Picture is unrelated

I will do my job today, even though I am mentally lethargic all the time now. I will do this thing, and this blog post will be proof of my intent to do this thing. And if I couldn't post what I meant to yesterday, then an older item will have to suffice.

I need to get off my own case and start encouraging myself. AND YOU DO TOO, you-know-who.

I also need to exercise, but that's hard. ):

I know what I want to be when I grow up!

Finally! My Career Path has spoken to me!




I particularly enjoy that she tones it down a bit for the baby, because I sure wouldn't. Cry, baby. I'm evil. Deal with it.

Eggy is fast-burning nightmare fuel or Please stop pumping crazy-dream gas into my home.

For two days now I've had strange and horrific nightmares, most of which I forget upon waking. It seems to be happening to my mate also, and now I'm going to keep a close eye on the cats when they wake up to see if they share my disorientation and confusion (since it's hard to tell if a cat woke up drenched in chilled sweat).

Yesterday, I thought I'd take a short nap on the couch. An hour and a half later, I wake up scared (for no apparent reason), very groggy and tired, soaked in fear sweat, and the best part? My face hurt like I'd been screaming. I suspect a dinosaur dream. Those bastards are terrifying anyway.

Last night, the parts I can remember are disturbing, though in the light of day they just seem odd. I'm sure I was freaking out in the dream though, because the feeling carried over into waking and lasted about a half hour. It had something to do with my mate and his brother (the good one), and I was supposed to be knitting his brother some Bayerische socks (which is pretty chilling, having narrowly survived my own experience with making a pair for myself), and my mate was trying to help with my second job, and so was watching a live action Rainbow Brite movie (which seemed good, but I was too busy being chased by some unnamed horror to stop and watch). He kept trying to fill me in on what was happening, while remaining completely oblivious to the danger I was trying to elude. I think he ended up reviewing the movie or something, but I just remember running for my life, thinking "I hope we get to keep that so I can watch it if I live" and then my dad rammed a red truck through the wall into the living room and was bent on destruction.

I thankfully can't remember my dreams from the night before, but I do remember knowing I'd had a nightmare. Even this morning, when saying goodbye to my mate, he admitted I'd woken him up before the police arrested and accused him of the murder of someone who'd lived in the (currently nonexistent) sub-basement of his childhood home, in a haunted silent-hill version of the town we grew up in.

If it happens again tonight, I'm considering going to the apartment office and asking them to test the air for carbon monoxide or something.

Pigamahorse

I am a horse, or at least, I am vaguely horse-shaped. Now that you look at it though, it does seem that my legs are kind of spindly and my body is very fat, like a pig, or a very fat scotty dog.

I am jumping, which means my ability to be safely displayed on a wobbly table has been significantly decreased. Yay!
My head, unlike most large domestic quadrapeds, is able to reach my (thankfully nonexistant) genitals.
There is nothing directly wrong with me, except that my glass eyes (like all my siblings, here) are attached to the sides of my head and are distinctly NOT a part of my face. Also, they are visibly uneven from side to side. Boo.
What is that smell? Did I step in something? I'll just heft my FOOT to my SNOUT to see. Yep, I definitely stepped in something smelly.
I am a chimera. My body is that of a pigahorse, and my neck is that of a snake.
I'm fat, but happy. I'm what happened when Wilbur met a horse and fell in love. This is a horse-ish face on a pig body. With a rooster tail. I am Lj's favorite as a result.
I am sloth-horse. My eye is drippy on this side, and I am laying down. Which didn't prevent my foot/psuedopod from breaking off. If only I looked more like a cow..

Copywank

So, I'm having problems reconciling some ideas about artist protection with my appreciation of a finished product.

In short, sometimes artists who would dislike the current copyright systems create some awesome things. Like this:



I get the distinct impression that while this artist would prefer that her work be completely free to anyone and everyone.

However, (and I might not have considered this if it hadn't been so diligently detailed online) since the work above involved using some works belonging to others (in the past, or through various legal issues, etc), it made me strongly consider what would happen if all artistic works were free to anyone with access to them.

On the one hand, you could achieve worldwide exposure in days, which would be pretty awesome. And some pretty cool stuff could be created. Without any contact, hundreds of creative ideas from different could be flawlessly joined into works of art.

On the other, and this is the side that I find myself aligned with, by freeing your work from copyright, you are making it very difficult to profit from your hours and hours of labor and inspiration. It would be fine if it was a personal choice. If I, for instance, chose to create fantastic paintings and encourage others to view my work through any means convenient to them, either from free viewings, to downloaded scans. However, if the expectation spreads, if the world begins to expect entertainment for free, I think it would be extremely hard for anyone to support themselves through their artistic work.

My work has value, and I'd rather have the credit and profit from it than allow everyone to have access to it. It's probably a very bourgois(sp?) idea, but I like it. Demand can create value as well.

(This is partially why I get upset on Ravelry when someone says "I like pattern X, but don't want to pay anything for it. Is there a similar pattern for free that someone can point me to, because SIGHT LITERALLY UNSEEN I feel that the designer is asking too much." I also chuckle happily when a designer restricts pattern distribution to a hard copy via mail.)

WTF, subconscious?

It seems that somehow I have come into the possession of a human head. Dried/preserved, with only minimal bones remaining, and fragile as hell. It has reddish hair, thought it's so old that determining whether the color is natural or some sort of dye is impossible. There are markings on the underside of the skull-ish thing, and while I'm wandering around with this creepy thing, trying to decide why I have it and what the symbols might mean, someone tries to take it.

So I stash it in my room, which is my parent's old room at the house I grew up in.

Moving on, and still encountering a lot of people I know in real life, all of whom have either no advice or assistance to give re: THE HEAD, I realize that there is a second, smaller, shrunken head that I need to get to decipher the first one, which suddenly seems to portend an apocalyptic event of some kind. Also, my subconscious has decided that this comes from some Mesopotamian culture, but my vocabulary only offers "Mayan" despite the inaccuracy of that label.

So now I'm searching along a riverbank for the second head, and when I do come across it, I am surprised that the "shrunken" head is actually a pretty decent size. Like a honeydew melon or biggish cantaloupe. And then the weird authority thing shows up again and demands the head. I am forced to hand it over, but not before I scratch/force my hand into the brain pan from underneath (AARGH! GROSS! CRUMBLY DEAD HEAD GERMS!) and wrap my fist around something smaller and bumpy (AARGH! IT'S SHAPED LIKE A CALCIFIED BRAIN! WHY?!) and remove it to my pocket before handing over the crumbling remains of the head. It/he looks at the hole, and I shrug and go my way.

Back at mi childhood casa, my brain decides that I shouldn't have to go through the obvious next step of deciphering the markings using the key on the brain, so we skip all that and the current apocalypse is averted. For this year. And the final message was "The red-headed person will be killed." Creepy, but still, averted so no danger here. So now my brain tells me in retrospect that a rapper was traveling in South America/Africa (hey, it starts with "A" and it's big and I've been awake for a while now so it's not as sharp as it could've been.) and he sent me the head.

And then my cell phone rings and the i.d. says "Anubis" and I think "oh. Maybe this is the rapper?" but it is an airline calling to confirm my trip next year to the country of head origin, presumably prompted by the powers behind the crumbly skull messages.

I actually, in my dream, dithered about going, but decided that since I'm dreaming, I probably won't really have to go on that trip.

So if we all die next year, my bad.

I have all the restraint of a....thing with no restraint.

I am trying, world. Seriously. I am attempting to not crow about the silly inter-office drama that is currently overtaking my own life, but it is so gosh darned amusing!

And the characters! They're right out of a bizarre reality show with archetypes from the 1960's nostalga crap AND RuPaul's Drag Race. It's fantastic!

Also, I'm not a bad storyteller, so I naturally want to run with the one story I get that requires no embellishment to get the dropped jaws and shocked gasps my inner extrovert so desperately craves.

Must. Not. Poke. The. Crazy.

I don't even like this movie, but shit

This is funny! Go typography!

Circle of Life

It's interesting to see what moral allowances will be made for the sake of convenience and expediency. That extra donut in your twelve-pack? I'm damn sure you won't go back to the bakery to report it and pay $0.12.

In our case, we've decided that our personal convenience far outweighs the betta fish's right to mental stability and calm. The cat now takes his meds with much more aplomb, due almost entirely to the presence of a fishtank within inches of his face.

That thin plastic, with the tantalizing moving thing on the other side...hey guys! The moving thing not only moves, but it reacts to my frantic scratching and reaching! Ouch! What did you do!? That's...uncomfortable...and I think I'm pissed at you, so I'll sulk. But not off the counter. I'll just sit here and sulk...where I can see that moving thing...so angry...so...wha?...hey! hey you moving thing!!

He'll even stay on the counter for the anti-leak circular rubbing motion just below his hump, so long as nothing obstructs his view of the fish. Now, he'll even leap on the stovetop hours after his treatment, seeking to slap at a fishtank, and he'll purr atop the counter (in hopes of the sudden appearance of a fishtank?). Regardless of his motivations, this new attitude to countertop activity is very welcome.

I justify it like this:
Fish: Very cheap, in purchase, lifestyle, and upkeep. Not very affectionate. Short life span, even in the best of conditions. Decorative, but not cuddle-able, and can only provide limited companionship from atop the bedroom dresser. Other placement locations will immediately result in the cat bothering the fish, causing stress, and annoying the humans with slapping sounds.
Cat: More expensive in all aspects, but more rewarding socially. Decorative and cuddly, while amusing humans in all areas of the house. Longer lifespan possiblities necessitate the administration of fluids, which necessitates the scheduled use of the fish as entertainment for the cat.

Fish: About $37 for several years of upkeep and supplies.
Ten minutes of excitement/exercise for the fish in exchange for 10 minutes of calm from the cat: Priceless

Besides: I read somewhere that betta fish who were regularly challenged by a lab tech and chased around their tank daily lived longer than those who were never induced to flaring or exercised.

Do you remember Dodgeball?

And how you thought it wasn't important to "real life".
Well, you're wrong. The physical sport of dodgeball you were forced to endure as a child is the only thing giving you an apt metaphor, as well as the social understanding to survive a round of layoffs at your workplace.

It also teaches you how to deal with those you, unlike yourself, weren't merely winged in the leg or self-moistened because you just couldn't hold your water when the rubber boulder buried itself into the chain link fence (or concrete block wall) behind you. How to look those bruised persons in the face, and clap them on the back for a game well played. For their bravery. For the celebration of friendship.
Or just because it allows you to hide your own fear by hugging them, and thus avoiding seeing the raised, pebble-textured, rubber-smelling welts on their undeserving faces.

Ornithoscelidophobia and other scary things

So: For starters, I will openly admit that I have a fear of dinosaurs. Possibly not always of the running-screaming kind, but definitely dependent on what SIZE and NUMBERS these animals arrive/appear in. Much in the way an arachnophobe can muster the strength of will to smoosh an octo-legged interloper, I can tamp down my terror in favor of watching well-acted idiots tramp around in genetic no-no land.

However, if ever confronted with anything larger than a small dog, or in numbers greater than two, I might just die of spontaneous mental overload. (Herbivores aren't super scary in themselves, except to illustrate the sheer size of things that will soon be here to eat herbivores.)

That said, we watched Paranomal Activity (the movie) last night.

Now, creepy stuff on its own triggers my logical retreat instinct. This couple lives in a home together, and it seems they've moved from their last home due to the occasional (but annoying and creepy) unexplained phenomena. Fine. I get that. (And good for them for having the capital to move so quickly/completely.)

However, girlfriend (who seems to be the trigger for this stuff, and is understandably upset/tired of it) should've long ago left the boyfriend (who is clearly funding this descent into stupidity, both in financial, real-estate, and paranormal escalation). Intrigued and excited by the weird crap that happens to his beloved, he decides to record not only their bedroom at night, but carry the camera around during the investigation of any nocturnal noises, or during the daytime, when Sol's light seems to bring a recession in creepy shit, but also in the desire to GTFO.

Long story short, boyfriend tends to disregard girlfriend's firm requests and verbally provoke/dick-waggle-at the entity who they've been told by a psychic/ghost-hunter is possibly horribly violent, and they should in no way make contact/open communication with. What's that Boyfriend?
1.) No Ouija board. What? WTF is that? Oh you didn't buy it? Well, you're a shithead and I'm not playing with you. We're leaving.
2.) You said you'd stop with the camera, and I'm uber-pissed.
3.) What's that? You're going to solve this yourownself with not even the googling skills of a marmot? Sure. Let's put off calling the demonologist/specialist in favor of your bullshit schemes.
4.) Why is girlfriend still sleeping on the outside of the bed after footprints appeared leading up to her, video is captured of somthing fucking with her sheets (her side of the bed, only), and the door closest to her moving on it's own?

Well, it's a decently-intentioned movie that manages to convey the charm of DiY ghost recording with none of the vomit-inducing pain of Blair Witch, so I was creeped out and had bad dreams (mostly of me trying to kill the boyfriend in hopes of appeasing the entity, or of escaping the house so it would at least have to work to find me and haunt me). In one of my dreams, my inner lizard-brain decided that since the footprints were large, and three-toed, the entity that was causing all this strife was an invisible raptor. I have never been so afraid in my life.

Behold its splendor in this artist's rendering:

























I have never been so convinced of something's ultimate lethality in my life. All other fears pale in comparison. I may never sleep easy again.


P.S. The average human has yet to find a better self-defence and audible "FUCK OFF" than a large-gauge shotgun. Why people would suffer an entity that has enough tangible mass to physically affect objects without resorting to a firearm charged with oak, ash, poppyseeds, holy water and silver is beyond my reasoning.

If you can't kill it with a shotgun, you are not using the right ammo.

So you probably don't care about the cat anymore

Look! Instant medical table, just add towel and door hook (to hold the i.v. bag).
Our victim for this evening (as with every other evening):

And no, we don't know why he sits like that sometimes. It seems pretty normal for him. Long cat is long?

Watch, and know that I do this for your own good

Resolutions

So let's be cheesy and do some traditional year-beginning stuff:

My resolutions for 2010--
Stop hoarding my reviews for Job 2. I need to post them. I'm waiting for the site to load now.

Start writing more reviews, so I can have more time to re-work them. It's been so long since I had to write something that I forget how to do it right. I like to be funny, and it's hard to do that when the only thing I'm thinking of is "Get it done, move to the next."

Knit more, and save more. I do have some stash, and just because I don't really know what to do with it doesn't mean I ought to buy more. We need the money these days for sick kitty times, besides, and I'd rather have a cat than more yarn or nice things.

Relationship-wise, we are doing well at my home. We've spontaneously (somehow) started halting fights mid-way through to re-examine what was said that we might be taking the wrong way. This is very interesting, as it turns out that half the time or more we've simply misunderstood what the other person was saying. I recommend it, really. I'm also slowly coming to the ability to voice my concerns over our budget and monetary priorities (my one big worry in life, really) without unintentionally insulting or implying anything unhelpful. I, like the rest of the world, I'm sure, wish for a home of our own, and long term plans, and maybe even kids (who knows?), but we're not financially at a good place for that to happen now, even though the springs in my bio-clock are slowly winding up for a big tick-tock in a few years. Also, I should probably worry less.

Except about the cat. I WILL learn to do his meds quickly and easily, even though they are scary and involve needles and bags and scary implications about his future non-existence. No one wants to face the mortality of their dear pet, and we're probably going to have to have some kind of big come-to-the-flying-spagetti-monster talk about what we're going to do later on, when his function isn't so great, but he is still technically breathing and moving on his own, even though he might not know why he feels like crap. There are some really awesome sites online that share tales of life with cats who have been diagnosed with CRF, and some of them live comfortable lives right up until the end. Still, there will be a point where his kidney/renal function just isn't up to par without a detailed and possibly stressful daily regimen, which will also severely eat into our finances. At what point do you have to recognize that even Grandma wouldn't be comfortable with you going into lifelong debt in order to afford her not-so-great "living" situation?

(Also, where do these people come up with this money? Am I in the wrong field? I have a comfy cube and internets and a functioning vehicle and a decent aparment, so I'm not doing too badly, right? How does this kind of life translate to the blogs I've seen of taking vacations to semi-fancy places with travel arrangements for multiple ill pets?)