Oregon is Burning

5 Sep

Today is the second anniversary of my mother’s birthday since her death. Add to that, it looks like the apocalypse outside. And that sociopath is dismantling DACA. I’m not in a good mood.

I’m not the only one freaking out over the hazardous air quality. The following is a letter I’m about to hand-write to my senators and representative:

Dear Senators,

Portland is snowing ash. Portland, Eugene, and other parts of Oregon look like the sky right in front of me: smoky and somewhat orange, with a glowing orange sun. For days, I have been smelling smoke, sometimes even from inside my house. When I ventured outside yesterday—coughing, mind you—I discovered that the public pool was closed due to the hazardous air quality, so I went to a nearby coffee shop, where several of the customers were wearing surgical masks. That reminded me of the handmade cloth masks I saw for sale in Tibet, and I’m going to make myself one today. I should have already done so.

I am absolutely FURIOUS that the narcissistic sociopath squatting in the White House pretends that climate change doesn’t exist and is an invention of the Chinese! Who from planet Earth doesn’t believe in climate change in the year 2017?!? This is proof that Donald Dump and his minions are aliens from another planet, probably Rexicoricus…whatever it’s called. Dump needs to be deported back to his planet.

We need to care about the planet we live on, which is planet Earth. We need to have a government that isn’t so evil and insane that it pretends that climate change doesn’t exist. We see it happening before our very eyes. Oregon is burning. Texas and Louisiana are drowning in flood. We are seeing record high temperatures everywhere. Meanwhile, that heartless monster Donald Dump is fiddling.

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Venturing out into the smoke

4 Sep

Portland is snowing ash. Portland, Eugene, and other parts of Oregon look like the sky right in front of me: smoky and somewhat orange, with a glowing orange sun. For days, I have been smelling smoke, sometimes even from inside my house. When I ventured outside yesterday—coughing, mind you—I discovered that the public pool was closed due to the hazardous air quality, so I went to a nearby coffee shop, where several of the customers were wearing surgical masks. That reminded me of the handmade cloth masks I saw for sale in Tibet, and I’m going to make myself one today. I should have already done so.

I am absolutely FURIOUS that the narcissistic sociopath squatting in the White House pretends that climate change doesn’t exist and is an invention of the Chinese! Who from planet Earth doesn’t believe in climate change in the year 2017?!? This is proof that Donald Dump and his minions are aliens from another planet, probably Rexicoricus…whatever it’s called. Dump needs to be deported back to his planet.

We need to care about the planet we live on, which is planet Earth. We need to have a government that isn’t so evil and insane that it pretends that climate change doesn’t exist. We see it happening before our very eyes. Oregon is burning. Texas and Louisiana are drowning in flood. We are seeing record high temperatures everywhere. Meanwhile, that heartless monster Donald Dump is fiddling.

On a more cheerful note….

Before painting the living room, I bought enough burgundy/cream paisley for the front living room window curtains, but I painted the walls crimson instead of burgundy. The curtains look great with the maroon and magenta guestroom; since it has 2 windows, I went shopping for more curtain fabric. I didn’t find it, but I found spacecat fabric for a 1950s-style dress.

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Publishing Plans

12 Aug

Using Create Space, Amazon’s publishing platform, I shall self-publish two novels in October 2017: a Middle Grade fantasy novel that’s the beginning of a series, Rowanwick Witches; and a magical realism novel for adults, Skeleton from the Closet.

I self-published my travel memoir, Every Day is Magical: A Buddhist Pilgrimage in India and Nepal, which is available on Amazon.com (as will be the novels). For other novels, I intend to keep querying literary agents and small presses.

 

Victim-Blaming Politicians

8 Aug

I received my first packet from Hand-Written Revolution, and after filling out postcards based on the writing prompts (including writing to that psycho Betsy DeVos and that other psycho, Steve King–not the horror writer), I wrote the following letters to my Senators:

Dear Senator,

The Secretary of Miseducation, Betsy DeVos, is such an extreme victim-blaming misogynist that she has consulted with so-called “Men’s Rights activists” (translation: men’s “rights” to oppress and rape women) about pretending that victims of campus rape falsely accuse their rapists. She wouldn’t have been nominated by Donald Dump if she were a real woman rather than a power-tripping, stupid white male trapped in a woman’s body. On-campus rape is a very real and nightmarish epidemic, as is rape in general. Only a psychopath would pretend otherwise. Being the victim of rape is horrific enough without additionally being put on trial and insanely accused of making it up. In this country, one out of every six women has been raped, and so have some men.

If this monster were a competent Secretary of Education, she would be addressing the real problem: the epidemic of campus rape and rape culture. If she were competent, she would do all she can to prevent campus rape and help the victims, not make their life more hellish. This monster needs to either wake up or resign, as do all the incompetent monsters Donald Dump nominated.

And here’s the other letter:

Dear Senator,

Representative Steve King is more frightening than a horror novel. He wants to cut funding for food stamps and Planned Parenthood to cover the costs of an overtly racist and xenophobic wall between Dumplandia and Mexico. His claims are erroneous, sadistic, sociopathic, and idiotic, as is his using fatphobia against poor people.

Defunding food stamps and Planned Parenthood is class and gender warfare. Defunding them for the sake of building that wall is nothing less than class, gender, race, and international warfare.

 

Violent Dream

5 Aug

What was I dreaming about before I woke to Virginia vomiting? And while it was dark, what was I dreaming about before waking to the sound of a cat fight (and going outdoors…to discover that it was happening several doors down and the sound really carries, which is reassuring because it means my cats aren’t the cause of such noises, never mind that I still intend to have a catio).

Toward the end of this dream, the guy who was probably the protagonist stepped out of a building (where he had been conversing with a female friend) and into what looked like a large garage. There was space for many vehicles. He approached his, when someone came up behind him. This someone was a Hispanic guy with a gun, and Guy 1 was in trouble because of something he did in the past. The Hispanic guy spoke with him, and like in a TV show, it came out in the conversation what he previously did. Guy 2 was just about to shoot Guy 1, when a Hispanic woman came into the garage and shot Guy 2, thus saving Guy 1.

There was a lot more to the dream before that. I think it was mainly a conversation in a bar. Now that I’m a little more awake, it seemed more than a little like a TV show. It’s the second violent dream I’ve had in the past, oh, month.

My Latest Dreams

4 Aug

I dreamed I was walking on a beach, the same one I really did walk on yesterday. But I think I was a black woman wearing a gold dress, and I was invited to a wedding and there was stuff about fashion.

I had a dream from a secret agent’s perspective, in which I went to my boss’s office, and it was a huge, dark room in which you couldn’t see the walls, just the tall desk where she sat or stood and a podium facing her. Another was there, and he was very unpleasant and hostile, and the boss said with his personality he was unsuited for this case, and she wanted me to take it. I met a couple of white women who were psychologically traumatized; maybe I was saving them from their abductor. One had shoulder-length blond hair and was in her 30s or 40s.

Earlier, I dreamed something more interesting than the secret agent dream, but when I woke from that dream Gabriel was purring and head-butting me, and I didn’t have the heart to shift positions in order to reach over and grab my glasses and phone in order to write about the dream; I probably would have disturbed Gabriel in the process, and he would have jumped off the bed. Instead, I petted him…and fell back to sleep before having the secret agent dream.

A few nights ago, I dreamed I was at my parents’ house and they were both alive and in the other room, while I was in my old bedroom and going through my closet in a search for something to wear. Unlike in many dreams, the dream version of the house looked just like it did in this reality. I kept finding stuff I wore as a teenager, especially skirts made of double knit, and I made a huge double-knit pile on my bed (to get rid of, of course). I had a pile of other clothing, probably cotton blouses I made as a teen. I found a black late Victorian-style jacket I made in my 30s, which I still have.

I read that dreaming that you’re having trouble deciding what to wear means you are looking for a new identity.

Bad Mood, Hot Weather, and Housepainting

23 Jul

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Bad mood. Not sure why. Heatwave? Thanks to climate change, this summer is nonstop heatwaves.

It seemed to start when I was masking the stairs (to paint the tops of the steps dark brown), and my forehead was sweating. Halfway down the stairs, my forehead was sweating profusely, and I took a break, even though this brought up memories of The Worst Frenemy in the Galaxy harassing me for having unfinished projects and I could hear her voice in my head judging me because I didn’t go ahead and get the whole stairway masked in one fell swoop (since of course the way she does things is the only way to do them, and the way I do things is wrong because everything about me is wrong and bad). I haven’t seen that parasite in a year, but she’s still in my head.

While I took a break, I had a frozen fruit bar and read a portion of a book on empaths, and I felt really sad while reading it and nearly started crying while reading and taking notes. According to this book, empaths sometimes unconsciously resort to depression because depression reduces empathy. Reading this made me feel depressed.

I briefly looked back over the latest chapter I’m sharing with my novel critique group (and got annoyed at my computer, which claimed that someone else was working on the document and that I could only open it in read-only, so I created a new document). My bad mood includes irritation at sweating and at my uncooperative computer; depression in response to reading about depression; indecision and a feeling of being overwhelmed because I’ve been painting and masking and think I should also be putting up curtain rods, which involves standing on something to reach up and use the electric drill and hope it goes smoothly. Such mechanical tasks are only likely to put me in a worse mood or bring back the bad mood.

Last night I finished reading Neil Gaiman’s novel Neverwhere (for the eighth time, but this time it was the “author’s preferred text). I had decided to read it because my period was just ending and I wanted to read something fun rather than something that might provoke a bad mood, such as a book on boundaries or a book on empathy. And I just felt like reading it (something that The Worst Frenemy in the Galaxy disapproved of—how dare I read books I feel like reading rather than bore myself with books she prefers!

Anytime I meet someone who says they’re an INTP, I shall as politely as possible inform them that I want to never see them again, because INTPs are arrogant pieces of shit, based on that one…of course, she’s also a sociopath and a narcissist with BPD, which has more than anything else to do with her being an arrogant piece of shit, but still, someone who’s dismissive of my emotions and thinks that thinking and intellectual snobbery is more important than emotions is clearly toxic and unfit company for me or any other empath).

During that little break, when I was about to send the critique group the chapter I just revised, I had the irksome experience of receiving a text message from Lawnmower Man. I’ve reached the point that I am acutely aware of feeling annoyed with him and practically dreading his visits; he does not have good vibes, and recently he attempted to manipulate me into renting the apartment to him. I refused to let him come over today; I’m starting to take my boundaries seriously.

I’ve been a recluse at home all weekend—just don’t want to be around people. I wasn’t a recluse on Friday evening, just all day Saturday and Sunday (today).

Two days ago, I finally realized that when I first meet people who don’t have good vibes, I assume I’m nervous just because I’m talking to a stranger. Now that I’m aware of this bad habit, hopefully I’ll stop doing it.

What a pity I didn’t read up on empaths when I was, say, twenty years old. I would have realized beforehand that working in retail would be a terrible idea, and I would have made a point of going straight to grad school out of undergrad. I’d probably have a PhD in Creative Writing (which may sound strange, but such a degree does exist). Sure, I can write without degrees and without college debt, but that would have spared me all those years of soulless jobs only for money, in which I was surrounded by toxic perpetual playground bullies. All that energy, all those bad moods constantly around me: no wonder I just became more and more angry.

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Oh, yes, I should mention: the break was brief, and I have since finished going all the way down the stairs. I just haven’t cleared off and masked the landing, which of course will also require sweeping and painting. I might go ahead and paint the rest of the stairs and hold off on the landing. Then at least it looks more like I’ve gotten quite a bit accomplished. At about midnight last night, I painted the front of the steps burgundy; or maybe I just did the masking then and painted the steps this morning. That’s weird that I’m blanking out on that. That’s right—the second version. Anyway, I had to do additional masking (and a bit of unmasking) for the sake of painting the dark brown tops of the steps and the whatever-that-is-like-a-baseboard-along the inner side of the stairs. Oh, I guess it’s a big baseboard.

I also need to save the paint sample card for when I have a banister, which I suspect will be a couple years. The color is Benjamin Moore…oh, I don’t remember what it’s called. It’s odd that I bought a house that no longer has a banister.

I only got far enough along with curtain rods to take a long curtain rod out of its package and place the library stool by the window…well, but the shoe rack is in the way, between the stool and the wall.

Also, I did most of the masking in the apartment bathroom but didn’t finish it and of course didn’t start painting that room.

It will still be daylight for a few more hours; it’s 6 pm now. I’ll read something other than the empath book and possibly fall to sleep—but at least do some reading before I resume painting the stairs (after the temperature has gone down a bit).