Ramblings on Solitude and Freedom

I am fairly confident that I am having a manic episode. I have been obsessing over certain things quite a bit, and I'm feeling miserable. Shackled and yet close to losing control. I feel like it would be fairly liberating to lose control, but it would be damning and I know it.

Right now I am sitting in the front seat of my car. The windows are open and the battery is on. The only light comes from the console and from the computer screen. The crickets are loud enough to compete with the sound of Nick Cave's From Her to Eternity on the stereo. My back is against the driver's side door and my feet are resting in the passenger seat. This is a surprisingly comfortable setup.

In the past few days I have found that I am in desperate need of solitude and sanctuary to write. I have inaccurately come to call this place of solitary sanctuary my Bael na Blath. It's mostly because I like the words. Mouth of flowers. There are worse names for an idea. Ironically, I've come to think of a person as my Bael na Blath. Maybe more than anything, the idea is that Bael na Blath is a place where I can be safe. Ironic, as Michael Collins was killed there. I need to think of a better name for this concept.

Since the weather has turned cooler I've found that I enjoy being outside - especially to write. Hence my current hiding place. The outdoor at large have felt like a great place to go to feel alone. People don't much like being outside, and I've not been feeling much like being around people it's  been a great solution. 

Yet in this longing to be alone, I find myself wishing to being people into my solitude. Not just anyone though. Persons who would not put upon me. Persons who let me be. I imagine we would have quiet moments and I could feel truly free. That would never happen though. I suffer from pressure of speech. 

Maybe it's freedom I want most. I want to be able to go to St. Simon's at a whim and not have to worry about coming back at a certain time or being asked a million questions about my trip. I've come to despise being questioned about my actions. If I wanted to share my comings and goings I would. 

I want a friend that I can meet at Waffle House for all night conversations about nothing. God, I miss that. Mojo Jojo was the king of that sort of thing. And if we didn't have any money, we would raid his dad's fridge and lay on the bed watching movies all night. Just being together was stimulating. I am under stimulated. I am bored. 

And I am a mother. I am a wife. I cannot have friends like that anymore. I cannot have new experiences with new people along those lines anymore. I have responsibilities and there's propriety to consider. Maybe if Mojo Jojo were in the same town. Maybe.

But he's not. I am alone among people. I seek true solitude where I can at least daydream about not being alone anymore. I would be a person instead of an accessory. I would be valued. I would not be sitting in my car in the middle of the night writing cagey prose about idle fantasies that will never be. I would be living - something I feel like I have not done in a really long time. 

I want to go to my Bael na Blath, wherever that is. 

You may ask yourself, what is that beautiful house? 

You may ask yourself, where does that highway lead to? 

You may ask yourself, am I right, am I wrong? 

You may say to yourself, my god, what have I done? 

"I Love Things!" Thursday - Decadence

I have been feeling decadent lately. I don't know if it's the hormones or the foul mood I've been in, but I've been all about rich and heavy. I want to live . . . modestly large. Opulent and plush surroundings are much desired. Here are some of the things I've been craving, eating, wanting, and doing:

1. Wine

Red. Heavy. Preferably with crusty bread and good cheese.

2. Chocolate

Dark. Locally made. Enveloping ripe and luscious strawberries.

 3. Orange Juice

With pulp. It is a food group. Bread and ketchup: also food groups.

4. Cars

Cars. For my affluent lifestyle. This or a 66' Ford Galaxie convertable.

 5. Selfies

What could be more decadent than a selfie? Not much.

Identifying What I Need

For the past 3 weeks or so it's been very up and down. I've been on edge, losing sleep, unmotivated, and obsessing over things (people) that make me feel safe and secure. There were a couple of nights where I did not sleep at all. My mind was racing out of control. There were days where it was a success to get out of bed and all I wanted to do was cry. And then there was the anger. So much anger.

The anger made flesh in the form of an angry and painful lip zit. Ouch.

Things sort of came to a head yesterday when I had to fight myself not to punch holes in the wall and in people's faces. I was not okay. I had to get away. So, I went to Denny's and had a bowl of chili. Fueled by protein and solitude, I realized that the way I had been feeling was triggered by a series of bad events, and that I could have stopped the train a lot earlier if only I had realized what was going on. Instead, it took me about 3 weeks to figure things out and get back on the right track.

 Out of sorts one week less than this condom has been on the fence.
Here we see "Week 4: The Shriveling."

Today I am in a better place. A good place. And what is my first inclination? To reach out to my friends who are not in such good places. This is setting myself up for failure, I think. Since I am good right now (at least I think I am), wouldn't it be best to work on bolstering my own emotional infrastructure so that next time something unpleasant blindsides me I well equipped to deal with it? In my world, 3 weeks is pretty good recovery time, but 3 days would be better.

How could I not be in a better place? I saw a kitty today!

This is not to say that I will not reach out to my less than okay friends. Ultimately, I will be able to do that and take care of myself. I like being helpful and I can't help but worry and wring my hands when I know that my favorite people are suffering. Especially since I know exactly what that sort of suffering feels like. Thankfully, most of the people on my "fret" list are seeing counselors and have treatment plans, so I won't have to worry too much. As for the ones who are not currently seeking help - you can lead a horse to water and all that, right? God helps he who helps himself. So too must I, at least for now.

I think the universe was trying to tell me something about my attitude.

But what does this infrastructure look like? I'm not really sure, but I'm going to take a stab at identifying it anyway. So now, a list:

Uranium J's List of Needs for Emotional Stability

• Regular (low carb/low sugar/high protein) meals
• I get mean when I'm hungry.
• Emotions go haywire when my blood sugar is out of whack.
• Protein makes me feel good and it's good for me.
• Regular exercise 
• Exercise releases endorphins.
• Endorphins make you happy.
• Happy people don't kill their husbands.
• Clean and Organized Home
• Clean floors make me happy.
• The less time I spend looking for things, the more time I have for happy making endeavors.
• If the house is clean and maintainable I can stop worrying about it.
• Lots of time alone
• I don't do well with a lot of questions.
• I like to be left to do my own thing.
• It makes me appreciate my time with people all the more.
• Being present with loved ones
• I will feel like a good friend/partner/mother.
• Not being present stresses me out.
• I will be happier for having richer and fuller experiences.
• Music! Music! Music!
• I don't like silence.
• I love music. 
• I am happier in general when there is a backing soundtrack to my life.
• Routines for Morning/Evening
• I can make time for happiness essentials, like exercise and writing.
• I will avoid further breakouts (I hope).
• I can plan for the next day, thereby avoiding stress.
• Establish Independence
• I can do things by myself.
• I don't need someone to hold my hand.
• I don't need anyone's permission to do what is good for me.
• Zen
• I cannot change other people.
• I cannot control the world around me. 
• I am only in charge of my actions and reactions.
• Drink More Water
• Caffeine is a trigger.
• Dehydration is a trigger.
• Water is good for your body and your skin.
  
  

  

  And more water means more time looking at signs like this.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

In the Interest of Self Love

Today has been less than stellar.

Much like this selfie. And the trim job on the bangs. Oy vey.

That Sprout woke up with a fever which kept her from going to school. That would have been all fine and well and good were it not for the fact that I had to go to lesson planning for the Deep workshop tomorrow. I brought her along and as the hour wore on, I could feel my rage, frustration, and despair rising up inside of me. "Why won't she just follow directions?!?!" I wanted to scream. She's 3 and she doesn't feel good, that's why. At least I had the presence of mind to recognize my anger and was therefore able to keep it under control. Although, I wonder if my snarky remarks to my child painted me as the biggest asshole on the planet? Better calm snark than screaming though, right? Right.

A photo of the little beast's shoes during the 17 seconds she sat still today.

The rest of the day was spent waiting for her doctor's appointment where we found out that she has an upper respiratory viral infection. Yay. She can't go to school tomorrow, so that's fun. I don't know what I'm going to do. Take her with me to Deep, I guess. That will be fun.

That Sprout is a pro at showing her booty.

While we were killing time I had hoped that she would feel puny and want to watch Kipper so that I could get some writing and critiquing done. Not so much. I did manage to tend to some of the gasoline damaged books I had hoped to salvage. They were un-salvageable, so I took pictures of them before tossing them in the trash. It was hard. I hate waste.

This was the hardest book to say goodbye to.
I never finished it!

Somehow though, I did take some pictures of my tummy to submit to The Tummy Project - a body love website that is run by my old pal from college, Raynala. The photo I submitted hasn't been posted yet, so in the meantime, I thought I would share them here.

Behold: My Tummy.

The idea is that I need to love my body the way it is if I'm ever going to be successful in changing it. Funny thing - I don't exactly hate my body anyway. I hate a lot of things about my body. That is true. And, a lot of the time I do hate my body. But sometimes I look in the mirror and think "I'm kinda hot."

I am surprised by how un-gross my legs actually are. 

Then I remember that I have never made it with anyone who weighed more than me at any given time. I remember I outweigh all of my crushes, celebrity and otherwise, by at least 15 pounds. Sometimes I outweigh them by close to 50 pounds. But there's a silver lining to this - I am closing the gap. This time last year those numbers would have been 35 and 70. That's progress.

Now, to break 210.

I know that I will never look like *insert ideal female specimen*, but I can be healthy. Healthy is good. Normal blood tests are good. Stamina is good. Being told how hot I am is good, and while I don't hear that as often as I once did (could that be a result of making better social choices?), I still hear it from time to time. There are men out there, my husband included, who appreciate both what is underneath my skin and my clothes. As for the ones who would cringe to see me naked? Fuck em'. I don't want to have naked time with them anyway.

And since we're on the subject of bodies, I love my nose. A lot. I am pleased
to report that my septal perforation should not cause my beautiful nose to
cave in, leaving me to look like a coke addicted Michael Jackson. Praise be.

I Used to Touch People

When I was in high school, I was a very touchy-feely sort of person. I was full of hugs for everyone, and there was a lot of hair braiding, make-up application, and "muah! muah!" kissing going on. I had several male friends whom I would walk around with either arm in arm, or holding hands ever so daintily at eye level. We looked like we were heading to cotillion. I cannot think of one of these male friends who was not gay.

All up ons. Totally cool. Totally platonic. Totally fun. Totally gay.

 With my straight male friends the touching was more playful. A gentle slap in the chest or a shove with a "you're so silly" kind of verbal response. There was also hugging, and sometimes a peck on the cheek in a moment of particular affection.

Seen here: Uranium J very drunk and hugging a heterosexual Platonic friend.
See! They do exist! We used to cuddle and watch movies too.

None of this is to be confused with sex. That wasn't really the point. I had a boyfriend for that and I am more than certain that none of the parties involved, male or female, was interested anyway. This was all about friendship, intimacy, affection, and simply being touched. I think that this was common practice back in the days of the old school yard. So, what the hell happened?

I hate this picture so much. The look on my face! But this was typical
college life. 3-7 people in a bed. All love, no sex.

I thought about it the other day. There is no reason in the adult world why you would ever touch someone outside of a handshake in a business meeting or a hug - and hugs, I might add, are for people you are really close to. I don't go around hugging my gal pals these days and they don't make the offer. And guy friends? Forget about it. I am married and therefore off limits.

God, I miss these people.

I think this is sad, and I've wondered what would happen if I started being more touchy-feely again. Would I be a creeper? My friend Woman of Steele hugged me after the movies the other night and it was totally cool and organic. Then she looked at Carl-os and he looked at her and there was this moment of "Well this is awkward." No hugging took place.

Me and one of my girls from college at the Honors Ball.
She was my date. I am fairly sure she is sitting on my
lap in this photo. That was a fun night. :-)

Why? Hugs are nice. I think we should all hug one another more. People need to know that they are cared for. People need to feel loved, appreciated, valued, whatever. There's even been some research done on this. Allegedly, a person needs 4 hugs a day for survival, 8 a day for maintenance, and 12 a day for growth to occur. It's probably hokum, but ask yourself - when was the last time you had non-sexual human contact?

Here I am with some of my former residents when I was an RA at UWF.
Lots of Love.

That long, huh? But think about this: It was nice, wasn't it? So what gives? Why are we so afraid to touch one another? I know that I was a lot happier when I had a plethora of people to touch every day. Thinking back on it, college was even better than high school at times. I had a great group of friends. We laughed a lot and everyone was touching everyone all the time. I miss this.

See, look! I'm already making friends!

Maybe I'll start an experiment. I am going to start hugging people. People I know. Random people. Old people. Young people. People people. I'll let you know what happens. Hopefully I don't wind up in jail. It worked out well in the Dave Matthews Band video, at any rate. If nothing else, maybe all the good vibes will make Savannah just a little bit nicer. I can only hope.

Nick Cave, Obsession, and the Realm of Forms and Ideas

Sunday evening coming down, and I wrote something this evening. I don't think it needs to see the dark of night right now, but, in the interest of consistency, I will leave you all with a thought and a song. And a thought on that song.

Thought: I would give almost anything to have a friend I could meet in the middle of the night at the Waffle House for coffee and deep conversations about everything and nothing.

Song:

Thought on Song:
"This desire to possess her is a wound
And its naggin' at me like a shrew
But, I know that to possess her
Is therefore not to desire her
Then ya know
That lil' girl would just have to go"

Cave sings these lyrics telling the listener that his desire is more pleasurable than the fulfillment of that desire. I can relate. It's lovely wanting something very badly.

Now, in the song the speaker is obsessive. I like to think that I am not Nick Cave levels of crazy. Instead, I feel that the pleasure I derive from desire comes from the knowledge that the idea is always better than the manifestation of that idea. Plato tells us that ideas are perfect, but the moment they take form they lose their previous perfection.

This is more or less exactly how Plato's Realm of Forms and Ideas was
explained to me in college. Why is always a table?

Therefore, my desire, be it for a situation, a conversation, or a possession will most likely always be better in my head than it could ever be in reality. Sometimes, I'd like to prove the theory correct though. I would love to go for coffee right now and have a real conversation instead of the imaginary ones I have been having in my head. I want to go drown in burning pools of coffee.

I am manic right now, I think. I don't care if I ever sleep again.

Respect

j^C and I went to Oktoberfest in Savannah this afternoon with Carl-os. It left something to be desired, so we went to The Bier Haus instead. The food and beer was delish. I had the opportunity to have long and somewhat awkward conversation with Carl-os about Daikatana and some other writing projects I had shelved. Maybe I'll unshelve them soon. NaNoWriMo approacheth. After dinner, the three of us met Woman of Steele to watch Gravity at the IMAX theater. The movie was beautiful. I'm using that word a lot lately, but I am finding beauty in unexpected places. This was my first IMAX experience and it was really cool. I am still not a fan of 3D, but as Carl-os pointed out, this was a great movie to have done it with. I just feel weird always trying to focus my eyes. I gives me motion sickness. Seriously though, if you get the chance, I strongly encourage you to go see Gravity. As my therapist would say, it was life affirming.

In other news, I discovered that someone I already love is a really fantastic writer. I read a piece he'd written and it was deep: vivid, unique, and fearless. While it was a really heart-wrenching thing to read, I was so happy that he'd shared it with me - that I might share it with another friend who is going through a similar situation. I hope his words are of some comfort to her.

This is why we share our stories, after all, and the purpose behind FPN. Telling our stories to others creates intimacy in any relationship and I like to think that I am not friends with people I do not want to be emotionally intimate with. If you cannot be your raw, uncensored, authentic self with your friends, you have to wonder "what is a friend?"

I think that most people find it a lot easier to be physically intimate with someone than to be emotionally vulnerable. It's easier to bear your body than to bear your soul. I know - I struggle with it too. I think all of us want to be close to people, but we don't know how. Being open and honest can be kind of scary. You never know how people are going to react. It's a risky and front loaded venture.

Physical intimacy has a delayed kind of danger. There is the initial fear of rejection, but after that you get lost in the act. You feel good about making someone feel good. You feel wanted, needed, and powerful. But nothing lasts forever, and before long you're all alone again - feeling dirty and used, wondering what happened and how.

I don't like feeling like that anymore. I'm looking for something bigger. I crave meaning. I want relationships that matter. I've learned that those relationships are relatively few and I now realize that I am so fortunate to have what I view as more than my fair share. I have realized that I've been careless with my friends over the years. I don't want to be that way anymore. I might not have everything in life that I want right now, but I am so blessed to have the people I have in my life right now. I love them a lot. They make me feel loved, heard, and valued. I want to keep them around. I want our friendships to get deeper. Hence my fetish for intimacy.

I am so stupid tired right now, I'm not sure what my point here was. I guess just that I love my friends and I am especially impressed with my new writer friend's courage in being honest about something he has been through. I wish that everyone in my life could be so brave. I wish for a lot of things that I fear will never be. I wish I could say what I really think and feel. I'm just not sure what that is. All I know is that I feel like I'm drowning in something decadent and beautiful that leaves me gasping for air.

Friday Free for All: Literally, Everybody Talk About Pop Music

First of all, let me say that the "new definition" of literally is about to drive me to drink. One upon a time, this was the only definition:

lit·er·al·ly  (ltr--l)

adv.

1. In a literal manner; word for word: translated the Greek passage literally.

2. In a literal or strict sense: Don't take my remarks literally.

3. Usage Problem

a. Really; actually: "There are people in the world who literally do not know how to boil water" (Craig Claiborne).

But now we live a world with this skullduggery:

I love the reporters in this video. Anyway, why the brief etymology lesson? Because I wanted to illustrate that 1) I know what the real definition of "literally" is, and 2) I am using mostly correctly in this post.

Sinead O'Connor. We know her. I love her. She's all indie, and angsty, and Irish. She had a mega hit in the early 90's with Prince's song "Nothing Compares 2 U". Then she ripped up a photo of the pope on SNL and quickly faded into relative obscurity. I'm sure that was fine with her as she was really unhappy with her record label trying to tart her up to sell records. And who can blame her? She looked fantastic in men's clothing and work boots. We should all be so lucky. Nevermind the fact that she could have probably worn a burlap sack and sold records because she's so freaking talented. She has influenced scads of female artists, including The Cranberries' Dolores O'Riordan, Alanis Morrisette, Liz Phair, and, allegedly, Miley Cyrus. It's good to be influential, right?

Maybe not so much.

Miley Cyrus told Rolling Stone when asked about her new, incredibly short hair style that it was an homage to O'Connor: "I wanted it to be tough, but really pretty - that's what Sinead did with her hair and everything." Okay Miley, that's cool. But, Sinead cut her hair (originally) as a protest against her record label trying to define her marketability by her comely appearance. Pretty didn't enter into it. Also, as far as I know, Sinead O'Connor never twerked.

Nope. Never would have happened. 

Which brings us back to my use of "literally". Miley's infamous VMA performance had most people on the internet talking from day one. Mother Monster even weighed in on the matter. But, there were some voices that were quiet amid the fray. But when Sinead starts talking about your antics, you have achieved scandal saturation. And talk Sinead did in her 1000 word open letter to Miley this week.

If you have not read it, it was beautiful. READ IT .

Now, I don't agree 100% with O'Connor's sentiments in her letter, but I believe that her heart was in the right place. My issue is that Miley is 20, and maybe she likes to have sex. There's nothing wrong with her expressing that, and really I think that it says a lot about our culture that we are so shocked, offended, and maybe even afraid of a sexually liberated woman.

Furthermore, with the exception of licking the sledgehammer (Really Miley, why are you making out with a sledgehammer?), I think that the "Wrecking Ball" video was incredibly well done. Did Miley need to be naked on the wrecking ball? No. Was it well shot and classy? Yes. I think that it symbolized the vulnerability expressed in the lyrics. It wasn't like she was stripping or anything.

That said, I do agree with Sinead that there are probably a lot of men behind the scenes pulling the strings when it comes to how Miley presents herself. She claims that she's trying to sever herself from Hannah Montana. Okay. I get that. I wonder though, is Miley so unsure of her own talent that she truly believes she must resort to the stripper routine to achieve her goal? I think it's far more likely that she's going through her teenage rebellion a little late. There's no artistic or cultural relevance to her actions. She's just trying to piss off mommy and daddy. I don't have a problem with that.

I do have a problem with others exploiting her rebellion and profiting off of it. So does O'Connor. I fully believe that her letter was written with nothing but compassion and the best of intentions. If I were Miley Cyrus I would have been grateful to have received it. I would have read it, then I would have locked myself in the bathroom, had a long, hot bath, and thought about what I'd read.

It would have been like getting a letter from the
very cool and wise aunt I never had. Sinead, if you're looking for young women to mentor,
I'm available. Source.

I am not Miley Cyrus. She did not appreciate the letter, nor does it appear that she thought about said letter's contents. Instead, she turned into a mean girl and started mocking O'Connor's battle with mental illness and her infamous SNL performance (which was kind of awesome and a lot more meaningful than twerking).

I want to be on Team Miley. I really do. She is so talented, but she's so . . . common? Yeah, I think that's the word. Common. I don't know why she did what she did. Immaturity? Poor judgement? Intoxication? We could speculate all day. It doesn't really matter. What matters is that she chose to attack someone who tried to help her and she did it by mocking their very brave honesty about a struggle with mental illness. I wish more people could be that honest about their struggles and that brave about dealing with them. Hell, I wish I could be more open and honest about my own demons. I have nothing but admiration, love, and respect for anyone who is open and honest about their own personal struggles. Mental illness is not shameful. Neither is getting naked and dancing. But bullying? Yeah, that's never okay.

I'm glad to see that Sinead O'Connor has remained classy throughout this ordeal. We need more voices like hers out there. I wonder what Lady Gaga thinks of this mess?

(Aside: I might talk a lot about celebrities, but my personal heroes are the people in my life who persevere in the face of both mental and physical illness. (You all know who you are and I love you all so much!) Also, if you watch the video for "Nothing Compares 2 U", it's easy to see the influence in Miley's "Wrecking Ball" video, both in look and in the overall theme of the song. And lastly, "Yay Irish Artists!")

Wherein Joyce Gets Her Geek on About Sinn Fein and Óglaigh na hÉireann

I spend a lot of time talking about movie stars, singers, writers, and a myriad of otherwise unimportant figures. Like, alot of time.

This image is not mine. It belongs to the wonderful Allie Brosh.

But did you know that I have some serious political, cultural, and social interests? Well, I do. Now you know.

Two of these interests were kindled last night when I had insomnia and decided that watching The Crying Game would be a great idea. I am so glad I did. I haven't seen that film since I was in high school. I forgot how beautiful it was and just what an incredible director Neil Jordan is. If you have never seen a Neil Jordan film you have been deprived. Go. Go now. There are five of his movies on Netflix even as we speak. There are not excuses. Be gone. Educate yourself.

I'll just watch Days of Our Lives while I wait. Is Stefano back? Source.

. . . He's just fabulous, isn't he? I'm so glad you agree. Now, about The Crying Game. I'm sure that's the movie you just watched, but just in case the one about the mermaid was too good to pass up, I'll summarize it for you:

I.R.A.
Irish Republican Brotherhood
Óglaigh na hÉireann in the old language.
And Boy George.

There's a beautiful love story too, but that's not really important for our purposes. I like love stories, but I love talking Irish politics. But you know what? I tried to tell you all about it for the past several hours. It's kind of complicated. I cannot depend on you to know the context of things and I could seriously write a book on it. Consider this a warning that there are Irish Political History posts in our future.

Another of my interests: Kissing.
Need movie caliber kissing in my life, ASAP. Source

Enough of that for now though. Back to The Crying Game. Stephen Rea stars in it as an IRA soldier. Upon further research I discovered that Rea's connections to the IRA were more personal than the role that made him famous. Turns out that Dolours Price, the mother of his children was an IRA bomber (bombess?) who was sentenced to life in prison for trying to blow up the Old Bailey in 1973. Through some judicial magic she only served seven years of her sentence. After her release she went on to marry Rea, bear his children, and make quite a name for herself as an outspoken supporter of the Provisional Irish Republican Army. Then, in January of this year, she died quietly at her home. Meanwhile, her sister and co-conspirator is still in jail.

As for Rea, The Crying Game wasn't the only IRA related film he starred in over the course of career. I looked on IMDB and found that he had starred in at least 6 films that involved the IRA. Every other script might be "aging rock star" or "priest" nowadays, but it wasn't always so. I don't know about you, but if my wife was a terrorist, I might want to separate myself from the cause. Who knows, maybe that's what came between them after 17 years of marriage. Or, maybe she was just crazy and still wanted to blow things up. This shall remain a mystery.

And no matter what went wrong, I am so impressed by this picture.
Here we see Rea, who divorced Price in 2000 serving as a pall bearer
at her funeral. The two young men at the front of the casket are Rea
and Price's sons Oscar and Danny. Is this not the classiest thing you
have ever seen?  Source.

Since I had insomnia last night, I was kind of a vegetable today. I lay on the couch all day and watched KinK, a Canadian TV show about S&M and Fetish lifestyles. It was riveting. I highly recommend it, especially the episodes involving David. I want to be his friend.

And while we're on the subject of kink, did everyone forget that
I was Santiago in Interview with the Vampire? They did, didn't they?
Well, for them, eternity in a box. Source.

Deep Begins!

Dig the new name and the new logo.

Today was the first day of Deep. Tres exciting! I am at a new school with a new co-fellow and Things went really well. Almost too well . . . I feel like it's a trick. The kids were engaged, well behaved, and industrious. I didn't have to prod them to cooperate - they just did it. It was kind of scary. While I am so grateful to have a cooperative group, they were so intense. I think that our biggest challenge over the coming weeks is going to be getting them to loosen up. A challenge I gladly accept. At least this is a group that will be more receptive of the types of readings I would like to discuss. T.S. Eliot's "The Hollow Men" is so on the table right now. Can I get an "Amen"?

In other news, I saw my therapist in her new office today. I don't know how I feel about that. I don't like change. I did however like the buttery leather couch, so there's that. I also liked the fact that she is in the office space above the Savannah Senior Center. Maybe I can weasel my way into a position there over time. If nothing else, it's the best thing ever to get to pet a kitty in the lobby. I hope that's a recurring theme.

Seriously though, what a building! Source

I feel like I'm having a hard time writing right now. I imagine that's because I am feeling very out of sorts. In an effort to address my cholesterol issue I started back on my weight loss and cholesterol medications today. I hate taking medications. They make me feel yuck. I was just not with it at all today. But! I persevered. I am here. I am writing. When this is done I will be doing some exercise and tending to some household chores. Hopefully I will get back into the swing of things soon enough. I would really love to be free of medications by 2015. I think that's a worthy goal. On the bright side, I was a model patient today and as far as I know I have not further exacerbated my nasal perforation. So, there's that.

I am also happy to report that I did not spend money needlessly on food while I was in Savannah today. I planned ahead and brought a bag full of food for my meals while I was out, and I only wound up eating half of what I had. Yay diet pills! Or, maybe Fox* (Fake Lox) is just filling. I am also pleased to report that my first Big Wednesday was more or less a success. I had critique group this morning, then my therapy appointment, followed by Deep, and finally trivia with j^C, Carl-os, That Sprout, and our new trivia pals, Man of Stroud and Woman of Steele. I think it went well and everyone seemed to have fun, so maybe this will be a thing. There was even talk of going to the Tybee Pirate Festival and to see The Silence of the Lambs at the Lucas Theater. A social life!

The biggest bummer of my day was the fact that my car, my house, and a whole lot of my things still reek of gasoline. I will be addressing this gas problem tomorrow when I take the car to get detailed. Yay. The unexpected upside of the day? Hyperbole and a Half updated. Also, the condom:

Foxy Loxy condom: Week 3

*Fox (Fake Lox)

Cook 1 cup Steel Cut Oats

Add: 

- 2 servings Sharp

- 2 servings VERY GOOD OLIVE OIL

- Kosher Salt

- Cracked Pepper

Still well. Allow to cool completely. Cut into 2 halves. Top with 1 serving smoked salmon (not actual lox - it's good but waaaaaaaaaay too much salt), thin sliced red onion, tomato, cucumber, and capers. Eat with a fork and pretend it is a bagel with lox. Not nearly as good, but a decent substitute.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year!

Oh look, it's October! As I'm sure you've guess, I've been on hiatus. Trying to regroup and decide what I really want out of this blog. I'm still not sure what the answer to that question is, but I know that I was taking things entirely too seriously. I think I might take most things entirely too seriously.

There are a great many things going on around here that I am taking seriously.

• Septum perforation
• Possible surgery to repair said perforation
• The fact that my car reeks of 1 gallon (give or take) of gasoline
• The government shutdown

These are all bad, crappy things that have happened over the past 24 hours. They are the cherry on the crap sundae that was September. I am hoping that October will be better, but given the above list, I have little hope. But! It is that special time of year when the days are shorter, the nights are cooler, and I find that I am on trend with my love of all things creepy.