"It's really not so bad, you know. Once you get past the taste, yeah."
And now we are -09. Thanks to the ~350 people (I lost count about there, so I really have no idea) on Facebook who wished me a glad tidings and whatnot. There were another dozen on LJ, about 50% less than last year. I only note this because I continue to catalog the withering of LJ, not because I'm an especially petty person. I mean, no more petty than the next person.
Warmer today (70˚F), and the sky is terrifying. "The wide carnivorous sky®" hardly does the damn thing service.* At breakfast, I looked up and actually - I shit you not - had a moment of vertigo. I woke from a dream of an alien invasion - rather mundane for me - a little before ten ayem, but was hungover and not awake and went back to bed. Spooky woke me a second time about eleven thirty. That's when I looked at the sky. Maybe an echo from the alien dream struck that blue sky and caused the vertigo. In the dream, the worst of it, whenever I'd glance up above the City (I don't know what city), there was a black streak hanging in the air.
They're starting to open up the sky.
They're starting to reach down through.
And it feels like we're living in that split second
of a car crash. ~ NIN
As for yesterday, the less said the better. It numbers among the most cataclysmically depressing birthdays of my life (though, technically, today's my birthday, what with the leap-year business and all), despite valiant attempts on Spooky's part to make it otherwise. But I had Vicodin and tequila and Archer and lasagna and German chocolate cake and Peruvian lilies, and I'm still here today, only slightly hungover.
Thank you, Cheryl/Carol/Cristal/Carina. I love you. Yes, and Baboo, too.
It's warmer today. I'm sober. I might try to get back to writing tomorrow. Maybe. Probably not.
I may go to Connecticut today. Some wild, fuckforsaken corner of Connecticut. I may just sit here and smoke weed. Or maybe Massachusetts. Somewhere there are no motherfucking Memorial Day celebrating shitbird tourists. But I've not left the house since last Tuesday.
Oh! Please have a look at Spooky's Etsy shop. Because, you know, very cool stuff. That you need. Trust me.
Now, time to glue up.
Just Zeros and Ones (and a Nine),
Aunt Beast
* I have seen the word "casadastraphobia" used online to describe a fear of the sky and "falling up into the sky," which perfectly describes the anxiety these blank blue skies cause me. But it not an actual DSM psychological term. I'm not even sure it's good Latin. There's another recognized phobia, ouranophobia, that's "fear of the sky, fear of Heaven," but it generally has religious connotations. My phobia has no religious connection. So, near as I know, "casadastraphobia" is a neologism not recognized by actual psychology/psychiatry. I think someone just made the word up, someone not qualified to do so.
Warmer today (70˚F), and the sky is terrifying. "The wide carnivorous sky®" hardly does the damn thing service.* At breakfast, I looked up and actually - I shit you not - had a moment of vertigo. I woke from a dream of an alien invasion - rather mundane for me - a little before ten ayem, but was hungover and not awake and went back to bed. Spooky woke me a second time about eleven thirty. That's when I looked at the sky. Maybe an echo from the alien dream struck that blue sky and caused the vertigo. In the dream, the worst of it, whenever I'd glance up above the City (I don't know what city), there was a black streak hanging in the air.
They're starting to open up the sky.
They're starting to reach down through.
And it feels like we're living in that split second
of a car crash. ~ NIN
As for yesterday, the less said the better. It numbers among the most cataclysmically depressing birthdays of my life (though, technically, today's my birthday, what with the leap-year business and all), despite valiant attempts on Spooky's part to make it otherwise. But I had Vicodin and tequila and Archer and lasagna and German chocolate cake and Peruvian lilies, and I'm still here today, only slightly hungover.
Thank you, Cheryl/Carol/Cristal/Carina. I love you. Yes, and Baboo, too.
It's warmer today. I'm sober. I might try to get back to writing tomorrow. Maybe. Probably not.
I may go to Connecticut today. Some wild, fuckforsaken corner of Connecticut. I may just sit here and smoke weed. Or maybe Massachusetts. Somewhere there are no motherfucking Memorial Day celebrating shitbird tourists. But I've not left the house since last Tuesday.
Oh! Please have a look at Spooky's Etsy shop. Because, you know, very cool stuff. That you need. Trust me.
Now, time to glue up.
Just Zeros and Ones (and a Nine),
Aunt Beast
* I have seen the word "casadastraphobia" used online to describe a fear of the sky and "falling up into the sky," which perfectly describes the anxiety these blank blue skies cause me. But it not an actual DSM psychological term. I'm not even sure it's good Latin. There's another recognized phobia, ouranophobia, that's "fear of the sky, fear of Heaven," but it generally has religious connotations. My phobia has no religious connection. So, near as I know, "casadastraphobia" is a neologism not recognized by actual psychology/psychiatry. I think someone just made the word up, someone not qualified to do so.