Two new pages are online. They're a day late, but still fresh and tasty!
I think in future I'll just announce updates on the Lukadia LJ. That way it will be posted as soon as I update, and not once a day the way syndication works. I am so disorganized...
February 25, 2007
Another Dream Post
I had a One Piece dream where the crew ended up on an island where everything had been wrecked. Dogs were stranded in trees thirty feet off the ground, half the cats were shaved, all the humans were either wandering around naked and furious, or hiding in their houses with the blinds drawn.
Everyone, including the traumatized animals, ran away and hid from the crew when they entered town. The only local who would give them the time of day was this batshit old man in a cave on the far end of town. He was a mad scientist, of course, and a fellow pariah.
To be hospitable, offered the crew his latest batch of home-brewed liquor, but only Luffy was dumb enough to actually drink it. Oh, and did I mention it was a very high-proof time travel wine? Because the old man sure didn't.
Rewind a day and a half to the bender of the century....
I wish I had time to do a doujinshi, because this could actually be pretty hilarious.
Everyone, including the traumatized animals, ran away and hid from the crew when they entered town. The only local who would give them the time of day was this batshit old man in a cave on the far end of town. He was a mad scientist, of course, and a fellow pariah.
To be hospitable, offered the crew his latest batch of home-brewed liquor, but only Luffy was dumb enough to actually drink it. Oh, and did I mention it was a very high-proof time travel wine? Because the old man sure didn't.
Rewind a day and a half to the bender of the century....
I wish I had time to do a doujinshi, because this could actually be pretty hilarious.
February 23, 2007
Two Blondes, A Camera, And My Ego
I dreamed I somehow met and befriended Britney Spears. This is unusual in its own right, since I don't really know much about her except that the news can't get enough of documenting her breakdown.
In the dream, we ended up hanging out a lot and having the sort of uplifting, life-changing conversations that make you grow as friends. I felt like I was really helping her clear her head of all the bullshit and the drama. It turned out that under the facade she was a really nice person who hadn't really had a lot of time to find a real friend before. It was hard to tell who was real in the sea of fakes and liars that was her life.
Unfortunately, the goddamned fantourage was always surrounding us for a chance to get at her, and the attention made everything kind of strange and strained. Then paparazzi photographers started taking pictures of us hanging out (slumming, in Britney's case). The next thing I knew, we were all over the gossip magazines. Someone had airbrushed the photos to make me look skinny and attractive like every other cardboard cut-out in the magazine.
At that point, I hit the roof and woke up feeling annoyed and betrayed because I had stuck my neck out for Britney Spears and ended up getting humiliated for the effort.
The really weird thing is that I had this exact same dream about two months ago, only it was Paris Hilton. I don't even have any special interest in either of these celebrities, but ay caramba, the symbolism.
In the dream, we ended up hanging out a lot and having the sort of uplifting, life-changing conversations that make you grow as friends. I felt like I was really helping her clear her head of all the bullshit and the drama. It turned out that under the facade she was a really nice person who hadn't really had a lot of time to find a real friend before. It was hard to tell who was real in the sea of fakes and liars that was her life.
Unfortunately, the goddamned fantourage was always surrounding us for a chance to get at her, and the attention made everything kind of strange and strained. Then paparazzi photographers started taking pictures of us hanging out (slumming, in Britney's case). The next thing I knew, we were all over the gossip magazines. Someone had airbrushed the photos to make me look skinny and attractive like every other cardboard cut-out in the magazine.
At that point, I hit the roof and woke up feeling annoyed and betrayed because I had stuck my neck out for Britney Spears and ended up getting humiliated for the effort.
The really weird thing is that I had this exact same dream about two months ago, only it was Paris Hilton. I don't even have any special interest in either of these celebrities, but ay caramba, the symbolism.
GOLD STAR FOR YOU
Right now, this very minute, outside my window, is an amazing weather phenomenon. Loud snow.
Actually it's just tiny styrofoam-ball lookin' frozen rain, but it makes a wonderful soft rustling as it hits the trees and streets. So I have dubbed it loud snow, and loud snow it shall be.
I'm such a scattered person that I have trouble keeping a schedule, which is distressing because I also crave stability and discipline. As I progress through life, I've left mostly-empty planners behind me like a trail of broken hearts. But these days, I seem to have leveled up a bit.
Recently I bought a desk calendar, and have been using it to good effect as a way to remember which day is Inking day, which is Trash day, and so on. I've also started keeping track of my daily routine via a series of notecards on my desk.
Each morning I pull up one of the cards and write a series of tasks on it until I run out of room or tasks. The list usually has items like "Brush teeth" and "Gym" and "Eat five meals" as well as "Dishes" and "Clean kitchen," which are some of my daily House Elf jobs.
I cross off each task as it's complete, and if I have a cleared card by the end of the day, I write "Good Job!" and doodle big stupid stars and smiley faces all over the back of the card. It cheers me up. My current plan is to keep the "Good Job!" cards and, once I've accumulated enough of them, do something really special to reward myself for being functional like a human being.
On a related note, I kind of want to go shopping for gold star stickers tomorrow. You know, to stick on my calendar to mark "Good Job!" days. It would be shiny. I could show them off to company and they could praise me for being practically a superhero.
Okay, so maybe not so much with the "functional" after all. But who cares, as long as I get a kick out of it?
Actually it's just tiny styrofoam-ball lookin' frozen rain, but it makes a wonderful soft rustling as it hits the trees and streets. So I have dubbed it loud snow, and loud snow it shall be.
I'm such a scattered person that I have trouble keeping a schedule, which is distressing because I also crave stability and discipline. As I progress through life, I've left mostly-empty planners behind me like a trail of broken hearts. But these days, I seem to have leveled up a bit.
Recently I bought a desk calendar, and have been using it to good effect as a way to remember which day is Inking day, which is Trash day, and so on. I've also started keeping track of my daily routine via a series of notecards on my desk.
Each morning I pull up one of the cards and write a series of tasks on it until I run out of room or tasks. The list usually has items like "Brush teeth" and "Gym" and "Eat five meals" as well as "Dishes" and "Clean kitchen," which are some of my daily House Elf jobs.
I cross off each task as it's complete, and if I have a cleared card by the end of the day, I write "Good Job!" and doodle big stupid stars and smiley faces all over the back of the card. It cheers me up. My current plan is to keep the "Good Job!" cards and, once I've accumulated enough of them, do something really special to reward myself for being functional like a human being.
On a related note, I kind of want to go shopping for gold star stickers tomorrow. You know, to stick on my calendar to mark "Good Job!" days. It would be shiny. I could show them off to company and they could praise me for being practically a superhero.
Okay, so maybe not so much with the "functional" after all. But who cares, as long as I get a kick out of it?
February 18, 2007
Schrödinger's Mom
I've been off-kilter recently.
I keep re-realizing that Mom is dead and getting nasty little adrenaline spikes. It's like various parts of my being have somehow slept through the whole thing and are now queuing up to hear the bad news one at a time.
"Hey, hypothalamus: Mom's dead. Yeah. Here's a tissue. Send my kidneys in on your way out, would you?"
I look forward to the day my entire body has been updated and fully accepts the truth about My Dead Mom. No more random jolts of sudden realization followed by micro-mourning every time I think about a childhood memory and have to integrate it into this new universe where the context involves Mom being dead.
This process has come to an interesting head. Somewhere in my brain a connection has been made between the sound of a ringing phone, and Bad News. Whenever it rings, I get another goddamn jolt.
It's Mom! I forgot to call her all week again! Or even worse, Oh shit! Mom's died and that's the nurse calling to give me the news.
And then I remember that I've already gone through all of this, and I feel a little bit dumb because Dead Mom is just so old meme and for a smart person I sure don't seem to be absorbing the information fast enough. You'd think it would go more smoothly, as important as it is. You'd think I could just hold a press conference with every fiber of my body and break it to them all at once, but no.
Every fucking time the goddamn phone rings, I have to go through the same little routine. It does no good telling my ears to stop sending that sound straight to the Mom center of my brain.
It does no good arguing with myself that it's not the sound of my Mom kicking the bucket, it's the fucking gym calling yet again to ask if I want to be entered in a drawing.
Seriously, it's a little nerve-wracking. For a split second, every time the phone rings, she's alive. But only long enough for me to kill her again.
And I thought I hated phones before.
I keep re-realizing that Mom is dead and getting nasty little adrenaline spikes. It's like various parts of my being have somehow slept through the whole thing and are now queuing up to hear the bad news one at a time.
"Hey, hypothalamus: Mom's dead. Yeah. Here's a tissue. Send my kidneys in on your way out, would you?"
I look forward to the day my entire body has been updated and fully accepts the truth about My Dead Mom. No more random jolts of sudden realization followed by micro-mourning every time I think about a childhood memory and have to integrate it into this new universe where the context involves Mom being dead.
This process has come to an interesting head. Somewhere in my brain a connection has been made between the sound of a ringing phone, and Bad News. Whenever it rings, I get another goddamn jolt.
It's Mom! I forgot to call her all week again! Or even worse, Oh shit! Mom's died and that's the nurse calling to give me the news.
And then I remember that I've already gone through all of this, and I feel a little bit dumb because Dead Mom is just so old meme and for a smart person I sure don't seem to be absorbing the information fast enough. You'd think it would go more smoothly, as important as it is. You'd think I could just hold a press conference with every fiber of my body and break it to them all at once, but no.
Every fucking time the goddamn phone rings, I have to go through the same little routine. It does no good telling my ears to stop sending that sound straight to the Mom center of my brain.
It does no good arguing with myself that it's not the sound of my Mom kicking the bucket, it's the fucking gym calling yet again to ask if I want to be entered in a drawing.
Seriously, it's a little nerve-wracking. For a split second, every time the phone rings, she's alive. But only long enough for me to kill her again.
And I thought I hated phones before.
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