I spent most of the time telling myself that I loved myself and why. I focused on the things that were, like facts that were true no matter who looked at them. I agreed with myself that the sun was indeed hot and that I indeed did like to read. I needed things to believe in, because everything else around me had taken on a sort of topsy turvy stance. Thus, that summer I spent in a state of being. I was.

I recently read the book The Memory of Running by Ron McLarty. It spoke to me, like that summer of 2004 spoke to me. In particular, it put into words an experience that I had previously tried to speak of, but unsuccessfully.

It is about a man who goes on a journey across the country on a bike (or two) in an effort to find his past and himself. At the beginning of chapter 63, it says this:

"For fifteen minutes I followed the beat of my heart on its route to my feet."

I do that. But the last time I tried to explain it to someone, I ended up sounding crazy. I don't know, maybe I am crazy. I can't tell anymore.

Isn't that silly? I can't tell anymore if I'm crazy. But I think that if I were crazy, then I wouldn't care so much; it wouldn't bother me so much. I just don't know anymore. I thought I did. I guess that's what I get for assuming that I understood the path that my life was taking.

Goodnight World

Time for all good little bloggers to take a wee little nap.

But before I go off to bed, I'd just like to say thank you to someone.

Thank you ABC, for airing your show Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. Thank you, because it makes me feel happy to be a human again; and it makes me happy to be an american again. And I didn't think that was possible.

Therefore, thank you ABC.

Welcome Yada Yada

This should be made into a dance or something, I feel sure. Just think of it, doing the Welcome Yada Yada; sounds fun to me.

Eh, anyway I'm a long term off and on blogger. I started blogging back in 2001, before September 11 even (god forbid, there was life back then?). So I've been around the blog (pun intended) a couple of times in that respect.

My off stage started in 2002, when I got sidetracked by being a columnist at Backwash, where I am still sidetracked, but not as exclusively perhaps. And the only reason why I am not wholly sidetracked at BW anymore is because I am no longer a full-time college student.

That was the other reason for my sporadic postings on my previous blog. For the past four years I have been a music education major, a subject which I will go into more at a later date. However I will say that at the very least, being a music major (and surviving) is the hardest thing I have ever done in my entire life (including surviving middle school-which nearly didn't happen either). I just graduated in May and now have a bit more time on my hands.

I also have a livejournal account, which has the same name as this blog, but not the same url. So why do I have both an lj and a blog? Simple. Blogs are better. The only reason I have a lj is because a lot of my school friends have them and it's an easy way to stay in contact with them. But all I really do w/ my lj is post pics of my baby nephew, Woody. He was born 4 months early, weighing only 1 pound and 4 ounces. He's now over 7 pounds and these past 3 and a half months have been hell on everyone in the family (plus some honorary family members). But he seems to be doing okay now.

I hope to make this blog a bit more personalized over the next few days or so. I changed blogs so that I could have the chance to really do what I wanted to do with my blog, without having to totally revamp an existing one.