improperlyhuman: (Default)
Whatever was broken got fixed, and I was able to access the road again today. !!!

I dunno how far I cycled, maybe twenty or twenty-five miles. Looked at the weather report before I left the house and was almost dumbstruck to find the wind classified as calm. There's always wind out in farmland. But it was indeed quite still once I got out there, although the wind picked up a bit during the ride.

I don't know if that ride helped, but I feel better (less tired, particularly) than I did this morning, and I felt better this morning that I've been feeling over the past few weeks. I hope that I will have fixed this fatigue problem before my medical appointment rolls around so that I can cancel the appointment.

My back started hurting far too early in the ride :( 
I should go to the doctor anyway if I'm still having back problems. I know that I should probably stop lifting or lift less, but I hate doing that shit, and my back doesn't hurt much anyhow. I'm hoping the pain was due to poor form and will eventually go away now that I've improved my form...but that may very well be wishful thinking.

I think that I finally really know what it's like to be proud of oneself. Despite having achieved shit in my youth, I never really felt proud or really understood what other people meant about feeling proud of themselves. Doing stuff was just business as usual for me, achievement, hey great, on to the next challenge.

It took time, but I don't think any of it really took much effort. Maybe that's why I never really understood pride. Not that doing that stuff was easy. It was just...or rather, I was...just me. I dunno how to explain it.

But what is not easy is dragging myself up out of this chair when I have fatigue and brain fog and getting shit done. Like that workout this afternoon.

Speaking of workouts, I wish to Allah that I could get an accurate estimate of the calories I burn when I exercise without getting one of those Fitbit thingies. I tried entering the cycling into cronometer and it told me that I'd burned nearly a thousand calories. No. No I didn't.

Last night I dreamt that I was up to some sort of illicit scheme. One or two of my apparent cohorts dropped me off at Harvard. I'm sure the place didn't look the way Harvard looks (I've never seen Harvard), but the sign on the building said "Harvard."

So I went in (I think I was wearing a suit or something similarly dressy) and cased the joint a bit. Went and sat in the student lounge area. Of course shit stopped making sense, that must happen in nearly every dream. There was like some sort of mini freezer that folded out of the little table, and I was excited to find some Eggos in there. Then a toaster appeared and I had a grand old time eating the waffles.

It seemed like I ended up hanging out at Harvard every day for a few days, and a young lady who'd been standing outside near the door the first time I entered saw me around and became attached to me. She started talking to me, and I became nervous, knowing I was up to no good (although I'd forgotten my plan shortly after being dropped off and couldn't remember it after waking either). Well, the dream kind of petered out and ended. She did something nice, I can't remember what.
improperlyhuman: (Default)
Rained all morning and I was half kicking myself for not buying an umbrella when I'd had the chance. I'm so stubborn about buying things second-hand that I try to do so even when it's inconvenient. With the dorm phone book, I found a nearby thrift shop and walked there when the rain let up a bit. My "new" umbrella has a small tear in the fabric and one broken spine. It was on sale and cost me $1.90. Proceeds go to the animal shelter.

Night before last, I had a disturbing dream about getting into a romantic relationship with the guy who let me stay with him since I lost my apartment. It made no sense; he is gay and not attractive to me at all.

I drive myself crazy trying to keep up with all the stuff in my inbox. I'm subscribed to a copyeditor's list that generates at least a dozen emails per day (and, for people who work with the written word, the members' choice of wording is too often unclear), I get word-of-the-day emails from two different services every day, I get daily lists of freelance writing and editing gigs.

In today's email was a notification from some sort of organic organization about a "citizen's tribunal" for (about? of?) Monsanto. I read it, but I didn't know what a citizen's tribunal was or what it could accomplish (it doesn't involve any official legal action, it seems) and wasn't familiar with the hosting organization. So I read about all that stuff, too. It's so easy for me to get overwhelmed with all the information I need (or believe I should have). I have the urge to click nearly every link in articles because I like so much to have the whole picture.

Another wonderful thing about the womyn's land is the implicit trust. They knew little about me, yet trusted me on the land. No one asked me for the money (staying overnight costs $10-$25 per night); I just put the cash into the little jar that sits on one of the bookshelves, the money easily accessible to anyone who is inclined to take it. All the doors stay unlocked 24/7. No one monitored me or what I did, and I was invited to check out all the uninhabited cabins at my leisure, even the two that belonged to people who were only temporarily away.

Here's my account of my first full day there:

Cold, no sun. Didn't get up until noon. Saw no one except a resident driving off. Felt bad someone had cleaned the dirty pot I'd left, bad that I'd left nutritional yeast on the counter. Went hiking after breakfast. Wished the place was larger, somewhere I could actually get lost. Had no idea how big an acre is. Found a ceremonial ground and a better camping spot.

And from that I come here to foolz stealing my goddamned fig. Trifling shit. ONE. FIG. BAR. Although I guess it would seem a pity to come away empty-handed after risking going through someone else's bag of food.

Come to think of it, I perhaps got some insight into this last night. I was sitting in the common room after lights out and someone ate someone else's chips after conferring with the person sitting behind her. The person in the chair said that the residents usually just abandon their food (implying that it likely wouldn't be missed). And, since the food would be thrown out if still there in the morning, the former helped herself. Seems like a load of bullshit to me—a weak justification for dishonest and disrespectful behavior.

This is a picture of the second hot meal I had after moving into my apartment: chili and brown rice. I had no kitchenware, so I heated the chili up in the can and put the whole kit-n-caboodle in the oven on a pizza box (Little Caesar's pizza was my first hot meal at that time.)
improperlyhuman: (Default)
I can't wear my eyeglasses any longer. They hurt my eyes. I ended up with a migraine on the couple of occasions I wore them without discomfort, but I'm not sure if that was wholly or partially due to low blood sugar.

Last night, I dreamt that I played bass for someone's show. The bass guitar was small and much easier to play than a regular bass guitar. I was so happy, I bought the guitar and walked out the door with dreams of adding another instrument to my arsenal of musicianship. Then I woke up and remembered that bass guitars are not that small and I can't play one, and I was irritated and disappointed. I bet guitars are so huge because they are designed for men.

Box of granola bars for 47¢ (they're expired), organic pinto beans for one dollar, gluten-free crackers for $1.79, romaine salad ($1.49), and a chia seed bar (59¢). $5.24 for the day.

I've been getting chia seed bars because chia seed is supposed to slow the emptying of the stomach, thus keeping a person feeling full for longer. I'm not sure how well it's working, except for one day when it seemed to work too well because I could barely fit lunch in after having a chia seed bar with breakfast.

Chia is one of the superfoods that is in everything. Chia seed, acai, kale, quinoa, black beans (?), etc. I happened upon a certain diet book in the library and gathered that a lot of the superfoods were staples of the Native Americans of the current-day South America.
improperlyhuman: (dark Mulder)
I've noticed that the fatigue I experience begins to dissipate in the evening. For example, I felt very tired from waking to afternoon today, but now I feel almost normal. I wake up feeling unrefreshed and don't feel sleepy at night when I go to bed. It seems like a sign that I need to  stay up later and get up later. I'm going to try it.

My keyboards arrived today. I was disappointed. They fit on the keyboard tray just fine and were small enough for my hands, but the keys require an insane amount of force to press. I'd hoped against hope that this was an effect of newness and I could break them in, but communication with the seller confirmed that this was part of their design. Why would anyone create a "supermini" keyboard that requires more than the typical amount of typing force? Now I'll have to return them. I hate returning items by mail.

I think that I have figured out what it means when people call things "negative": it simply means that whatever they're calling negative makes them feel bad.

The meaning is simple, but the phrasing is pregnant. To say that x "is" something is to ascribe some state or quality to x. What has confused me on the occasions when people have accused me of saying something negative is this: I couldn't figure out what state or quality was being ascribed to what I'd said. Of course I could tell that the ascribed quality/state was (supposedly) undesirable, but I couldn't figure out why it was undesirable because I didn't know what it was.

But here's the thing: there was no "what," no specific state or quality inherent to what I'd said. The emotional reactions of the speakers were apparently projected onto what I'd said (and apparently projected onto me as well, since these people stopped talking to me) and the objection phrased accordingly; that is, instead of saying "this makes me feel bad," they said "there's something wrong with what you said." The former would have been perfectly transparent; the latter was not.

To me at least, distinguishing between wrongness and mere dislike is important.

I have in mind two occasions. The first was no big deal; mostly someone else contacting me. But I put effort into the second person against my better judgment (never again!), and that really made the whole episode upsetting. I've been upset about it for years; I was angry for years. Every time the memory crossed my mind, such a deep pitch black maelstrom of emotion clouded my mind, it seemed also to cloud my vision. I could form no coherent thoughts on the matter (and, in retrospect, that's probably why I could not get over it). I wondered that I could not even put it in this journal, but I see now that the lack of coherent thoughts left me with essentially nothing to post about it.

Now, I can see a little better; it is a thick gray rather than black. I was angry at myself. Aside from the fact that what she said to me took me quite by surprise (such surprises increase my anxiety because I know that I likely won't be able to predict and prevent them in the future), it's not easy to say why I have been so upset. There is just something profoundly upsetting about putting effort into people and having it go sour in a seemingly random, unexpected way. It's a powerlessness, I guess, and a profound disappointment; not so much a disappointment in any particular episode, but a sudden disappointment in the whole universe of possible interactions after it dawns that none of them are predictable, all of them could be like this one, and a massive psychological adjustment is necessary. I cannot do it justice with words. Yet.

But a great part of it (perhaps the greatest part) is that I did not listen to myself and stop the conversation when I should have. How many times have I wished with unspeakable bitterness that I'd simply stopped! Continuing was such a small thing, and I've certainly done worse, yet I've probably never regretted anything so dearly in my life. Nothing else I've ever done has had such an unbearable effect on me.

I'd decided not to trust myself, to try something new. I was not even terribly interested; I was happily absorbed in learning Japanese at the time, but I dragged myself out of my contentment and told myself that I would perhaps appreciate the fruits of my efforts in the future, that I need not content myself with so little. Fool I was. At least I have learned something crucial about myself.

This morning, I dreamt that I was going to marry Thom. A bunch of people were getting married at once, and we were in line. I'd apparently waited until the last minute to get my outfit together, and I left the line to go pick it out. I came back empty-handed, but Thom had something for me to wear; some unpleasant partially pink thing that had been folded into one of those dull pink cardboard cake boxes. I think she was wearing a pearl-colored tuxedo shirt and light-colored slacks.

Then the dream scene changed and I was at a couple of different elementary schools after school had let out. At the first one, I needed to use the restroom badly, and I was nervous about the people still on campus noticing me. I was hoping that I could pass for young (as I have before, albeit not that young). I went into a bathroom (happy that it hadn't yet been locked up), and began to use a urinal, but I had to go too badly to take the time for proper Stand2Pee form and ended up peeing all over the floor and my shorts.

Then I was out behind the second school, and the scene was rather bleak; a very overcast day on something that looked like a grey, damp, desolate beach in front of an old weathered dock made of very dark dying wood. I was waiting for a teacher there to grade something of mine. I stood off a distance, on a broad little mound of wet sand, while she scribbled on my paper. Either I'd completed the work in crayon or she was grading it in crayon. She was standing there looking down at the unfolded paper as a bit of wind whipped it and the ends of her hair about.

When she had finished, she set the paper down against a smaller mound of sand rather than handing it to me. Then she walked off. I went over to pick up the fluttering paper from the cold, gritty, hard-packed sand before it could be blown away, feeling vaguely upset about the way she'd returned it to me.

There is a rotting smell in the apartment, and I can't figure out where it's coming from.

I am after all tired at the customary time. Going to bed.
improperlyhuman: (Default)
I am making bank with my new client.

I am nearing the point of not needing to actively seek out new things to learn about editing. I am becoming An Editor.

I am still struggling with aggravating mechanical workflow problems, namely fitting my keyboard, mouse, and mousepad on the keyboard tray. I'm not even really using my standalone numeric keypad; there's no space for it.

Editing with text editing applications is too slow. I am now more motivated than ever to learn vim, but it is going to be a pain with the Colemak keyboard layout.

Last night I had a very disturbing nightmare about my sister. In the dream, I woke up and found some guy she knew at my house, along with a child of hers that was different (younger, and maybe a girl) than her actual child. I don't know what he was doing, but he was looking through my stuff and I was angry. Then he decided to leave the child with me!

The scene changed in that senseless way that scenes change in dreams, and then I was with said sister and our third sister in their home. I confronted the former about sending her boyfriend or whatever to my place, and she was irritated, tried to brush me off, wouldn't explain herself. Then she was about to leave and I began to question her more aggressively. She kicked me in my stomach and walked off! To be suddenly confronted with the fact that she would do such a thing (she is a very peaceful person) hurt at least as much as the kick.

So then our mom appeared in the kitchen and I was talking to her about the attack. She said something about my sister having been picked up, interrogated, and tortured for some information pertaining the guy who'd been at my house. She told me to look at my sister's hands, and I noticed with horror that several of her fingernails had been pried off. I awoke shortly thereafter.

The dream affected me so much, I considered calling my sister to ask if she was ok, even though I knew that it was just a dream and had nothing to do with what's happening in her life. Still in bed, I thought about the piece of trash that impregnated her and was very angry. I thought about all of the womyn who end up pregnant by men who care nothing about them and soon leave them. Yet if I tell any of the former to stop trusting men or at least stop engaging in ONE SPECIFIC ACT with men, I'm the bad guy. ("Bad guy" is one of the few sexed idioms that I don't change to a feminine form. It's an accurate phrase because the "bad" person usually is a guy, considering the worst forms of "badness.")

Sometimes I think it meet that idiots so stubbornly wedded to patriarchy suffer for their self-destructiveness. Maybe the suffering will snap them out of it, I think. But I know that patriarchy brainwashes females into self-destructive behavior, so I try to quash such thoughts. Merely a symptom of anger and frustration, they are not at all helpful. Gotta keep my eyes on the prize.

The novel Carol was beginning to irritate me because the protagonist was really becoming clingy and jealous. In the chapter I read today, the title character's husband is revealed to have put a private investigator on the trail of his wife and her new young...I hate the word "lover," it seems really seedy. I think it rubs me that way because I learned it in the context of a novel about an extra-marital affair.

Anyways, the book is set, I believe, in the 50s, and I don't think that I can stomach lesbian persecution (fictionalized, even) at this point in my life, especially not that old time lesbian persecution from which there was little or no escape.

Last week I downloaded a free Kindle book that catalogues old school lesbian-themed fiction. I suppose that I should have known how many depressing story lines were in store. All the plots consisted of some combination of nymphomania, murder, suicide, domination, womyn's prisons, and child abuse. Horrifying.

This morning, I also thought about "curing" some of my resentment by simply telling my mother that I feel uncomfortable with talking to her because I resent her poor parenting.

I read e-books during my morning cycle and I love the routine. I continue to steadily lose weight: 5 lbs. as of this morning. Give or take a pound, I've lost half of what I gained. It's so easy this time.

I've stopped eating in the evening, but night sweats are not as intense, just a damp neck is what I get. I can't even remember some nights because I'm sleeping so much better.

I Ran

Oct. 1st, 2015 10:32 am
improperlyhuman: (Default)
I finally got around to adding some cardio to my routine. I'd noticed that the lunges I did to warm-up for strength-training put me more out of breath than they worked my muscles, and I've begun doing way more of them than is necessary for a warm-up, so I decided to just shift them over to a totally different workout. It wasn't much of a plan. Eighty lunges is not a full workout, so, since I feel like running so much, I spontaneously decided to go out and run in between my sets of forty.

This is a big deal. I've never been able to run much. I was surprised at how far I could run the first time out. The two or three other times I'd tried to start a running routine, I hadn't been able to get so far, and I had to drag myself out of the house. Fatty junk food weighing me down, I guess. Aside from the mild headache I got, I felt quite good. Also, running without a bra wasn't so terrible. Hopefully, my breasts will shrink more so that it's even less terrible.

There are still two obstacles to overcome: the headaches and back pain. I know that I will need to have more fat on cardio days. I'm hoping that carb cycling will take care of that and my stalled weight loss. But low-carb vegan is difficult. The meal plans I'm working on are nearly 50% lipids (without added oils, which I'd strongly prefer to avoid) because there are so few low-fat, low-carb vegan foods that are filling. I know that I will starve to death trying to survive low-carb days on mostly vegetables. 50% fat may cause brain fog and lethargy, and just plain sounds unhealthy. Maybe I will try one day and see how it feels. The meal plan still lacks a dinner. I'm about out of food choices, and already over the recommended carb limit of 50 g. Perhaps I won't need to decrease carbs so low since I typically eat such a high-carb diet.

Every other time I've tried to run, I began to experience lower back pain about two weeks into the training. I never figured out why, just gave up on it. Maybe I'll try running with my back support thingie on. 

I was happy with myself for removing my last online dating profile a couple of days ago. Actually, I just remembered that I have one more, but the website is mostly dead and there's no picture of me there anyways. I'll get around to it. I was happy because I was being more realistic and on my way to draining the last vestiges of hope from myself. Hope can be a destructive thing.

Then I had a dream last night after my triumphant run. There were a lot of unaccountable details (it seemed I was a student at some strange place that was suddenly seeing a lot of government activity; I remember helicopters overhead as we having lunch in the courtyard), but the part that stood out was my being pursued by a handsome lady. I was hesitant to reciprocate (she didn't seem like my type), but she was persistent and somehow she ended up in my bedroom (I lived with my mom, yuck) and I ended up unclothed. As usual, I awakened at that point.

The dream was not unpleasant, but I was not pleased with it upon waking because it occurred to me that I was not so far over those emotional humps as I thought I was when I changed that profile to invisible. I guess the fact that I only changed the status, rather than deleting it altogether, is proof of the same, but I was content with that step, small though it may be. Long story short, I'm trying to save myself from misery. It's pretty much over for me, socially, and I may as well behave accordingly rather than trying to fight it.

I've a repulsive and time-consuming habit of imagining conversations that will never happen, often with random, imaginary shrinks, and I think that too is the operation of vestiges of social hope, although they always end poorly, with me being misunderstood and frustrated. Lately I've succeeded at snapping myself out of them, telling myself to give it up, that no one cares or will ever really hear anything I say, and to stick to posting into the void on my journal rather than living in these ridiculous mini-fantasies that I don't even enjoy. Maybe there's an unrecognized streak of masochism in me. I do it to myself, just like Radiohead said.

Oh nice. Misogynistic slur just arrived in my inbox.

So. In other news, I started a third MOOC day before yesterday, which is rather easy so far. It is called something like object-oriented Java programming, and is being sponsored or aided or something by Google. A handful of their employees have contributed short videos on programming in a real job. I think they contributed some of the map code we are building our project on, as well. I shouldn't really be spending time on this. My specialty is supposed to be scientific computing. But I am curious and there are just too many interesting MOOCs available.

Lately, I've noticed that all of my journal entries are rather long. Sometimes I just add and add crap to posts and never want to stop, and sit here for a while thinking of more crap. It's not easy to leave topics for the next day. I've had topics backed up in my head for years, I kid not.
improperlyhuman: truck tipping over on the highway (tipping truck)
I happened to notice a sticker on the back of my package of nori this morning. It warned that seaweed products contain chemicals known in California to cause cancer. Great. I love sushi and eat 10-15 sheets of this stuff per month, and I'm thinking, 'how am I going to get around this without giving up sushi?' Maybe the organic nori sheets, which cost more than double? I've paused over those organic nori sheets in the past, but since I thought "organic" meant inorganic-pesticide-free, and I couldn't think of a reason to use pesticide on sea vegetables, I didn't pay them much more attention. This sheds light on that mystery: perhaps organic means "no inorganic chemicals" or something. It means more than I thought it meant, at least.

Last night I dreamt that I was living with my whole dysfunctional family again, like when I was a kid. My dad was being a jerk and my older sister was pressuring me to go to church. The latter put me over the edge more than anything. I hate church. It is so utterly boring! Church services last forever, and the music at the ones I attended was much too loud. As a child, I used to look around during services to get some sort of stimulation, and there was this banner on the far wall that nearly drove me insane. It said something about a tabernacle. I didn't know what a tabernacle was (and still don't). I couldn't figure it out from context and it never occurred to me to ask anyone, yet I burned to understand. Actually, after studying this banner for weeks and weeks and weeks, I think I finally asked one of my older sisters what it meant. She didn't know!

Back to the dream: Strangely, the house was in my name. I dug up the paperwork to show the cops I was going to call, because I knew my dad would probably get violent once I said that I wasn't going to church and that he had to get out.

Dreams about my family have gradually decreased over the years, and I am more powerful and less afraid in each one of them. I used to wake up from them scared. And this is part of the reason that it so angered me when that proto-shrink in Berkeley decided that my early family life made me who I am today. It wasn't the fact that she was just guessing; there's also the the fact that she was simply wrong. I'm thirty-four years old; it's sloppy to assume that early life experiences still have enough of a hold on me to fuel a personality disorder.

Coming straight out of that household, I was depressed, but I wasn't anywhere near as asocial and alienated as I am now. I know the latter didn't come from my family life because I always thought that most people were not like my family. I most certainly did not project those experiences on people in general, and I was still trying to look normal at that point. It is hopeless, it seems; shrinks can never really know what is happening in one's mind, especially since they "listen" the normie way, reading into everything. I'm almost ashamed at my naiveté. I don't know how to spell that. It's the social naiveté that made me who I am today; that definitely wasn't in play in family life because I expected little or nothing from them as far back as I can remember.
I've begun standing at my desk again to burn more calories.

I've been thinking of asking my mom to stop calling me. Like, forever. I've been planning what I'm going to say to her, but I don't think she knows the meaning of the word "passive-aggressive." Oh, well. She never listens to me anyhow (or doesn't remember what I say), so I suppose it doesn't much matter whether or not I give her a reason.

improperlyhuman: truck tipping over on the highway (tipping truck)
This morning, horror of horrors, I dreamed that I was living with my mom, my dad's old "girlfriend" (who used to care for me when my mom was away), and some of their offspring. It was crowded and I was helping with caretaking. For some reason, my dad's girlfriend's son was still living in the shower even though my dad wasn't there to make him. What kind of mother allows a man to force her child to live in the shower for years? All about my opposition to the traditional family in another post.

So I decided to visit astramance after my caretaking duties were over. Like, popping over to France was no big deal. I don't remember why I went. She lived in this dark little place that was nothing like what her house actually looked like. So we chatted and I was going to leave after a few hours but she wanted me to stay for longer. I was very hesitant, but astramance said everything would be ok, so I decided to trust her.

So I spent the night in the living room, which had a bed in it, oddly enough, although I don't remember sleeping on it. Astramance woke me up next morning and I remembered that I hadn't really brought enough clothes and stuff to stay for days as I dragged myself into the dark back room to get cleaned and dressed. Then she went to wake up her girlfriend and the girlfriend was not pleased that I was there and things were awkward and I saw that I should not have listened to astramance.

Then two of my brothers were there, my full-blooded brother and my dad's girlfriend's younger son. They were kids again. So we all went out in the cold (all my memories of France are cold memories), and astramance's girlfriend went off with my brothers while astramance and I walked around some large store. When they came up to the cashier, I saw that she'd gotten them haircuts, and the haircuts looked goofy and I was pissed. Then I went off with the boys myself. The elder noticed a 99 cents store, one we have here in California, so we went in. It seemed bigger, with more stock, like a mini-department store. I decided to buy them some hats, scarves, and gloves. As I had them try on ski caps, it occurred to me that I hadn't any euros with which to pay. Then the dream began to break up and I awakened shortly thereafter.

So I'm off to Wal-mart today for coconut oil because my skin is beginning to suffer from my not moisturizing it regularly. Maybe some walnut oil for my desk too. I've a lot of energy today.
improperlyhuman: (thinking)
I can't even remember everything I was thinking, but I got it into my head earlier today to try a raw vegan diet. I think that my brains were addled by low blood sugar because my physical therapy appointment ran past lunchtime. When I got back from the appointment, I saw that there really wasn't much of anything to eat, so I decided, why not a trial run of this raw vegan thing? I went to the grocery store and bought five bananas. I ate four of them at once, and the fifth an hour or two later.

It was not a very satisfying meal. I felt full, but it was boring and it wasn't easy to choke down all that sugar. I'm rather sensitive to sweetness, and I haven't been able handle much fruit since I gave it up on the advice of university nutritionist right after I was diagnosed with hypoglycemia. The thought of eating fruit all the time is nauseating. I started looking for some raw vegan recipes.

I was not impressed. The diet is very limiting to someone who doesn't much care for fruit. I was looking at somebody's raw vegan website as a guide and there were a lot of foods that were not recommended for raw consumption due to digestion issues. Most of them were rather obvious. I've no interest in trying to manage raw yams or raw broccoli. I would be able to dispense with many kinds of cooked foods, but I don't know what I would do without the delicious sushi I have twice a month. I'm rather attached to my coconut flour and flax meal pancake breakfast as well.

Maybe I was attracted to the promise of increased energy and the hope of curing my migraines.

I love dreamwidth for caching my unsubmitted posts. I just knocked out the power plug and now I'm back to where I left off.

Anyways, riboflavin doesn't seem to be doing jack shit for migraines. Next on the list is magnesium. But I don't want to take any more vitamins. I think that it would be better to get magnesium from food. However, it's difficult to get sufficient vitamins on my current caloric intake. If all goes as planned, I'll be at this for another two months before I hit goal weight.

I'm rambling. Last night I dreamt that I was in some kind of leisure club for casual sex, which is odd because I'm icked out by casual sex. Oh, but the situation felt far from icky in the dream. It was in a big house and it was like the most happeningest sleepover. It was night and they were young and full of energy and the house was bright and inviting. Was I young? I felt young, but I wasn't really thinking about myself. I was unself-conscious. I found someone I liked and we played some sort of game that involved me chasing her through the levels of the house. Then we found an empty room. And dammit, before things could get interesting, I woke up! What's with that??? This isn't the first time it's happened with a sexy dream.

I wonder if I'll have vivid dreams tonight because of those bananas.

Someone from the Code Compliance division of the local PD returned my call and informed me that the rooster situation is illegal, and that she'd already reported the situation to Humane Animal Services or whatever (which is different than Animal Control?) with a unit number. Where did she get that unit number? From the cop who said she would get it "for me," apparently. I misunderstood and thought that she would tell me the number so that I could give it to Animal Control myself.

Well, we'll see. I forgot to get information about when the report is made, so I don't know when to expect some action. The rooster is most definitely still here.

From the same person who authored the raw vegan site, I got the idea to convert my pathetic little workstation into a standing workstation. I'd considered getting a standing desk before, but, far as I know, the closest available ones are at Ikea (which is far for me), are expensive, and are made out of toxic materials (I've since had my heart set on an unvarnished wooden desk). But dude is a minimalist and put his own crap together as a trial run, so I was inspired to do the same. I brought my laptop to the kitchen and set it atop a stack of science textbooks, which are resting on my old trumpet case, which is resting on the kitchen table. My keyboard is resting on my music stand, and this arrangement seems much better for my RSI.

I figured that I could squeeze a bit more calorie-burning power out of this old carcass by standing to work, and I do indeed move around more. Gotta burn as many calories as possible 'cause I can't reduce caloric intake any lower. Well, it was ok for a while, but my legs got tired and I called it quits for the day. I'll try to gradually work up to standing for the whole amount of time that I'm using the laptop.

I have a crush on my physical therapist. Womyn are just wonderful. I think that I'm now just a bit extra-quick to get crushes on people because I get no attention :( Pathetic. Another influential thing I read on this raw vegan website was in the section about overall health. Relationships are important to health. Unfortunate for me. If I'm truly dedicated to my health, I have to take care of that aspect as well. I can't just settle for no relationships anymore than I can settle for migraines and vitamin D deficiency. Yet, it's the hardest part, the part I have the least control over. Where do I find anyone who likes iconoclass.
improperlyhuman: (Default)
Last night, I dreamt that I had registered for a chess tournament. I don't play chess, but I have tried playing against my computer a few times, and I have a beginning chess book at my feet at this very moment.

I took a train to the city of the tournament, and missed my stop because I didn't recognize that it was the stop closest to the tournament fast enough to get off of the train before it started moving again. I got off at the next stop and walked back. I don't know why, but I had all three of my musical instruments with me (my trumpets, Fredericks II and III, and my clarinet). I arrived before the games had begun. The tournament was apparently being held in a dingy, oldish house. There were young people milling about the door and just inside of the house. I arranged my instruments side-by-side on a bottom shelf just inside the door and left.

Then I was somewhere else. There might have been a short intermission between parts of this dream. I was out on the edge of the wilderness somewhere, like at a visitors center in between some large green hills or mountains. We were next to a lake. At first, it was me and this guy. He was a keeper of the visitor center or something, cleaning up the area. I have the sense that we somehow communicated, even though I was milling about near the small building that housed the visitor center, and he was nearer the lake, too far away to speak to. I did the thing where I woke up from this dream, then went back to sleep, so the dream, especially this part, is hazy.

At some point, the guy wasn't a guy anymore, or maybe he'd gone and I hadn't noticed it. It seems that I had been sleeping for a very long time on a bench between the lake and a path leading down a gently-sloped hill, away from the small wooden building. I remember looking at a clock (though where I saw it is a mystery, as I was outdoors) and noticing that that I'd slept from ten a.m. until seven p.m. It was still daylight. There was a womon in place of the guy, and the emotions I felt towards her suggested that she was my girlfriend. There weren't many actions between us to indicate as much besides the jocular manner in which she spoke to me, and, perhaps, the license she gave me to run about the paths and things as she tidied up the area. I have a sense that there was another person there, but I don't remember seeing anyone. It was as if I felt the spirit of someone, one of sisters, it felt like.

I walked back and forth for a while, incredulous that I'd slept for so long, and gradually recognizing that I'd missed the chess tournament and becoming frustrated with myself for doing so. The keeper remained calm and continued about her duties, sweeping the concrete paths and such. When she was finally done, we got into her car. Then hazy, no clear memory. Then we were on the train heading back to the town of the tournament, along with the spirit, who had materialized into a more concrete person that felt less like my sister and more like an unrelated acquaintance. I was worried that my instruments had been stolen (as I had recently been during my waking life, when they were still in storage).

I rushed up to the house. The door was closed and the games were clearly over; the residents were in another room having dinner. It was a home again. My girlfriend was the first to work up the courage to knock. I wanted her to speak as well, but I knew that I had to take care of that part myself. A womon came to the door and I told her about my instruments. She let me in and I retrieved them from the shelf, glad that it was near the door and that I didn't have to further intrude into her home. We left. Then the dream ended.
improperlyhuman: (Default)
Last night I had an explicit and unusually vivid dream. Actually, only the sex, which started off the dream, was vivid. I can't clearly remember what happened in the rest of the dream except that I eventually left the room and went to the cafeteria and tried to get a meal. The whole place had a kind of summer camp feel to it despite the fact that we were all adults and I vaguely remember being there doing some kind of work. Something about the surroundings made me think of summer camp, possibly just strong sunlight streaming in through the windows and the fact that I had to stand in line to get food. I remembered more when I awoke from the dream, but I dozed back off a couple of times this morning and lost most of it.

I expected to be able to post more than this :(
Maybe next time I will get my lazy ass up instead of going back to sleep twice.
improperlyhuman: (Default)
The VA got me a new bed. The housing coordinator who found my apartment connected me to a charity organization that is searching for some used furniture to give me.

I'm sleeping well, but recently I can't fall asleep until late, or early in the morning, rather, about two or three A.M. I'm having dreams, rather vivid dreams, every single night. I've been eating a lot more fruit lately, and it has occurred to me that this might be having the same effect as processed sugar.

Last night, I dreamed that I was homeless and living in a van again, except I had a child with me. The kid was either my nephew or a dream amalgam heavily based on my nephew. I had recently begun hanging out with another homeless womon. She had decided that she was going to Paris to seek a better life, and I was considering going with her. Then the dream shifted and I was in Paris, alone and with very little, as if I had decided on a whim to check it out first before committing to live there for a longer time period.

There was that penetrating French cold again. I went into some sort of center, like a Ministry of Education or something, and looked around. I didn't have much money. I wandered into a place that looked like a storage or coat room. There was money lying about on tables, and I grabbed some of the coins. After I'd left the room and was making for the front door, and felt little knobs or hooks on the edges of the coins. I decided that they were probably coat check tokens rather than money.

I woke up in a vaguely depressed mood. I was suddenly thinking about my poor linguistic achievements and the possibility that they are caused by auditory processing disorder. This is depressing because I wouldn't have much control over it. This is the first time I can recall ever having felt academically trapped, unable to improve, unable to live up to my own expectations, inadequate. I do not like that feeling at all. I can read rather well, but the auditory part of languages has always been a struggle. I have to force myself to pay attention to the recordings. I can't put up with anything even remotely as long as a movie. It irks me to no end that I'm not textually familiar with all of the words in the dialogue because that is the only hope I have of picking up on them auditorily. I have to have a picture of the word in my mind to even recognize it when it is spoken.

This is part of the reason why, probably the main reason why, I got a bit obsessive with my vocabulary drills when I was in France. I knew from years of experience that there was no hope of learning much via listening. I remember starting my drills one day, and astramance said that I should practice speaking and listening more, and that I couldn't learn the language by drilling text. I was angry with her. I think that underneath that anger was frustration. I didn't know how to explain to her that what she suggested wouldn't work. I doubt I could even have consciously explained it to myself.

This is also why I haven't been drilling even though my due vocabulary is piling up. I need to be connected to the Internet so that Google TTS can pronounce the words for me as I look at the text. Putting the text together with the pronunciation is how I compensate for my poor auditory skills, and I don't want to miss the opportunity for that auditory reinforcement by drilling at my Internet-bereft apartment, where I would be forced to read the cards in silence.

So. Good I got that out of my system. In general, I don't care too much about how my auditory whatever affects my life and that there's no cure and not many treatments, but it would be nice to be better at languages. As I like to say, the more languages one knows, the more womyn to which one has access.
improperlyhuman: (Default)
In today's mail I received a letter indicating that I am close to the top of the list for the Section 8 housing voucher program in one of the counties up north for which I applied. I didn't expect this to happen so soon! If I want to move there, I will have to get my cash assistance transferred. I'm not sure that this is possible. Some quick Internet searching only turned up inter-county transfer information for the Cash Aid Program for Immigrants — nothing about the cash assistance programs for parents or indigent non-parents. I am going to be right pissed if immigrants can transfer their cash assistance and I cannot.

Last night I had a vivid dream about being on a sort of work-date. Well, only one part was vivid — my date's body and what that felt like. I was with someone and we were getting very friendly but couldn't get as friendly as we wanted to because we were babysitting three or four boys. The kids kept running in and out of the house. When it was time for us to send them home, we couldn't get in contact with the parents. Weird. I didn't have any sugar yesterday, not even any juice.

Bad Day

Feb. 18th, 2014 04:37 pm
improperlyhuman: (Default)
I knew this would happen eventually. I dropped something into a pitcher of my own urine: My cellphone. It seemed to be working fine, so I left it alone. Then I received a call and couldn't hear anything. The phone is stuck in headset mode, having detected a phantom headset connected to it. I have no idea where the headset is, nor do I remember where my earbuds are, assuming they will connect to it. I opened it to get the model number for tech support and discovered a bit of wetness inside. I shut it off to let it dry out.

I went uptown to my favorite thrift store yesterday because the library was closed. I've been kind of desperate for science fiction to read lately. I was possessed to purchase some Michael Crichton books, knowing how much I dislike modern fiction, but thinking it's better than nothing. I regret my decision. About twenty pages in and I was throwing the book across the room (I do that a lot nowadays). Actually, I threw it across the "bedroom" portion of the van and cussed it out during it's flight. Enraging piece of trash; I'm so tired of authors who let their white characters romp through their novels as default people but simply must give the coloreds a color label. It's just not enough to let us know that a man is a mathematician; we must put that race label out there so that the reader doesn't get the idea that we are dealing with a regular person. Michael Crichton's characterization is stilted and futile as it is, and it's an aggravating waste of time to have to go through physical descriptions of the scientific team at the beginning of every book. Who the hell cares what they look like?! It's fucking science fiction. This is why I prefer old books.

I received a voicemail from my intake shrink five days ago. The stupid phone apparently didn't register it until yesterday (this was before it got wet). She said, "they've decided you don't have autism." I don't quite understand that statement because I thought that she was in on the decision as well. This organization's operations are mysterious to me, and I am angry that I still have not received the goddamned paperwork, because I have no idea what to think of that decision without knowing their reasoning. She said that I have the right to request an appeal (more information in the mail!), but I don't think that I'll bother if they are going to do the same sort of kid-centric evaluation process as before. There is a specialist who works with adults and females in the Sacramento area; I could try to get Obamacare to pay for that, but it's going to take some energy and some fighting, and it wouldn't be in time for my hearing anyhow. I'm a bit tired of the whole thing, and maybe they're right and too many of my symptoms are subclinical, but I'm irritated that I've still yet to receive a comprehensive evaluation, which would at least give me more information about myself, and be cool and interesting as well.

My hearing! is in less than two weeks. I'm diagnosed with Schizoid PD, which has been removed from the DSM, and isn't even disabling, as far as I can tell from the criteria. I'm not even sure of all the diagnoses the local shrink gave me. I think there was Personality Disorder NOS and social anxiety, and he also wrote suspected Asperger's Syndrome. At least PD NOS is more accurate than SPD. I don't know what the hell is going to happen at this hearing, what with all these different fucking diagnoses. In my dreams, the judge is impressed by the fact that the military discharged me and we don't really have to go into much else for her to approve my case. Or she looks at all these diagnoses from all these different people, along with the problems with my wrists/arms/hands and the migraines I reported, and sees overwhelming evidence, without going into too much detail concerning each separate condition.

For my part, I think that the local shrink's opinion seems the most accurate. In recent history, he has seen me the most often. On the other hand, there is the therapist I saw for a year back at university. I wonder that she never voiced suspicion of Asperger's syndrome, given that I spent the whole therapy session playing or drawing and rarely looking at her. I would force myself to look at her from time to time because I knew that it was expected of me, not necessarily by her, but by people in general. I don't even bother with that shit now.

Last night I dreamt that I was with Bruce Willis in some sort of buddy/action movie. We went out to eat somewhere late in the evening. I paid with a ten-dollar bill and the server fucked up and gave me change as if I had paid with a hundred-dollar-bill. Bruce and I tried to get out of there before he realized his mistake, but the server caught up with us outside the establishment. I played dumb, as if I really had given him a hundred, and we drove off while he stood there confused and thinking. Bruce rode shotgun. It was really late and we ended up accidentally trespassing in a lot somewhere at a dead end past a dark street of trailer parks. I think someone from the lot was after us and a car chase was afoot when the dream ended.

Night before that (night before I got the shrink's voicemail, strangely), I dreamt that I'd gone back to the regional center to receive my evaluation results. A bunch of my younger siblings were there, but they were children (they are all young adults now). One was tied up (with like string or something) because she had some sort of condition that caused her to physically attack people. She doesn't have anything like that, or at least she didn't; I haven't seen her in years. She was also a boy. And European. Not much happened in this dream; my intake shrink gave me a couple more tests, then all the kids were gone somehow (the one untied and allowed to use a computer in an adjacent room) and she sat down with me on the couch to discuss my results. Across the room, the rolling chair in which she'd been sitting somehow fell out of the window behind her desk (we were on the second floor, which I've never even seen), creating a terrific noise. We looked over and saw it dangling down the side of the building; it was tied to something in the office.

Night before that, I dreamt that I was Jean Grey The Phoenix! I did a ton of climbing and flying over buildings. At times I saw myself from behind, as if I were watching a video game character. I think that I was a bit out of control; the other X-Men were trying to catch me and I passed by Professor Xavier looking very concerned as he sat in his wheelchair.

I have been reading a very interesting book entitled Sugar Blues. Much of it is a history of the west's discovery, production, advertising, exporting, and pseudoscience of refined sugar, and the massive amount of damage it, along with refined carbs in general, has effected on the world's health. It's a new chapter in an old story: basically Western Europe (mainly Great Britian, France, and Germany, actually) is the worst thing the world has ever endured. This book was written in the seventies. The author tells of his own medical woes, discovering the information about the dangers of sugar, and his subsequent healing after eliminating it from his diet.


Feb. 15th, 2014 12:08 pm
improperlyhuman: (dark Mulder)
I'm up to having like three dreams per night, but I can't remember them so well anymore. At first I thought it was because I was cutting out the sugar; that might be true to an extent (but then why would the number of dreams increase?) but they tend to occur somewhere in the middle of the sleep cycle, rather than shortly before I wake up, thus fading from memory.

I had a suitor last night, a soccer player with a Scottish accent to die for (that's how I felt in the dream, at least). I told him that I was a lesbian, but he kept pursuing me. Then something happened that brought us closer together. I think we were abducted together. I remember crawling out of some dark place behind a washing machine with him as we escaped. Bizarrely, there was a couple there that had apperently recently escaped from the washing machine; they had liquid washing detergent and water on their faces.

So, I decided to go with the flow and hang out with the guy. I guess he was a soccer nut because he wore his uniform everywhere. At some point, he took me out to a soccer field to show me something about the goals. He was down on one knee at the front right edge of the goal, and I was lying on the grass to his right, my head propped up on my right hand. I looked up at him and he stopped talking and gave me the most loving look a human being ever bestowed upon another. He was so palpably crazy about me, I was speechless and awed. It was the best thing I'd ever felt, asleep or awake. He took my head in his hands and kissed my forehead. Without breaking contact, he then licked my forehead. True to waking iconoclass' tastes, I liked the licking more than the kissing. Then we broke contact. I was sort of staring off into space as I tried to process what the hell was going on, but his leg was in my line of sight, and so that's what my eyes settled on.

It rose above me, clothed in a uniform sock. The powerful knee filled my vision, knotted and craggy with muscle, sparsely covered with thin, reddish hairs that clung to the pale skin. And I knew that the physical attraction would never be there.

Then I woke up.

Brain Fog

Feb. 10th, 2014 08:18 pm
improperlyhuman: (dyke)
Last night, I dreamt that k.d. lang came to town (actually, it seemed like I was living in another town, not my present location). I came across her shopping in a small, crowded food market on a sunny afternoon. I tried to play it cool and not behave like an obsessed fan. I went about my way doing my shopping, but tried to subtly position myself where she would notice me. It didn't work. She finished her shopping (did she not buy anything, or was it the lack of details in my dreams?) and went out to her vehicle parked at the curb, a monstrously huge pickup truck. Somehow she suddenly had an baby in her arms, a cute bespeckled blonde boy that she carried roughly and awkwardly by the arm to be strapped into the back seat.

I sat and watched her go, stupidly wondering at what had transpired. Suddenly, I felt someone touch me, on the shoulder I think it was. It was the sexy lady from the clinic! I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life; if I couldn't get a date with k.d., who's appearance had thrown me all in a tumult of feelings, SL was definitely my next choice. She was sitting close with a radiant smile. We exchanged a few words and decided to hang out. We went somewhere, a basketball court? and suddenly I had a skateboard and was doing flip tricks and actually landing them rather than injuring my feet like I normally would be doing. We didn't do much besides walk around the court a bit, and then I woke up.

My brain has not been working well this past week. There are several things that I've been planning to post about; but I've too much brain fog to undertake such an intellectually taxing endeavor. It would take forever to think of the words. I haven't even been studying much; that's what makes this stand out to me so well as strange: I'm a NUT for studying. I spend a lot of time sitting in my van not getting things done, staring off into space while my mind spins its wheels, trying to stop myself but not having the energy. I assume this is due to me not sleeping well of late. It takes me forever to get up in the morning, and the mere knowledge that it's bath day (which is every other day) is paralyzing in its implications for requisite energy output. I was supposed to run an errand to the bank today and couldn't manage it. I try to avoid scheduling errands and bath day on the same day.

I have become a huge fan of Tony Bennett overnight. This officially marks me as an Old Person.
improperlyhuman: (Default)
Last night I dreamt that I was in physical education class with some girls I went to school with. It was a swimming lesson. At night. Some of the girls were on motorcycles near the pool, and some were revving the engines. I asked the girls closest to me what they were doing with motorcycles. They told me not to discuss it. I guessed that the motorcyclists had become gang members.

I had a second dream right after the other. I was on the highway at night, peddling a big black SUV. I was going too slowly. There was some traffic, and I was a bit more anxious than I usually am on the freeway. I finally came upon an off-ramp, risked my life changing lanes (as usual), and somehow ended up stuck in a very tall tree next to the off-ramp in/on my bike/SUV. I was like balancing on the peddles on one foot to keep from falling and killing myself on the pavement far below. Someone stopped on the off-ramp and helped me to get a foot onto the rail, so that I was in a better position to extricate myself.

I had a third dream, but I've forgotten it now. I'm rather certain that these dreams are caused by the stevia I've been consuming. I started drinking a lot of tea in the evenings several weeks ago, and that was roughly the point at which the dreams began. For a couple of nights last week, I tried switching to raw sugar. The result was insomnia.

I received notice today that I have been placed on the Sonoma county section 8 waiting list. I hope they have some places there that aren't ghettos.
improperlyhuman: (Default)
Men's shower scene featuring the guy who played Harry Potter playing around with some other guy, taking the soap from one another.

My older half-sister (the one who died of colon cancer) had a huge Batman-like mansion. She decides to take her...vehicle?...out. A large grey flying thing shaped like a rectangular prism with rounded edges, and with great maneuvreability. She started out taking me and her two assistants with her, then decided to leave me behind to look after the mansion and flew off through the rest of the system of pipes/tunnels (above the mansion, not below). Her two assistants also stayed behind, and somehow I knew they wanted to get back to the mansion before me so that they could work some sort of shenanigans, so I had to race back through the tunnels (a long run, with lots of obstacles, much of it uphill somehow) to beat them back there.

Last night there was some sort of prom on the horizon, and in my dream there were two teenage couples preparing for the festivities. One was named Dagny. The others, I've no idea what their names were.

There was another I can't even remember. I never have this many dreams, and never so vivid! I did a search on the cause and sleep deprivation stood out to me as I experienced insomnia for a few nights last week.

The L-Word

Jan. 14th, 2014 04:58 pm
improperlyhuman: (Default)
I had another vivid, messed up dream last night. I realized that I get these when I eat fast food, but I didn't have any fast food or even junk food yesterday.

I snuck into some apartments. I don't know how I got in, the dream started with me sneaking down a hallway. It was daytime I think; no one home. I came back again late that night. The apartments were somehow absurdly connected, so that I could get into all of them by entering one of them. I was wearing a backpack. I stole a fishing pole, of all things. I'd decided that I was going to try fishing in the little stream – more like a trickle of water – out back behind the apartment complex. Complex! There were only about six separate apartments in the building.

I've never been interested in fishing. Seemed brutish even before I saw the light of Veganism. I wonder, if people stop by and happen to read my journal, do they know that I am being silly when I post things like "the light of Veganism"? I look back through my journal entries, and there is so much sarcasm, and in the most inappropriate places.

I felt very bad about stealing the fishing pole, yet I took it anyways. I went out back to do my fishing, and, tardily, realized how shallow the water was, and that it was too dark to do anything. Instead of taking the back stairs to the street, I went back through the apartments, couldn't find my way out, went back and forth through rooms as people were waking up, and someone spotted me. A woman confronted me. I panicked and told her that I was off my medication while I fiddled with windows in a desperate attempt to exit any way possible. I'd lost my backpack at some point. I got away before the police arrived.

Perhaps a day or two later, I received notice that my sister had been harmed in some way. I was sitting in a vehicle, taking the call on my cellphone as I watched Matt Damon walk by. Some scenes from Good Will Hunting sort of mixed in with the dream, but it was all muddled and I can't remember any of that. I went to visit my sister. She was at some sort of crisis center, which happened to be located a couple of blocks down the road from the apartment complex. The first time I went there, the staff did a great deal of talking and I didn't have much of a chance to speak with her. I returned something like the next day. I was riding there on some sort of scooter-like contraption. I came across a bunch of plain-clothes police officers attending the scene of a fire. A couple of young women who recognized me from the apartments happened to arrive. To get back at me for my breaking-and-entering, they lied and told the police officers that I had started the fire. My scooter was confiscated (it came apart into two pieces, a trumpet and some sort of rolling thing), and the officers detained me. I awoke shortly thereafter.

Abrupt change of topic. For some months, I have been floating along on a peaceful cloud of social disinterest. Some discussion I had online (I can't even remember which one by now) was the straw that broke the camel's back, and the fire of human-hatred has been roaring unabated in my profoundly injured breast. The endless injuries of Fortunato, that rat bastard! I'd suffered them best I could; at last I'd wall him up, not inside but outside. A wall between me and them all, wall of fire. Glorious side-effect: no loneliness, for how can one desire the company of those she hates? Not that I suffered from much loneliness before that. Hence the schizoid diagnosis. But there was some. Well, it was GONE for a while, and I wanted it to stay gone. To desire the company of others is a straight-up liability.

Then, I woke up one morning about a week, week-and-a-half ago. A morning that had seemed to be just like any other. But wasn't, for a much different fire burned, and rather lower than the breast area.

And she conquered the mighty and the meek alike, and clouded their minds and controlled their wills. And her name was Lust. And there was her quieter sister, Loneliness.

Dark, grasping emptiness inside of me, come back again. Endless, fruitless quest through foreign terrain. Without the backpack full of necessities.

So I'm ready to not be homeless anymore. I need electricity too.
improperlyhuman: (Default)
The night before last, I had a very peculiar dream. I woke up at 3 a.m. in tears and wrote it all down so that I wouldn't forget the details.

I was with Monica. We were having sex on the floor. Very good sex. On of her specialties, but I won't go into details. I didn't pay attention to where we were in the dream or after I woke up, but, thinking about it now, we were almost certainly in the house in which I grew up, on the carpet off to the right of the top of the stairs leading from the dining room to the downstairs living room, right next to the railing. It was very dark in the house, just the way I like.

I was having psychological issues. I don't know how else to put it because I can't say exactly what was going on in my head, but something did not feel right. Monica figured this out and asked me what was wrong. I couldn't tell her; I did not have words or even coherent thoughts about it. This was unusual for me, but the feeling did not stimulate the intellect much. It was very purely emotional, and it was rather overwhelming. I kept asking her to stop so that I could gather or compose myself mentally.

She said something to me in understanding but firm tones about getting over it. I didn't want to stop the activities completely, so we just kept pausing and then going at it again. After one final, longish break, we started again. I was much more relaxed this time because of what she had said to me and because what she said and how she had said had indicated that she wasn't upset or weirded out. Sex was much better this time. I was more drawn into it and less afraid of what was happening or would happen in my mind.

I began having the same "vision" I had been having previously. Not really a vision. It was abstract, and I was conscious of the fact that I was seeing it in my mind's eye rather than hallucinating, yet I had no sense of having thought of it myself. It was as if something else had put it in my mind, but more clearly than things typically bring pictures to mind. It became clearer. I didn't shy away, but "looked" straight at it, with wonderful physical sensations filling the background of my mind, like a strong wind forms a solid background of a day at the beach, so that it figures in the memories just as strongly as the beach and the activities. I felt emotions that seemed sort of...incomplete and not entirely coherent. They were "growing" and rising in my consciousness.

I cannot identify the object of the "vision." I've never seen it before, but it very strongly suggested a mathematical diagram. As the experience progressed, I had a strong sense that it measured "how much" of something related to my experience, as a function of time. It was a tall structure, transparent like plastic, rectangular but with a flared out a bit at the base. I never looked directly at the base, only saw it peripherally. Inside this long, narrow box was the "graph." It was made of something like semi-rigid hairs of the head (straight, silky hairs). They moved in concert, flaring up and down at a moderate pace. I cannot identify the color of most of the hair structure; the top was definitely red (looking just like the top of someone's haircut had been dyed red and parted down the middle, the rest of the hair graph flared out slightly into two parts, like hair flowing down the sides of the head). I had a sense that the rest of it was either green, purple, or brown (in fewer places), either at different moments, or all at the same time, maybe like something that appears to be different colors in different light or when tilted different ways in light. I was mostly looking down on this structure from slightly behind it (not straight down). The background of my field of vision was a uniform, smooth, soft dark grey in all directions, but there was enough luminosity (not from any particular identifiable source, but almost uniform, and somewhat brighter around the graph structure). The graph was very clear against this background, the red bright like a picture on a white textbook page. The hairs flared continuously.

My emotional state began to come to a head. For the past few days, I had been looking up and thinking about a psychology book which suggests that certain mental problems arise from a psychological state of separation between body and mind, the mind not identifying with the body. This book had been mentioned on a schizoid forum. I had been thinking about this during the last pause or at the beginning of this sex...cycle, I guess I'll call it. It gradually dawned on me that I had become more strongly in touch with my body since beginning of this sex cycle, not because of the more intense sensations (oddly), but because of intense emotions. I suddenly saw myself in a very vulnerable, "primitive" state of consciousness. Everything was sensory or emotional. It was like part of my consciousness had split off into an infant self in which senses and emotions predominated; the adult mind was connected, and observed the sensory and emotional experience, but only had dully manifested intellectual reactions of fear/WTFness that were not felt or noticed by the infant. Communication was one way in this sense. I sort of saw through the infant's eyes, not the real world, but what I imagine to be an infant's version of the vision space: no objects distinguished themselves; there were only shifting and overlapping two-dimentional patterns. They were not the natural patterns of everyday life, such as flowers or wallpaper or the bars of a crib, but very idealized patterns of stripes and bland, greyish squares of solid color. As I remember them now, I notice that they resembled the artwork of Piet Mondrian (which I happen to like, despite my general disinterest in abstract art), but the boundaries between the different patterns were far less pronounced.

The infant self was content, curious, vaguely expectant, so that there may have been some slight anxiety, but the lack of intensity of the feeling made it difficult to tell. The emotions stirred up by the sex were becoming very strong, overwhelming, even beyond the feelings that had overwhelmed me before. I'd say about 10% of my adult mind wanted Monica to talk to me (as had sometimes been her wont) so that I could snap the fuck out of my mental state. Another part of my adult mind wanted her to touch touch me somehow in addition to what she was already doing to bring the emotional evolution to its denouement. Simultaneously, I feared the latter, knowing somehow that it would takeme to a point of no return: emotions, over a foundation of physical sensations, would constitute the whole of my psychological experience, so that I would not be able to "escape" from the situation, to distance myself via the intellect if the event proved too intense to bear. I would be connected to her, inextricably so, for some moments (until we stopped having sex, I imagined), and thus totally vulnerable in a sense to whatever she wished to communicate to me physically or emotionally, unable to close myself to the experience. I found this frightening. Silent tears fell from my eyes in the dream. Then, I woke up. Tears were in my eyes and they fell as I sat up.

The interesting thing about this dream is that, in the psychology literature, schizoid individuals are described as existing in great fear of being overwhelmed, smothered, engulfed, and so forth, by other people. This is part of what drives them away from people. What is also a bizarre coincidence, before I went to bed that day, someone had posted a link to a list of 25 must-read books. Freud's The Interpretation of Dreams was last on the list, and I found it a bizarre inclusion and replied to the post to this effect.
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