crows: (Default)
Everything on craigslist looks like a scam. Everything on monster or careerbuilder is either for very skilled labor (no, I don't know how to repair specific, or any, medical equipment, nor do I have a CDL), part time and/or temporary, or KMart and Target.

I'm never going to get out. I made the mistake of thinking there actually was a door open to me when in fact I had missed that opportunity months ago because of trying to do the right thing by someone who probably at the end of the day didn't notice and didn't give a shit and likely has a bad opinion of me now either way. Because I don't have anything of value to offer anyone, and the things I can give aren't the things that people want me around for. Everything else is out of order and I don't know how to fix it. People still think I'm early twenties because it's so obvious I'm completely floundering and the idea that I might actually be an adult age is laughable.

There is nothing I am doing right now that doesn't come down to inertia and numb muscle memory. So fucking pointless.
crows: (Default)
Sometimes I don't want to go to bed because I want to put off tomorrow coming. Not because I think it will be worse, but because I know it's not going to be any better.
crows: (face)
"Oh, hello friend. Nice to see you." to the spider in the window.
"You don't need the jelly! Kitties don't like jelly!" to the cat.
"Are you raining suddenly?" to the outdoors.

One day I will get wiretapped and thrown in the loony bin, for all the things I talk to that aren't talking back. Especially early in the morning.
crows: (caw)
That moment when you have given yourself a lot of writing homework and you haven't totally bombed out on it but you're not as far as you should be so you spend a lot of time reading about binomial nomenclature so you can give an accurate-sounding name to a fictional species of incidental bird which will probably not appear outside of this scene that you're not writing.
crows: (red)
22:12 Squeem
we will do it better than Dr. Chuck Tingle
22:12 Squeem
and play it straight
22:12 Squeem
by which I mean gay
22:13 Squeem
no, I think bisexual
22:13 Squeem
Bisexual is clearly the way to go
crows: (caw)
jesusmcmurphy
I CAN FIX YOUR CONDIMENTS.

On eggs...

Jan. 24th, 2015 09:47 pm
crows: (Default)
jesusmcmurphy
WHAT DID THEY DO WITH EGGS!
jesusmcmurphy
WHAT DID THEY DO TO THE EGGS!

On meaning:

Nov. 2nd, 2014 06:46 pm
crows: (Default)
18:40 Squeem: ffffffuuu
18:40 Squeem: My eyes are sparkling with potential, that's what that meant
crows: (mist)
Eavesdropping on a hilarious conversation between two dudes talking about films.

"I saw Gladiator last night for the first time. See, I'd thought that it was commonly considered like... a bad movie, like 300, and I was watching it and being like... you know, this is actually kinda good, I'm just gonna throw that out there. I think I like it. Then I found out it won a bunch of Oscars."

Also, talking about Edge of Tomorrow. "It... it was good, man." (Said in an 'I'm just gonna lay this on you' voice.)

"No way. Doesn't it have Tom Cruise in it?"

"Yeah. That's the one."

"Is he like... a supporting character?"

"He's the lead."

"Noo..."
crows: (caw)
I now have... a flickr account.

That is all. I am trying to learn how to use my real camera to take real pichers.
crows: (black raven)
Sea dreams last night, no flood. Sharks. Watching a hammerhead give birth under crowds of people partying in and on the water. No one hurt, though I pulled Thief up from the surf when it looked like the shark might have been charging. It's the shore I always dream of, unreasonably steep beach and instantly deep water. There was a haunted house, too, later. The kind of place you're alone in, but you're never sure if you're alone.
crows: (Default)
Disconcerting dream about the Black House last night. I mean, they all are, really. The Black House is somewhat terrifying and increasingly feels like home. Real Home.

Anyway. This time, it was a huge sprawling castle. There was some kind of amorphous threat beyond the walls per usual and plenty of danger inside the building. I was hunting down archetypes of some kind, character in dichotomies (courtesan and priestess, I remember, though there were others). I sought them out, hidden away in secret chambers in the castle where they had sometimes been for ages I think, and had to get advice or secrets about the castle, but I don't remember the specific information. There was also the ghost of a soldier who was sometimes a friend and sometimes an enemy. I think that's reflective of head hopping throughout the dream rather than changes in his character.

The world beyond the castle was apocalyptic. This might be another common theme in the Black House dreams but I so rarely feel allowed to leave the grounds of the House that I don't often see it directly. But maybe that's why the outside world is so threatening.

At the end I was back in the castle, laying clothed in bed with another person, listening to an insistent knocking at the door and hoping desperately that one of the other entities in the castle would answer it and make them go. That if we managed to pretend we were sleeping we'd be safe. I told myself that there was nothing to be anxious about, just someone knocking at the door. But I couldn't make myself believe.

I wake up to phantom knocking a lot.

ugh.

Jan. 17th, 2014 09:01 am
crows: (Default)
Seems fitting that I should wake up feeling pretty sick only a day after discussing with my coworkers how they might be making pseudoephedrine prescription only to cut down on people cooking meth out of it. I've never cooked meth out of anything in my life, but I do get sick occasionally, and when it hits hard, 'real' Sudafed is a major stepping stone to being able to still do stuff like... go to my job(s). I can't really afford to take time off for being sick most of the time, and the gorgeous thing about that is that I definitely can't afford the office visit to have a prescription for basic, effective cold medicine written for me.

I mean, maybe life under Affordable Care will be different, but I'm not real hopeful. I'm close enough to the poverty line in my state that I'm going to be put on Medicaid, and while I am looking forward to some coverage of my IUD replacement next year (which will be a huge help; the upfront cost of those is pretty steep), I'm not suspecting that I'll have the luxury of being able to go to the clinic when I'm sick or have regular checkups. The safety net of there being something to fall on if something really bad happens (without the deductible being more than half my yearly income, which is the state of the insurance I've 'had' so far) is great, and I think it's a tremendous step toward making this broken-ass health care system work in this country (basically, I'm not bitching about Obamacare, here), but I'm not expecting to just suddenly have the same access to medical oversight that a person who has had decent insurance throughout much of their lives does. And yeah :( this morning is a good reminder of how much I hope they don't make it more difficult for me to keep myself going when the eventual flu hits.

tl;dr whine whine whine I feel shitty
crows: (Default)
Reprising this recipe for chocolate chip cookies tonight. At some point my sister told me to use two eggs instead of one, the result of which is slightly lighter, definitely softer and chewier cookies and since I like chewy cookies I do this now.

No particular occasion. K said he wanted cookies and autumn is a good time for baking. My boss at the store is stressed because we, well, bought a house and now we have to move the store into it, so I'm going to bring some in for us at work tomorrow as well. It's a double batch, though I'm probably not going to bake all the batter up tonight.

And that's all, folks.
crows: (Default)
[9:15:57 PM] Van Gleven: but
[9:16:01 PM] Van Gleven: you could write scripts
[9:16:33 PM] Marawg: I could write your mom
[9:16:39 PM] Van Gleven: hahahaha
[9:16:46 PM] Marawg: no seriously. I'm sure she likes letters.
[9:16:55 PM] Van Gleven: I hate you
crows: (alan)
The monster is so close. Close enough that all day, post the very early anxiety-attack morning, I've wondered off and on whether it might be worth trying to get in with a therapist.

Ha, ha.

With what money? With what trust?

I feel awful. When my head was racing last night I thought I had a lot of things to say about it, that maybe writing them would help. Maybe writing anything would help (isn't that a thing we used to do?) but all my thoughts are falling apart like wet paper.
crows: (Default)
Put yourself into good company. Eat a good meal and watch some familiar, humorous television. Go home. Muse about stories, about music; share a little art. Sleep, after that, but not too much. A little less than five hours, that's the outside end. The most you get to have at one unbroken stretch. Then:

Decamp to a house somewhere up in nameless mountains, rambling property past the wend of a few gravel roads into the foothills, past some miles and maybe a generation or two of bad history. Know that things are getting ugly out there, that you're getting away from the city or the town or home because you'll be safer. Don't know much more than that. At least, don't know when you wake up. Go for a while like that. Preparing, maybe. Trying to keep tabs. Mainly just waiting. Talk to them on the telephone, at some point, and then lose them (to anger? to a failing of technology?). Be unable to get through. Repeatedly, after that. Worry, vaguely, but tell yourself that things are probably alright. It's not that strange to not be able to call somebody for a while. They'll get through eventually.

Stand in the windows after the impetus of some announcement, all the news fragmented at least to your waking memory, most of the knowledge preternatural, an unspoken understanding wafting in from outside. Look out to sea, out over the flat of land rambling away from the mountains. See an unreasonable distance, out to ships on the distant water, out to the pole, maybe forever around the curve of the ocean's belly. Watch the bright orange streak launch across the sky. Have time to process little more than the words when one of the people you are staying with in this house explains that it is the bomb. The Bomb. He had a name for it, but lose that when you wake. Stare in stunned silence as it hits, somewhere far away, and turns the sky molten nonetheless. Watch as it sends up a wave high enough to rush up into the town where you'd been living, into the streets. Frantically close windows as though they will protect you from a shockwave. Experience none, directly, but know that from here, things will not get better. Begin filling the milk jugs and tubs you've been collecting and rinsing with water. Realize you never heard from them. Realize you are never going to hear their voice again.

Wake, digesting this realization. Wake to the alarm of the cat jumping onto the bookshelves at the foot of the bed and staring at the window, at a sound. Wake up and turn the light on, wake up and shake yourself into the familiar, into the understanding that there's just a raccoon in the pine tree, that the world has not ended, that you do not live by the sea.
crows: (caw)
(11:03:06 AM) tseiffer: Marie
(11:03:12 AM) tseiffer: I want to study anthropologists
(11:03:28 AM) tseiffer: And be an anthropologologist.
(11:03:45 AM) tseiffer: That's a delicious word.

Okay.

Apr. 7th, 2013 07:10 am
crows: (Default)
Getting up.

Boiling eggs
Doing dishes
Cleaning catboxes

Pick up clothes
Make coffee
Take out trash
Do laundry

Put all the laundry away

That's phase one for the day which I aim to have accomplished by the time Thief is up so that we can focus on the comic launch once they are.

Doin it :|

Day Four.

Mar. 28th, 2013 07:48 pm
crows: (red)
The downstairs neighbor (or rather, her belligerent douchebag boyfriend) was at it again last night, cranking the music up with as far as I can tell the specific intent of pissing her and the rest of the house off. They've gotten at least one disorderly house fine, several visits from the police on noise complaints, and a sternly worded letter from the landlady and on more than one occasion we've heard him turning the noise up and her turning it back down and them fighting about it. He knows he's getting her evicted.

Upshot being I didn't sleep much, not nearly enough to recover fully from yesterday and go in to work at 515. Work was... pretty god damn busy, and I've been feeling dimly nauseous and fairly foggy most of the day. So I came home and washed my tattoo and laid on the couch in my piejams and watched stupid television for the afternoon and now Delia is making supper.

My feet didn't hurt much at/after work. I've worked slightly fewer hours this week but not a lot, and have gone comparably pain free. This seems to be a marked improvement. And despite feeling sort of tired and crapped out physically in other ways (I think feeling a little bit drained after the ink experience is reasonable, especially given that I didn't have a good opportunity to sleep it off), my mood isn't suffering a lot. I mean, I didn't want to be at work, but I don't normally want to be at work at the end of the week when I've only slept a few hours. So all in all, not miserable, not dipping into too much anxiety (Kris the tattoo lady said she's been taking B vits as of recently as well and they're helping her anxiety a lot), and feeling like I'll be able to get things done and enjoy myself throughout my next couple of lighter days (and Sunday off - off of everything, even choir).

Also, I had violently apocalyptic dreams last night. Not nightmares... definitely frightening but fear wasn't the central part of the dream and I didn't wake up upset. Only had fragments when I came out, but committed what I could to memory. It was all very bright... very sunny (outside), very clay colored. Terra cotta and dust. People were dying of... something. I don't know if it was plague, or what, but they were rotting away, like some combination of sepsis and gangrene. Not in a zombie way, though... everyone was still aware. Spitting up green, blotched and soft, bloating like corpses. I was in a house full of survivors (some of us were survivors longer than others). Boarded up, chaos on the outside, don't really know what was going on. When I left... I was alone. But I don't think I was the last person alive in the house, maybe we just all split up at that point. I don't feel like I knew much about any of those people. Anyway, I found my way toward people who had lived through at least that wave of whatever was happening. There was some kind of semi-organized gathering place, a cafeteria or meeting hall or something, and I was befriended by two Indian people (a man and a woman; siblings or good friends). We decided to stick together... I have a dim sense of there being some kind of authority, sort of. A presence trying, if sternly, to keep us safe, and a threat from the outside but I don't know if it was the sickness or something more sentiently malicious or what. I kept trying to convince them to go back to my house so I could get some of my things (cell phones still seemed to be working, and I wanted mine, and my ipod, and a couple of other things). I'm unclear now whether my house was where I'd been with all the dying people or not. I also feel like I had some other reason for wanting to go back that I was hesitant to tell them, but I don't remember what it was.

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