Look who's been busy!

You may have noticed that I’m getting a lot better about keeping up with the challenges I take on. Well, it’s more of a matter of getting my give-a-fuck back. I lost my give-a-fuck a while back when the weather got cruddy—I’m pretty sure I wasn’t getting enough sun throughout the entire month of May. (Three clear days out of the entire month. I mean, come on.)

I’m queueing things up so that I don’t forget about posting them. Writing things ahead of time and putting them on a schedule. I have to make sure I can get back into the rhythm again.

OK, so then what about the other thing?

I have that in reserve, as well. Now that I can look at a screen for any length of time without my head exploding, it’s time to work on that, too.

Anything else in the works?

Actually, seeing how bad I am at keeping track of one thing at a time, I’m going to start limiting the number of projects I work at once.

Stay tuned!

Chrysanth WebStory What’s your WebStory today?

Bushed! I'll recover eventually, but until then, I'mma rant a bit.

It’s the second day of trying to reset my internal clock. Strict-ish bedtimes have been implemented, but my body’s not having it. Soda’s made, meds are about to be taken, and…

I’m barely conscious.

I’m having a difficult time. My head hurts quite a bit; my hair looks terrible; and to top this all off, I’m so sleepy. I got a reasonable amount of sleep and yet…

My shrink and a local naturopath have both suggested that I get more sun. I can see where they’re coming from—a naturopath WILL suggest that a keyboard jockey needs more sun, and a shrink…also will suggest that someone in my condition get more sun.


Among my friends I am infamous for not being able to maintain a comfortable temperature. I’ve burned hands when coming out of the sun before, and many a time a handshake from outside has gotten a “Good lord, are your gloves full of ice?!” Ice packs fail quickly when I’m running a temperature, and hot packs chill rapidly if I’m running significantly cooler than normal.

Walking around outside tends to shoot things upward—I wind up having to strip down to the workout shirt layer in forty-degree weather rather quickly. But the threat of migraine recently has put a damper on that plan lately, and in addition to really being too tired to go out for a walk, I don’t really have an incentive right now—I still don’t have my replacement Fitbit (I will gripe about that subject from time to time because I miss my little favorite gadget).

The meds are…ridiculous. Everything that I take on a prescription causes drowsiness. It’s gotten to the point, actually, if we find more problems we have to do some grilling—we press the benefits of keeping a prescription against fixing the problem that’s newly popped up—because I’m in danger of something called oversedation. In other words, “TOO MUCH—*ZZZZZ*” could happen.

It’s 0930. I’ve just popped everything. I’ve been awake for two hours, but there’s no guarantee I’ll be awake for the next two. I do what I can. But I have to be careful of lots of things.

The good news is that last night didn’t result in me winding up so high and dazed that it resulted in another sequence of laps walked around the apartment on my hands. …granted, my nose fell asleep (…I seriously don’t even) but that’s a lot less aggravating than waking up and realizing that I’ve tried to open the refrigerator door with my feet.
…actually, if we’re being perfectly honest, it wasn’t annoying. It was fucking hilarious. I can’t help but wonder if my neighbors were up and what they thought I was on. I can honestly say that I’ve never had quite that sort of sensation—not the last time I was stone-cold drunk, not the time the housekeeping staff had to work on the floor that some guests had turned into a giant hotbox (and no one left there sober that day, it was that strong), and not even on my first salvia trip.

I’m beginning to feel dazed again. I should sleep a little bit. I’ll set an alarm, though—I can’t afford to bork my clock again.

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TOO close.

I wake abruptly, realizing that it is full daylight outside.

“…aw, fuck.”

I roll out of bed and walk across the apartment—the new arrangement of furniture means that the phone is about three yards away from the bed, and impossible to roll over and simply slap into silence.

It’s 7:55 AM.

“Aw, fuck.”

I have seven minutes to get dressed. The closest clothes are streets and I throw those on. The uniform goes into my purse as does my phone, my cans (not those cans—headphones), and my iPod duo.

I’m ready in a minute and forty-five.

I’m half out the door when a niggling little sense goes, “Check your keychain.” I do that.

My bus pass clip is AWOL.

“…Aw, shit.”

I start to ransack my apartment, undoing yesterday’s work immediately.

My alarm goes off. It’s three minutes until nine.

One more scour.

Another scouring when I don’t see it.

I panic. I call work. “Please let it be slow.”

The phone opens on the first ring. “Good morning—”

At first I think it is a voice mail. I freeze. Then I remember I need to be SPEAKING and ask what the deal was with my last lateness and pretty much beg for it to be slow, as if our deskman can make that happen.

…I luck out. It’s slow. In fact they were just about to text me.

I almost fall over in relief.

After this scare, I’m going to be putting myself in a rather rigid sleep schedule on days where I work. I don’t want to lose my job, and so I will now be putting myself to bed BEFORE 0130 on workdays—no exceptions. Phone goes off, statuses go DND, and I put my damn self the fuck to sleep. I’m not having this happen again.

If you need me I’ll be searching for my godsdamned KEYS. And probably eating toast. My nervous stomach has decided to kick itself into gear this morning.

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Appropriate Wintertime Jubilations!

Appropriate Wintertime Jubilations: A holiday greeting, once purely tongue-in-cheek, that a friend currently serving the country came up with when it was realized that the usual group contained three different flavors of Christian, a Daoist, a couple of agnostics, one atheist, at least three pagans, and a black chick who actually acknowledged the newest of the holiday seasonal festivities.

The fact of the matter is, saying “Merry Christmas,” while traditional, can be a bit exclusionist. No other faith has its holidays so publically acknowledged—well, excepting Hanukkah, and we have Adam Sandler to thank for that. The above greeting began as a kind of hipster PC greeting—and somewhere along the way my little group started taking it fairly seriously.

A few fairly horrendous things have happened this year, to me as well as other parts of the country (Hell, I feel like my trouble is small potatoes to some of the things that are going on), and any holiday greeting seems to feel a little bit forced as long as you have no idea that something horrendous has happened to someone else. The nation reels from mass killings and a war that we’ve all been tired of for half a decade; I’m still battling that bothersome thing in my head that goes by an acronym that, when read as printed, sounds like a rim shot. (Seriously, actually pronounce ‘PTSD’ and tell me it doesn’t sound like a rim shot.)

However, a bit of Pagan!perspective helps me to remember what this season means (besides cold feet, warm cocoa and entirely too much food). As originally observed, the general temporal area we’re in right now is a chance to observe the triumph of the light over dark; the year wanes, but the light waxes, and we prepare for the veritable explosion of life that awaits the warming of the land. This light is not just a literal light: the sensation also ties to the body, as anyone suffering from seasonal-affective can tell you—we feel good when there is more light. …well, most of us. I’ve been battling a migraine that has me literally recoiling when I sense light. ANYWHO, the point is that when the light returns, we can be like the green sector of our planet’s life—renew and rejuvenate while the days lengthen. With this sort of thing going through my head, it’s easy to forget atrocities like the shootings and the utterly reprehensible things that a man of god can spout about a TINY segment of the population.

I wish Appropriate Wintertime Jubilations on all, now.

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Underrated, underexperienced Lazy Saturday.

I don’t get lazy Saturdays very often. So finding out that I had Saturday off this week was a little strange. Being shorthanded at the hotel, I was thinking about how much they’d be screwed if they didn’t call me in—or if they did and I just made sure to say “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NO.” I wasn’t feeling working on my second Saturday off this year, and I was going to laze around and do nothing.

(This song basically sums it up—except for the fact that I didn’t go out and meet any nice girls for some really nice sex, anyway.)

I’d also intended on dropping in on my folks, delivering some turkey legs to them, but…man, getting that sleep this morning was good. I didn’t feel like doing anything. So I didn’t.

So far, I’ve looked up a bunch of recipes so that I could make my own answer to several junk-food favorites, eaten a little something-something, put a tiny bit of work into what will be some table-top RPG errata, and basically fantasized about a big, huge, bison burger. That last one WILL be accomplished later tonight. It is very easy to underestimate the value of doing nothing at all in our monkey-mind, runaround day.

I haven’t even been on any of my messenger accounts, really: that’s how lazy I’ve been today. I don’t I don’t plan on it, either. This lazy Saturday is a gift from me to me, and I’m going to wear the shiny off of it.

What? The wordcount? …Okay, that’s one exception. But I’m hitting quota and then I swear I’m not doing anything.

Nothing at all. 🙂

Chrysanth WebStory What’s your WebStory today?