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Indecisive Loser-Hero Hybrid
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| Things That Have Never Made Me Sad and Have Always Made Me Happy, Unconditionally |
[24 Apr 2012|03:22pm] |
In the wake of one of the more devastating weekends I've had in a while (nothing says "my head is totally screwed on straight right now" like 36 straight hours of uncontrollable crying, just because.), my therapist has instructed me to create a list of people/things I am grateful for. (Alternatively, I'm calling this lists Things That Have Never Made Me Sad and Have Always Made Me Happy, Unconditionally.) While the OCD control freak in me desperately wants me to make this the pentultimate list of every single thing that has ever brought me unconditional joy, I'm trying very hard to limit it to the immediate things in my life that remind me that I am a good person, and I am loved. So. Here it is.My dad
My mom
My parents (as a collective unit)
The Other Berlins
The Japanese Maple tree at 91 Parsons Drive
Austin
BJ
Becca
Ramona
Reading in the bathtub
PBRPRPSCLCS
David Bowie's Package
Daffodils
Ifihadahifi
Gelflings
B-Fest
Sticking my face in strange dog's faces
Lobsters
Dinosaurs
Surprise llama farms
Roller derby
Being an alumna of Beloit College
The Jersey shore (not to be confused with The Jersey Shore.)
I'm pretty sure that the point of this is to keep this list close to me, and too look at it whenever I feel too low to function, to remind myself that I do have goodness in my life. We'll see how well this works.
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| And I Would've Gotten Away With It, If It Weren't For Those Meddling Kids. |
[05 Apr 2012|09:35pm] |
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I took a rain check on yesterday. Part of being an HSP is knowing my body, and my limits. I took a bunch of Sudafed on Tuesday, forgetting that Sudafed is pseudophedrine, is a basically an amphetamine, and tends to react like speed would in many people. Especially me. (I've tried Adderall, which is similar, and it was one of the scariest afternoons of my life. I ended up in the nurses office, unable to stop vibrating. Literally.) So I woke up on Wednesday in the throes of some sort of manic episode/anxiety attack type thing, with my thoughts racing and my body feeling like there was a high-speed rail line racing alone under my skin. Nothing was possible, and every sensation, every thought, every stimulus, was too much. I probably should have realized something was awry when I woke up in the middle of the night, because the hidden snaps on my duvet cover were registering as "too pointy" on my skin.
I hate being in that situation, knowing that something is wrong, actually wrong, but unable to figure out what it is, or how to circumvent it. Then feeling powerless. Like I'm not in control, like my body is winning, like I'm just a passenger along for the ride in my life.
Luckily, somewhere in between the "I hate myself"s and the "Everything is terrifying"s, I remembered the Sudafed thing, and was apply to delay sensation overload long enough to ask my phone what side effects of the drug were. Oh, look. All the things I was experiencing. It was such a relief to know that this wasn't just my body chemistry having it out for me, but something outside, something that could be dealt with. Granted, I still couldn't actually get out of bed. But I was able to recognize that if I just waited long enough, the drugs would pass out of my system, and I'd be ok. So I slept. All day. I've never really forced myself to sleep before, but I didn't really know what other choice I had. At least in sleep, my conscious mind can't hurt me. (And my subconscious has been behaving itself rather well these days.)
Around 10.30pm, I woke up, and felt ok. Thank god. And then I vowed to not let today end up like yesterday. I ended up emailing my mom, telling her everything that had happened that day, and promising her the things I was going to do today. Because I need to hold myself accountable to other people. It's too easy to let myself down. I do it all the time. My brain is programmed for self-sabotage and disappointment. Letting other people down, though? It's much harder. More to the point, lying to other people is much harder. And I know that if I tell mom a thing, she will later ask me about a thing. And then I either have to tell her all about it, or I have to lie. And I hate lying. (I'm also terrible at it.)
So today, I pulled on my big-girl pants, changed the wheels on my skates (oh my god, my bearings are filthy), and went to the park. To skate. Alone. By myself. For the very first time.
And it was scary. What if there were other people there? What if all the hockey rinks were occupied? What if people stared? What if people laughed? What if I got there and didn't know what to do? What if I fell down a lot?
I've never actually exercised by myself before. I can count on one hand the number of times I've gone running, or popped in a workout video, or anything. Usually getting me to work out is an exhausting exercise in coercion and bribery and teamwork. By which I mean, exhausting for the other person.
So this? Kinda huge.
I got to the park, and both rinks were empty. So I walked up, picked one, strapped my skates on, set my clock timer, and just... did things. Regular laps. Sprinting. 8 on the floor, both ways. Shuffling reps. Grapevines. Jumping. Heel-toe runs. 10 laps/10 reps each, making myself to pushups/crunches/leg lifts/planks when I stopped for water. Was it effective? I have no idea. I was sort've winging it. And about halfway through, there were all these small children on skateboards weaving around me. And their moms, watching me. And yeah, that part was kind've embarrassing, because I kept getting winded, and they kept being wired.
But hey, I did things. And it wasn't so scary. Though next time (whoa. There's gonna be a next time? I guess so.), I'd like to bring a friend. Because one of the things I did learn today is that derby is way more fun with my teammates than it is by myself. Though, on the other hand, an hour on skates without getting hit was kind've nice, too.
Originally published at readagoddamnbook.blogspot.com
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| Don't Call Me Surely. |
[04 Apr 2012|12:33am] |
Progress is weird. You creep along, little by little, and then, all of a sudden, you're doing the things that you thought you'd never be able to do.
I had a couple of those moments at practice tonite. DeRanged and Psychobabble, two of the best skaters in roller derby, came out to run a training session with us. As always, I was terrified. I mean, these ladies are legit roller derby superstars. I feel like I'm never going hard enough, or doing well enough, to impress them. And trust me, we ALL want to impress them.
We worked on a bunch of offensive hitting drills (things I am not good at: Offense. Hitting. Drills.) and, even with my laryngitis and allergies/head cold, I managed to surprise myself.
Tonite, I went to practice. (I am a giant baby when I'm sick. Usually the sniffles are more than enough to give me a reason not to go out. Let alone to go exercise.)
Tonite, I did 40 pushups. (Number of pushups I could do at a time when I started playing roller derby: 1. Maybe. Sort of. Not really.)
Tonite, I pushed the largest girl on my team out of bounds.
Tonite, I chased down the jammer as she busted out of the pack, and I caught her.
Tonite, I gave Psychobabble a hip bruise. (And then she gave me pointers on how to be more effective when I use my bony, bony hips, and I squealed a lot on the inside and HOLY SHIT I GAVE PSYCHO A BRUISE WHAT IS THIS I DON'T EVEN.)
Little things, building on top of each other, manifesting into noticeable progress. Just keep doing one thing every day that scares me.Originally posted at readagoddamnbook.blogspot.com
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[18 Jan 2012|03:13am] |
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So far, 29 looks like: skating 50 laps straight through after basically a month off skates. Eating wings, drinking Yuengling, talking about boys. Wegmans. Watching bad movies with dad. Bedtime at 5am. So, y'know. The usual.
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[30 Dec 2011|02:14am] |
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Did I mention the part where Jon + both got food poisoning the morning after Christmas? No? we did. It was superfun. By superfun, I mean totally gross. I still feel icky. Better, but icky. All I really want to eat is a mountain of cookies, and/or sushi, and/or indian food. Clearly, my stomach and my brain are having some communication issues.
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[15 Oct 2011|01:18am] |
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Y'all know the drill. Here, we have NPR's list of the 100 best scifi/fantasy novels, as of August 2011. I say if you've read any of a seies (because they're counting a series as a single book, are they bonkers???), it counts. This means you, Dune. Seriously.
1. The Lord Of The Rings Trilogy, by J.R.R. Tolkien 2. The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy, by Douglas Adams 3. Ender's Game, by Orson Scott Card 4. The Dune Chronicles, by Frank Herbert 5. A Song Of Ice And Fire Series, by George R. R. Martin 6. 1984, by George Orwell 7. Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury 8. The Foundation Trilogy, by Isaac Asimov 9. Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley 10. American Gods, by Neil Gaiman 11. The Princess Bride, by William Goldman 12. The Wheel Of Time Series, by Robert Jordan 13. Animal Farm, by George Orwell 14. Neuromancer, by William Gibson 15. Watchmen, by Alan Moore 16. I, Robot, by Isaac Asimov 17. Stranger In A Strange Land, by Robert Heinlein 18. The Kingkiller Chronicles, by Patrick Rothfuss 19. Slaughterhouse-Five, by Kurt Vonnegut 20. Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley 21. Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep?, by Philip K. Dick 22. The Handmaid's Tale, by Margaret Atwood 23. The Dark Tower Series, by Stephen King 24. 2001: A Space Odyssey, by Arthur C. Clarke 25. The Stand, by Stephen King 26. Snow Crash, by Neal Stephenson 27. The Martian Chronicles, by Ray Bradbury 28. Cat's Cradle, by Kurt Vonnegut 29. The Sandman Series, by Neil Gaiman 30. A Clockwork Orange, by Anthony Burgess 31. Starship Troopers, by Robert Heinlein 32. Watership Down, by Richard Adams 33. Dragonflight, by Anne McCaffrey 34. The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress, by Robert Heinlein 35. A Canticle For Leibowitz, by Walter M. Miller 36. The Time Machine, by H.G. Wells 37. 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, by Jules Verne 38. Flowers For Algernon, by Daniel Keys 39. The War Of The Worlds, by H.G. Wells 40. The Chronicles Of Amber, by Roger Zelazny 41. The Belgariad, by David Eddings 42. The Mists Of Avalon, by Marion Zimmer Bradley 43. The Mistborn Series, by Brandon Sanderson 44. Ringworld, by Larry Niven 45. The Left Hand Of Darkness, by Ursula K. LeGuin 46. The Silmarillion, by J.R.R. Tolkien 47. The Once And Future King, by T.H. White 48. Neverwhere, by Neil Gaiman 49. Childhood's End, by Arthur C. Clarke 50. Contact, by Carl Sagan 51. The Hyperion Cantos, by Dan Simmons 52. Stardust, by Neil Gaiman 53. Cryptonomicon, by Neal Stephenson 54. World War Z, by Max Brooks 55. The Last Unicorn, by Peter S. Beagle 56. The Forever War, by Joe Haldeman 57. Small Gods, by Terry Pratchett 58. The Chronicles Of Thomas Covenant, The Unbeliever, by Stephen R. Donaldson 59. The Vorkosigan Saga, by Lois McMaster Bujold 60. Going Postal, by Terry Pratchett 61. The Mote In God's Eye, by Larry Niven & Jerry Pournelle 62. The Sword Of Truth, by Terry Goodkind 63. The Road, by Cormac McCarthy 64. Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, by Susanna Clarke 65. I Am Legend, by Richard Matheson 66. The Riftwar Saga, by Raymond E. Feist 67. The Shannara Trilogy, by Terry Brooks 68. The Conan The Barbarian Series, by R.E. Howard 69. The Farseer Trilogy, by Robin Hobb 70. The Time Traveler's Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger 71. The Way Of Kings, by Brandon Sanderson 72. A Journey To The Center Of The Earth, by Jules Verne 73. The Legend Of Drizzt Series, by R.A. Salvatore 74. Old Man's War, by John Scalzi 75. The Diamond Age, by Neil Stephenson 76. Rendezvous With Rama, by Arthur C. Clarke 77. The Kushiel's Legacy Series, by Jacqueline Carey 78. The Dispossessed, by Ursula K. LeGuin 79. Something Wicked This Way Comes, by Ray Bradbury 80. Wicked, by Gregory Maguire 81. The Malazan Book Of The Fallen Series, by Steven Erikson 82. The Eyre Affair, by Jasper Fforde 83. The Culture Series, by Iain M. Banks 84. The Crystal Cave, by Mary Stewart 85. Anathem, by Neal Stephenson 86. The Codex Alera Series, by Jim Butcher 87. The Book Of The New Sun, by Gene Wolfe 88. The Thrawn Trilogy, by Timothy Zahn 89. The Outlander Series, by Diana Gabaldan 90. The Elric Saga, by Michael Moorcock 91. The Illustrated Man, by Ray Bradbury 92. Sunshine, by Robin McKinley 93. A Fire Upon The Deep, by Vernor Vinge (this is unreadable.) 94. The Caves Of Steel, by Isaac Asimov 95. The Mars Trilogy, by Kim Stanley Robinson (so are these.) 96. Lucifer's Hammer, by Larry Niven & Jerry Pournelle 97. Doomsday Book, by Connie Willis 98. Perdido Street Station, by China Mieville 99. The Xanth Series, by Piers Anthony 100. The Space Trilogy, by C.S. Lewis Also, looking at the list of 237 nominees, and seeing what made the list, my mind is goddamn well blown.
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| Coming Clean, or, We Call This Burying the Lede. |
[12 Oct 2011|06:12pm] |
Originally posted Oct 4, 2011, @ ReadAGoddamnBookI've been rolling this around in my mouth for days, now, and I still don't know how to say it.
I've typed more than a handful of versions out, and none of them seem right. The thing is, I'm leaping in to NaBloWriMo, and I honestly don't know how I'm going to manage a month's worth of entries without coming clean about this to the blog.
And I tried do a "short" version of it, but it just turned into a long version anyway, so if you're interested, read on. And if you're not... I dunno. Skim. Maybe there'll be important bullet points along the way.
When I started this blog, I had every intention of chronicling my story of quitting grad school and moving on with my universe, through the lens of depression (which every therapist I've ever been to has agreed has some sort of hold on me), general anxiety (only the more recent therapists have agreed that this might be a thing), and social anxiety (subset of general, painfully obvious to everyone around me.)
It has been, and is, harder than I thought it would be, mostly because it's difficult for me to write about how hard things are, or to wrap things up in a tidy bow at the end of posts. The thing is, depression sucks. Anxiety sucks. They're not "oh I had a bad day so I took a bubble bath and now I'm better" posts, they're "I'm too incapacitated by sadness to take the 10 steps from my bed to my bathroom to fill up the bathtub" posts. They don't end on high notes, or with solutions. And I've been scared to post, publicly, about how I'm "really" doing.
The other part was that aside from a few moments of abject depressive hysteria, very few of the things I was writing felt true. And since I couldn't figure out why, I just... didn't write.
Switching gears: A few years ago, a friend of mind who did happen to see those depressed-hysterical thought-spews recommended a book to me. I glanced at the author's website, but never really followed up on it. It had a hokey title, and sounded like a self-help book. Neither of these things have any sort of appeal to me.
But funny enough, something about it must have grabbed me, because every few months, I'd go back to the website, and wonder if there might be something to all of it.
Last month, I was low. Lower than I've been in a really long time. Hysterical, phone-a-friend, serious thoughts of self-harm low. (It's hard to say any of this out loud, in public. My gut instinct is to cover it all up with platitudes and denial - "I'm ok now." "I'm fine." "Don't worry about me"'s. I don't want anyone to swoop in and try to save me, but at the same time, I desperately want to stop hiding the sheer fact that yes, sometimes there are these things, and they're bad things, and they're terrible, and they're hard, but they're TRUE. I'm not comfortable hiding my depression anymore.) After a late night at a friend's place, freaking out her boyfriend with my crying, I did one of the hardest things I've ever done as an adult: I walked into a bookstore, and headed for the self-help section.
The best part of this was discovering that the book I was looking for was not, in fact, shelved in the self-help section. It was in Psychology, which, ironically enough, made/makes me feel less crazy about the whole thing.
I picked up a copy of the book that my friend had recommended to me years ago, and started reading the introduction. And there, at 7pm, in this independent bookstore in the heart of downtown, I started crying. It would've been sobbing, probably, if I hadn't learned how to cry silently years and years ago.
3 pages in, and already the author had identified behaviors and patterns that I could barely explain to myself, let alone verbalize to other people. Things that I had been thinking about and living with and knowing for as long as I can remember being able to, y'know, think.
These things in my head, about my head... they weren't just symptoms of the depression, of the anxiety. They're a whole separate thing. And it's not bad, it's not scary, it's not yet another disorder to lump on top of the others, it is, at its heart, just a different way of interpreting sensory data, and a difference in how data is processed and acted upon. Not bad. Not scary. Just different.
I identify as what Elaine Aron calls a Highly Sensitive Person. If you're interested, you can poke around on her website. The link she includes to the basic assessment test is super telling, and likely does a better job of explaining what being an HSP is and feels like than what I could do in my own words. (For the record: Aron suggests that if you score a 14 or higher on the self test, you are probably Highly Sensitive. I scored 23.)
Reading her books have been a strange journey of self discovery for me. I'm not learning anything new, per se, but it's wonderful and scary and freeing to not only have a name for what goes on in my head, but to know that there are other people out there. And to know that I'm not broken.
So there. That's that. I'm an HSP. I'm not sure how that information is going to manifest itself in this blog, but I felt that it was important information to share. Maybe it'll give you a better perspective on how I live my life, make the decisions I make, think the things I think. Maybe saying it out loud, in the blog, will let me be more open and honest with my process - both how I'm progressing, and how I'm getting there. Right now, I'm really not sure.
But being open about feels real, feels true. Feels like a Thing I Need To Do in order to keep moving forward with things.
So.
Now you know.
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[12 Oct 2011|06:09pm] |
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Apologies, Livejournal. you've fallen to the wayside while I've been updating ReadAGoddamnBook. I'll port those entries over here over the next few days, thought I suppose I should really just figure out a way to get them to post in both places.
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[05 Aug 2011|02:05am] |
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Pretty sure I have food poisoning. Good timing, universe. I'm supposed to be in NYC tomorrow for Becca's wedding weekend adventures. (I'll catch a ride up on Sat w/ Dessen, but, jesus, ugh. I feel like death.)
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[10 Jul 2011|03:05am] |
I am fucking EXHAUSTED.I just got back from my second ever bout, with the High City Derby Divas of Aurora, CO. I am battered and busted and bruised, and grining like some sort of idiot.
The first half of the bout was a nightmare - I agreed to jam, and proceeded to have my ass handed to me by every single member of their team. There was a power jam, and I just could. not. get. past their line. (I thought it was pretty brutal out on the track. Jon told me afterwards that it looked even worse. I'd get up, get knocked right back down again. For the whole two minutes. UGH.) It took me, no joke, the rest of the damn half to fully recover. I skated like crap. And I certainly didn't jam again.
The second half was WAY better. I caught my breath, and skated almost every jam with the B line. Just holding the inside line, sure, but I managed a few solid hits on the jammers, didn't fall too hard, and mostly avoided getting winded like I had in the first half.
The Hustle n Rollers lost, 133 - 69 - mostly because we couldn't get through their beastly walls.
It was awesome awesome awesome, and all the suck in the first half just makes me want to work harder, so I don't have to suck that hard the next time I play.
In other news, as I was gearing down, I discovered a neon yellow hair band that had somehow wrapped its way around my knee, UNDER MY TIGHTS, (and under my kneepads, which is probably why I didn't actually find it til I stripped down) for the entire bout. 1, no wonder my right leg felt vaguely off, and 2, HOW THE FUCK DID IT GET THERE.
... I probably really need a roller debry icon, don't I.
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[19 Jun 2011|12:55am] |
today I did ALL THE THINGS.I drove to NJ for Oscar's 2nd birthday. Saw the teammates, finally met Babyshark.
Drove from Haddon to Downingtown for Brandywine's first league bout. Saw Dave.
Drove from Downingtown back to Philly. Saw Ramona, Eamonn, Matt Flynn.Drove back to Bryn Mawr.I am so sleepy. And happy. Very happy. I like my friends.
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[17 Jun 2011|10:48pm] |
Can't post this to Twitter. But it's too good not to share.Dad and I, discussing that Kaley whatever murder trial:
Dad: I can't believe she tried to mix her own chloroform. Why didn't she just go to the store?
Me: The chloroform store?
Dad: Yes! The chloroform store! Chloroform R' Us.
Me: Chloroform and Moreoform?
Dad: I'd shop there.
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[16 May 2011|07:03pm] |
You asked:
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[13 May 2011|04:20am] |
So, I've got my first derby bout this Saturday, up in Cheyenne, against the Capidolls' fresh meat.This is preamble, not the point.Since I started derby, every single one of my friends has gone: "Oh1 That's so awesome! I can't wait to see you play!"And y'know what? I would love for them to come out. I've been working my ass off, and even though I'm not very good yet, I would love to have people at the bout supporting me.So, fast forward to more recently, when it's gone from "I would love to see you play!" "Ok! I'll let you know!" to "I would love to see you play!" "Sure! We have a bout coming up really soon in Cheyenne!" "...Oh."So, look, I get that Cheyenne is a two hour drive, and people here are stuck in the bubble, and no one ever wants to leave. But here's the deal, dudes.
1, It's fucking roller derby. Yes, it's gaining in popularity, but that doesn't mean that there are leagues tripping over themselves to play each other.
2, I play in a rec league. Which means that for the most part, our competition is limited to scrimmages and fresh meat teams. WFTDA travel teams don't want to bother with us, for a number of reasons.
2a, one of those reasons is that we can't host bouts - we don't have the infrastructure. So we HAVE to travel. and at the point where we're traveling:
3, Guess what? Everything in Colorado is FAR. Not near. FAR. Usually an hour or more. People drive 3 hours (6 hours round trip) to go fucking skiing. And so Cheyenne, relatively? NOT THAT FAR. In fact, probably the closest we will ever play. Bouts after this are slated for Laramie, WY (3-4 hours) and Billings, MT. MONTANA, PEOPLE. THAT IS ACTUALLY FAR.
So, I'm kinda cranky pants. Everyone was SO EXCITED for me to get in to this sport, blah blah blah, but when push comes to shove, can't be arsed to get off their butts and actually come support me. Jon is coming, which I'm pretty excited about, but also just the part where YES HE VOICED INTEREST IN SHOWING UP AND IS ACTUALLY MAKING IT HAPPEN. Sure, I'm driving, I booked the hotel room, etc, but, it's my gig. He'll be doing the same (at least he'd better be) for his Iron Man in Idaho next month. Also, y'know, the part where we're dating.
I'm just pissy that EVERYONE I KNOW is all talk no rock about this. If it weren't for Jon magically showing up in my life, I'd be doing this totally on my own. (I know, if Jon hadn't happened, a LOT of things would be different right now. Whatever.)
Possibly the part where I have friends in this town (thinking of one person specifically) who gets SOOPER bent out of shape if we leave her out of something, or if, god forbid, we don't move heaven and earth to come to HER events (and/or her FRIENDS events), but when it comes to our own... unless they're convenient for her, there's a big to-do about being invited, then zilch.
In other news, it's 4am, I smell like a bar, and Jon's smoke detector has decided that it's time to go beepy-beepy. Hoo-rah.
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| About a Dog |
[01 May 2011|04:48am] |
My friend's dog passed away unexpectedly last night. He was bitten by another dog in the neighborhood, infection set in, and he passed.I am basically a wreck.Smokey belonged to my teammates, Baconshark and Tits McGee. Baconshark had brought Smokey home back in 2007, with the money he'd won at that year's RPS championship. I wasn't in the picture at that point, but Smokey was clearly the Victory Dog.The next year, I tripped into the arms of a rowdy gang of jackasses more affectionately known as David Bowie's Package. After on-purposely getting drunk and accidentally winning the 2008 championship, Baconshark kindly drove me back to his house in Jersey, where I met Smokey. As I laid down on the sofa to pass out, PJ laid my giant check up against the seat, and I curled up. Hours later, I awoke to a large, skinny, furry blanket draped over me - Smokey was unwilling to share his sofa, and was sleeping on top of me like an adorable blanket. There's a picture of this, somewhere. I wish I could find it.That was the beginning, they say, of a beautiful friendship. I moved out to Colorado shortly after the season ended, and only really got to see Smokes a few times a year. He was never, of course, my dog, but in my head, he was always the team's dog, the unsung, most adorable member of The Package. Trips to Jersey almost inevitably would end up with me at the Williams-Mercer Zoo, adults ("adults") in the kitchen/dining room doing adult things (talking/yelling about loud music), while Smokes and I would curl up on the floor and make googly eyes at each other. Maybe I just made the googly eyes. He just wondered where this extra human came from, and why there were so many snuggles.
I would badger Karen for stories about her adventures with the pup, jealous that I never got to spend as much time with either of them as I ever wanted to. And she'd humor me, telling me about the songs she would make up for him while they were taking walks together, or mundane things around the neighborhood that made him skittish. I'd sit around and wonder how so much dog could fit into such a tiny frame. (Seriously, where does the dog go on greyhounds??) And Smokey would grin, and writhe around on his back, and get loved on. Because this dog loved his people, and all the people loved this dog.And so I'm sitting here at 4am, still crying, after sobbing on Jon for an hour after I heard, for this pup that I only tangentially knew, and for his people, who loved him so much. For Kevin and Karen, who are now down a best friend, and for their little one, who will never get to meet his big furry brother.There are things I want to tell you about Smokes, about his giant, kind eyes, and his adorable greyhound grin, and his endless patience for the humans (me. Others.) who insisted on his post-racing career as a pillow. But instead, I'll tell you this: David Bowie's Package rules. And so do you, Smokey. <3.
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[08 Apr 2011|10:48am] |
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Anxiety nightmares. I veto.
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[19 Mar 2011|04:00pm] |
Last entry should be fixed now, if not, here it is again:
Why i suddenly need to use an lj-embed code is both beyond me, and fucking stupid.
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[16 Mar 2011|11:34pm] |
So, I did this:
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[12 Mar 2011|03:15am] |
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It is nearly impossible to be as upset as I was earlier with a cat this adorable purring this loudly in my lap.Social anxiety, by the by, can suck a dick.Jon continues to be fucking amazing. If I say that on the internet, it must be true.I'm in Austin for SxSW. It's overwhelming, to say the least. I'm glad I came, but I'm totally overloaded every second of the day. See previous statements.
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[03 Mar 2011|03:59pm] |
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2 hours til @igniteboulder 14! Can't make it? Catch the live stream @ 7pm MST: http://bit.ly/dvxpwQ Be prompt, the pandas & I are up first!
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[03 Mar 2011|02:46am] |
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Ignite Boulder 14 will be streaming live at 7pm MST. Tune in right around then for my spark, People For a Panda-Neutral Society - a real live legitimate version of the panda rant. http://igniteboulder.com/live
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[01 Mar 2011|10:58pm] |
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My brother just sent me the details of a family friend who committed suicide last weekend. I've said it before and I'll say it again and I'll keep saying it, but thank you thank you thank you to everyone out there who is reading this and looking out for me, and other people like me, and helping us all get help when we need it. You make it easier, and it is infinitely appreciated. There is never too much trying to save a loved one.
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[15 Feb 2011|03:52pm] |
me: "The giant panda tends to limit its social interactions and avoids steeply sloping terrain in order to limit its energy expenditures." Austin: You can remove the first three words and just write "Austin."
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[09 Feb 2011|02:38pm] |
Volunteered to help a friend out with a charity even he's running, figuring he needed someone on the organizing/managing side of things for the night of the event. He does, but now he also has me writing pieces/interviewing bands for the event. Total unexpected bonus. Writing is way less scary when I'm not under a contracted deadline. Other than toeing the most basic lines of dignity/good taste, I've got free reign. Kinda stoked.
(Cause to Rock is a Rock Band talent show, basically - ppl can form their own "bands", and the winners, as determined by the audience, will be donating their winnings to their choice of charity.)
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[20 Jan 2011|01:34am] |
Funny: Even the girl I go to to get my eyebrows waxed was 300% NOT SURPRISED when I told her I was taking a semester off.
In other news, I have some form of plague/allergies, my body is currently 80% Gatorade, and I've been through 2 boxes of tissues in 2 days. Go team me!Also, I turned 28 or something. That's still weird.
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