Life of an Imperial Barbarian
|Basileus Basileon Basileuon Basileonton|
|Oct. 16th, 2014 @ 06:14 pm Why Carrot is a bad person and you should question being friends with her.|
Current Location: dinning room tableIf it weren't for knowledge of the Dunning-Kruger effect causing me no end of paradoxal angst, I would be going to bed every night after reading FB and wondering how is it that some as dumb as yours truly could possibly be among the smartest people in the world. People will point out "Carrot, the key words here are "FB" and "dumb"." and if it weren't for the fact that it was so easy to keep tabs on my Venn-Social Circle and photo sharing, I probably would have torched FB long time ago.
Current Mood: nihilistic
Current Music: suspicious silence
But this Ebola thing is remarkably boggling. I've purged most of my f-list of the serious crazies, saving a few family members and a couple of confusing contradictory Christian conservatives for whom I bear some lingering nostalgia. Anyone left that hits either Republican or Conservative leanings seem to at least sane and rational. Mostly. (it always comes down to guns.....) However, purges don't always save me from the stupid of other people's f-lists, nor the groups lists I might be on. While groups moderate pretty well, for some reason FB likes to show me the postings of random people that I share lists with. I don't get it.
So anyway, every time I see the "It's Obama's fault, he should have done something!" meme, all I can think of is how completely and utterly the "patriots" crapped their collective pants when the First Lady said "Kids are too fat and should get more excerise and eat better!" It was months of "you can't tell me how to eat!" Seriously, a First Lady's pet nutritional project was the biggest Socialist Threat of the year, but they want the President to do more? There's no way to explain to these motherfuckers that if he did impliment some sort of screening/national program to track/halt/contain - we'd be back to FEMA Death camps and Socialist Agenda To Promote Universal Health tin-foil outrage.
Fuck, I'm not happy with everything the man has done/is currently doing, but I swear to you - he could fucking raise the dead, walk on water, turn it into wine and cure cancer with a wave of his hand and people would still be shitting themselves over the foreign born Muslim commie socialist coming for our guns.
It really makes me hope that 1) the experimental vaccine supposedly being trialed is for real and it works and for 2) Ebola does become an American epidemic on par with shit we've not seen since before the vaccinations of small pox and polio.
Because there's some small part of me that has been longing for the end of the world since I was old enough to read Revelations and still young enough to not realize it wasn't literal. There's some small part of me that wants to stand in the front yard and watch the sky fall and the world burn and to know that this is it and every single one of us is at the end of the ride. Kids have softened it a little - it would kill me to watch them suffer - but it hasn't gone away entirely.
Seeing as how I trust medical science enough to vaccinate, I shall be at the clinic they day they make them available with all my kids in tow. There is always the chance of a bad reaction or it not taking (Xander had Chicken pox even after the vaccination) but I'm hedging my bet that we'd make it through. It would allow me to sit in fat and disgusting schadenfreud while the homeopaths of my acquaintence, the anti-vaxxers, the "I cured my Autistic child with this miracle diet", and anyone who staunchly believed the vaccine or the disease to be some sort of Liberal PR Agenda Plot (instert sutable buzz words here) and refuse to take it, only to die a painful bloody death.
Although, seeing as how I find human nature to be weak and fickle, I don't really see many people sticking to their guns as people start dropping like flies. It is possible that humanity has always been this stupid, but we just weren't aware of how persistant and widespread it was until the gift of the internet. Now they can find each other and validate their stupidity. Its harder to bear when it's family members. Like, did I come from that kind of stupid?
Even as the Tin-Foil brigade and Surivalists prepare their zombie-bunkers, I don't think a die off will happen. Pity. Not only will it not happen in numbers large enough to matter, it probably won't be the ones dumb enough to require pruning from the Home Sapien Family Tree. But then, limiting reasoning and critial thinking skills probably result in less crisises of concscience, hence their ability to survive in feral moral ground.
I have felt the faint tremblings of a massive shift for a while now - the dying Boomers, China's massive gender imbalance hitting middle age, the unbridled stupidity of a Fundy America. It makes me...anxious....for rapid change. I don't think it will. I think it will come in stages and one day I'll look back on this moment and wonder about it all turned out in the end.
But I wish the sky would fall and the world would burn. Not that it would make the stupid wise up, they'd never admit to being wrong, but maybe we could go back to isolating them again. Little pockets of dumb among a sea of rational who realize that if it sounds outlandish, it probably is and should be taken as such.
|Oct. 16th, 2014 @ 03:13 pm Just to get it down|
Current Location: dinning room tableI dreamed of bad apartments and bad toilets. I do no know what the theme of a solitary toilet in the middle of the room means, let alone it being backed up/not working. I know I've just been looking at houses with my sister, and for some reason houses of a particular age all seem to have this stand alone toilet just hanging out in the middle of a murder basement. It's quite creepy.
Current Mood: resentful
Current Music: Liam doing homework
The highlight of this dream was hanging out with Hugh Laurie. I was immensely gratified that he found me interesting and entertaining enough to find my company plesant. I'm pretty sure in the dream I had to argue with someone that it wasn't me crushing or fanboying him that had me want to hang out with him - it was legit friendly company.
I was highly resentful that the very strange and not-working dream toilet (seriously non-Euclidean) was getting frothy water every where (the floor of this loft/apartment/building was pockmarked and uneven cement, leaving tiny pools of standing water). The bedrooms were all taken, even uncle Pete was there, sleeping in my brother's room with some unknown baby. (Not thinking about that right now)
That was the first dream of the night, before Snorri Snoreson woke me up. I don't remember the next part of the dream, for Sera waking up and using me as a climbing gym.
I struggled to stay asleep and find Hugh Laurie again so we could finish our conversation or go out to that club he was talking about. No, instead I had to clean up other people's crumbling domestic arrangements.
|Oct. 5th, 2014 @ 08:00 am Hostage|
Current Location: dinning room tableI dreamed that Jimm and I either worked in the same place or the work retreat he had to go on said to bring spouses. Either way, Jimm and I were off to a week for a manditory work retreat.
Current Mood: outraged
Current Music: Sera eating breakfast
At Paul Ryan's house.
Somehow, Seraphina was an infant, so I brought her along with us, and the house we ended up at was a mild mannered nondescript split-level ranch in a neighborhood that looked vaguely East Coast. (it was the hills that gave it away) It was larger on the inside than the houseside, but the elevators down to the many-leveled secret sub-basements helped.
At some point, some men in suits took Seraphina away from me. Apparently Paul Ryan didn't think I had sufficient motivation to finish the week's retreat, or perhaps he felt that I wasn't sufficient in-line with his thinking. But I wasn't getting her back until the week was over. I had the very real fear I'd never get her back. He was a skeezy politician of the worst sort, standing there with that dopey smile and those vacant eyes. I imagined myself attacking him, clawing his stupid face to ribbons, chewing a hole in his cheek until his suited goons pulled me off of him. But I was afraid I couldn't do enough damage to him, that I'd show myself to be weak and ineffectual and missed my opportunity.
So I began a program of civil disobedience. Sounds better than passive-aggressive.
I don't know why Jimm didn't leap the table and snap the bastard's neck. Maybe he didn't care we just lost our daughter. Maybe he was too afraid of loosing his job. Maybe he trusted Paul Ryan to give her back at the end of the week and was just keeping his head down.
Meanwhile, I couldn't walk through a room without nocking glasses off the table or bumping into furntiure, scattering papers everywhere as I walked past. Every time I got called on to speak, or just spoke in general (I did a lot of interrupting) and would say "Since you kidnapped my daughter..." or "Since my daughter is being held hostage...." basically never letting the matter drop, making everyone very aware of what the cocksucker did. Not that it mattered - it was a crowd of random people who just wanted to get through the week. not caring we were essentially locked in the compound of some idiot politician who clearly did not have his logic processing system live and online.
At one point of the lecture, we were handed out these booklets. Turns out they were Evangelical sunday school books. Apparently part of this supposed work retreat was "proper mindset" which you couldn't have without religion. Evangelical religion specifically.
I started waking up at that point, in the middle of taking a hardline-Catholic's mock against heretical jumped up bible beaters, and I fought hard to stay in the dream. I still had to rescue Sera and ruin this fucker to the point where he wouldn't be able to run a McDonald's.
But I woke up and Sera was there safe next to me in the bed. She had nightmares the night before - pointing at some corner of the room/closet crying "What's that? What's that?" - and thinking she wasn't quite awake, I brought her to bed with me.
I guess neither of us slept well last night.
|Oct. 3rd, 2014 @ 08:45 am Is it coming back?|
Current Location: dinning room tableI dreamed I had no money. As in I went shopping and bought ridiculous things because I needed them - although why I needed a pair of dress pants and three identical hoodies that were airbrushed with some Disney wedding invite (I couldn't tell you if they were Tangled or Frozen - but I seem to remember an Olaf in there somewhere). The hoodies were an accident, so I returned two, kept one (because doesn't every 40 yr old woman need a white hoodie all Disney-airbrushed?)
Current Mood: anxious
Current Music: Sera making random noises
Later on I went to a resturant. I think I ate there a lot as all the wait staff knew me. They also apparently had access to my bank account 'cause after I signed the bill (in mayo on a plate because she handed me neither pen nor receipt) - they said that I had $20 to my name because my water bill just cleared and put me over 400 hundred in the hole (another account I guess, 'cause why else would I have 20 still remaining?).
This sent me into a panick, of course, becaues how was I to pay a 400 water bill when I had nothing and no hope of any real income any time soon and this would trigger the spiraling debt hole of late fees and shut-off fines. I regretted the nice breakfast I had and wondered if I should return the last airbrushed hoodie and work pants to get some money - not that it would cover a water bill that high. And, if I was to get a good paying job, I was going to need those work pants.
|Oct. 2nd, 2014 @ 11:18 am Somewhere|
Current Location: dinning room tableI dreamed I was weightless. I don't know at what point in the dream arc this came, or if it was tied into a larger story line.
Current Mood: exhausted
Current Music: suspicious silence
It was dark, but I could see, sometimes I was looking out into the nothing and sometimes I was out in the nothing looking back at me. I just hung there, floating. Idealized, of course, long legs and shapely curves I've never possessed in real life, as if a comic book artist drew me - complete with long tendrils of hair floating and twisting artistically - but never tangled or in my face. I'm pretty sure my fashion ranged from clingy Greecian gown to well placed floating scarves (again in Comic Book style).
It was so wonderful being that free - probably the closest I'll ever come to touching the weightlessness of space travel. I had little sense of up or down - maybe just the slightest touch, and then only becuase I was in the process of turning. I didn't wonder what I was doing there or even where I was, just a weary contentment of finally.
|Oct. 1st, 2014 @ 07:46 am No friends, no job, no....|
Current Location: dinning room tableJimm woke me up at 3 as he was coming to bed. I was dreaming before then, but I forgot it. It set me to wandering the house early in the morning because I couldn't sleep. I was like a cold ghost with no one to haunt. And I was cold. Dreadfully cold. I should have been cold. It's not that cold in here (70) or even outside (50 - according to the various thermometers) but I was cold - that deep down cold that ripples in the skin and makes the bones dreadful.
Current Mood: cold
Current Music: Shrek Halloween cartoons
Finally unable to bear the chill any longer, I wandered back upstairs. Sera woke up and called to me in a sleepy kitten voice. "Sleep with me?" So I laid down next to her, so cold I though I'd cry, wondering if I could escape to the bathroom for a shower so hot it would burn me. Sera curled up under my chin and went back to sleep. I lay there, perfectly still as to not wake her, noticing that the angrier my thoughs (for some reason my brain always wants to argue with Tea Bagger Family at 4 am), the more restless Sera would become, regardless of my lack of movement.
So I made an effort to still my thoughs, thinking of nothing, lest the wandering paths of my brain find their way to Conflict Land, and hoping that I would warm up. Sera must have, for at some point she uncurled and scooted away enough that I could curl up myself, attempting to hoard my own warmth. Somewhere I must have fallen asleep.
I dreamed of having some sort of job/office that was actually in a club. Like those office complexes that instead of overlooking a warehouse/shop floor, you'd be overlooking a seething mass of people in the exploding light of a really hot club. Matt Smith came by my desk, tricked out in a Tardis blue suit. I was so happy to see him and gave him a hug, telling him I missed him seeing him at work every day (I worked at Who Production offices?). He looked a trifle sad at the people streaming around us, not paying attention to him and I realized he was suffering that post-fame let-down. He would always get some recognition for being the Doctor, but he was old news now - not the hot thing. Not the one that could get someone on tv. Famous, but no longer the famous with pull. He seemed a little lonely and I felt bad for him, wanting to re-assure him that I was still his friend. He faded into the crowd at that point and Amy Pond came by. She was flirty and cute and we hugged and I asked her when we were going to hang out and all that girlfriend stuff. Vague rebuff here, totally busy y'know - and suddenly she was talking to another girl what swam by in the increasingly pressing crowd. Amy pulled out some fliers and whatnot, telling the girl all about her birthday party and hoping she'd show up. I just stood there open mouthed. Before Amy disappeared into the crowd, I called to her and said "So I guess I'm not invited?" I got that flat stare she does and she vanished.
Wounded was putting it lightly.
There was an SCA event somehow mixed up with this never ending partying crowd, which is probably why we phased in/out of daylight so often. Hard to have a club party in the middle of the day at a camp ground. I was trying to show the tapestry and it wasn't working. People kept giving me too little space. At one point I simply folded it up (the tapestry now being elegant black silk with a rang of blue silk embroidery, as if it were a Chinese scarf - I couldn't read the appliqued words) the tapestry on the table, leaving an exquisitly embroidered fold showing amid the other cluttered projects. A few seconds later it was gone. Some cute (cute in the manner of he thought he was cute and it let him get away with stuff) helpful boy Scadian had taken it down and put it under the table so there'd be more room in the display - never once stopping to think it was part of the display. So cue putting it all together all over again, with even less space/prestige to work with.
I came across Amy again, and explained to her how hurt I was, thinking we had been better friends than I thought. She explained to me that he does adore/love/other girlfriend affection tokens here. It was never clearly explained how she could adore me so much yet not make the cut for her birthday club party. I could only assume it was because I was too old or uncool or couldn't possibly drink enough to make attending a party at a club worth wasting an invite on.
I woke when I heard Jimm's alarm go off in the other room and I lay there for a while wondering if I could sneak out of bed without waking Sera. No luck - just thinking about getting out of bed woke Sera up.
|Sep. 23rd, 2014 @ 09:20 pm Hard Truths|
Current Location: dinning room tableXander is occasionally prone to busting out "Well, that's the way I do it!" when I correct him on anything homework related. Other things too, but most often homework and probably 80% of that in writing.
Current Mood: Pensive
Current Music: kids theoretically sleeping
I have to homeschool cursive since the school district doesn't teach it any more and that offends my elitst sensibilities like nothing else. But I digress.
I usually answer with at "Yes, and you're doing it wrong. Do it again, and this time do it correctly." It never seems to sink in.
After butting heads and getting tense over homework, he did ask my help in Math. Apparently he's starting division and I've seen no evidence of them teaching it the long way - the way we all probably learned it. Yes, yes, Common Core is the Devil, whatever. I'm not sure what tricks or theories CC has for teaching divison, but I went ahead and taught him long form. It's the only one I know and he was having problems with however the worksheet was asking for - no examples or explainations. He seemed to get what I was doing, but the hard part is that he doesn't have all of his multiplication tables memorized. Having born that particular burden, I didn't make too much of a fuss about it. If I'm any worthy example, he'll get it eventually and won't end up homeless for not knowing instantly how much 8 * 6 is. I still have to do the finger trick to check the answer for that.
Later on, after he went to his room to do his violin homework (it somehow seems more palatiable to him to call it homework rather than "violin practice"). I sat with him while he did it and counted the 4/4 time and he did pretty good. We went over every scale once (had had done them all before I had gone up there at least once) and I let him put the violin away.
I gave him a parental lecture much different from the ones I got. I said something along the lines of - "I don't think you're stupid, I think you're stubborn. That's great you have a certain way of doing things, but you can't refuse to learn a new way just because it's new and unfamiliar to you. There will always be someone in this world that is prettier than you, smarter than you, faster than you, stronger than you, more popular than you. They might not be all things, but they might be any combination of them. They might have something to teach you, something you might learn from them, and you can't just throw it away because you didn't think of it first or because you think you have to prove them wrong. The only way to be the best at something, to be the smartest about something, is to learn as much as you can and practice as much as you can. You can't be stubborn and ignore something new just because "it's not the way you do things". So don't fight with me any more when I try to teach you some tricks that might make things easier, okay?"
He seemed to get it, or at least willing to play along to our After School Special by nodding solemly and giving me a hug. I like to think that I opened up some sort of mind flower in his brain, some sort of "ah-ha!" moment where someting clicked into place. I remember those small bits of clarity, where some random bit of wisdom pierced the fog of childhood scatter-brain to influence future events even as I sank back into the clouds. Fingers crossed. He's gotta wake up sooner or later.
|Sep. 19th, 2014 @ 02:01 pm One...two...three *crunch*|
Current Location: dinning room tableSera got a Dum-Dum lolly from her teacher on the way out of pre-school this afternoon.
Current Mood: surprised
Current Music: Young MC - Bust A Move
As an aside, I find it very strange that their hyper-vigilant peanut-free zone, healthy snack policing environment would then be giving lollies on the way out the door, but whatever.
Sera was pleased to unwrap it herself (handed me the wrapper) and we began our walk home. Took about 20 minutes maybe and in that time, she enjoyed the sucker. Still had it when we got home where she asked me to hold it while she got a drink of water. I thought maybe she had finally eaten it down to the stick, with only a few grains of candy stuck to the paper stick but she told me she wasn't done yet. There, at the end of the gummy paper, was a teeny perfect sphere of gold candy. She didn't crunch it. She licked the lollypop until it was gone.
Who ever has actually sucked a lolly into nothingness, forgoing the usual impatient "almost there" grinding it between the teeth when it was finally small/porous enough to crack?
For an impatient child, I found the willingness to eat the lolly "properly" to be nothing short of amazing. I don't think I ever stayed the course without cracking it at some point.
Just the other day I told her she could have Cheese-its if she picked up all the crayons she dumped out. I only had to say it once and she got every crayon/pencil/marker on the floor. Even looked under/behind things - something her brothers seem physically incapable of.
|Sep. 16th, 2014 @ 10:43 am To fucking young for this|
Current Location: dinning room table
Current Mood: sad
Current Music: Jethro Tull - Locamotive Breath
The other day I got another one of those "by the way, we found the lump two weeks ago and scans reveal the cancer is in my bone/liver/lung as well" cancer updates.
It's when the updates come out of the blue from the "reasonably healthy" group that you get the helpless "it's not fair".
|Sep. 13th, 2014 @ 07:27 am Better|
Current Location: dinning room tableI dreamed I danced.
Current Mood: restless
Current Music: Just that song going through my head
I don't remember the lead up, or why I took that deep breath of "here goes nothing" before I stepped out onto the floor, but there was forgotten plot there. It might have been a high school dance as we all looked so young. Everyone froze while I dance, some sort of cinematic trick to imply that I was apart from the goings on - that maybe I only danced in my mind, or that I wasn't part of the culture around me, or maybe I was dancing to fast for anyone to see me, or maybe to emphasize what an outcast I really was. The camera moved around me as I danced, mostly from my perspective, showing the room locked in place as I had my best belly dancing swaying Goth Girl moves going ont. Well, they were playing...I don't remember the name of the song, but I can hear it clearly in my head. It was one of those they always played. I'm going to end up listening to Goth playlists all day now to try to find out the name of the song.
I think some people were starting to "wake up" as I got to the end, like maybe I wasn't so isolated any more.
Somewhere in the dream - maybe later? - I was someplace else, like a store or a shop or whatever. I found a little statue behind some picture frames. A cheap beige resin statue - that color they use to pretend its actual rock - and it was of a little boy sitting with his knees up and head down on his arms. Crying maybe. Hiding certainly. The base of the statue said something like The Patron Saint of ADHD. The Outcast. And suddenly I thought of Xander and my little heart broke.
(editor note: Finally found it. Shimmering Warm & Bright by Bel Canto) Link for as long as the internet allows it - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CWWj8nI