in a sort of mirrored version of Sophia’s horrible experience, I took part in a “stop the bleed” course put on by a local activist group and learned things like tourniquet application, wound packing, and advice on treating in the field. Probably not everybody’s ideal Saturday but I find things like this reduce the ambient anxiety of life. Also took my fiance’s niece and nephew to the Harvard Museum of Natural History, which was a blast. Love the ground sloth skeleton.
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Had a lovely time speaking to some of the regulars in the lounge chatroom. Here’s two out of context scribbles from it!
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THERE’S A CHATROOM TOO?!?!
always find stuff out late…
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The cats make my day better. They have so much personality. 
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I return from the day…I am never polishing door handles ever again! Steel wool is kinda evil! But! It was a fulfilling day and now im home and my cat is snuggling me and I’m gonna have a soda!
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Writing my silly little daily entry in my diary helped me work through a (admittedly, on the surface, small issue, but one that was representative of much deeper laid issues- resolved mostly through the idea that you don’t have to wait until you’re better to be happy, and the only wasted notebook is one that’s never used) problem, which was really great. I forgot how much it helps to just write things down and work my way through them, and how much more I remember midway through an entry about a day that might otherwise slip away into the weird shapeless void of missing time.
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Had an awesome time talking in the lounge chat again- have decided we ought to informally dub the three of us the campfire circle, since we did it again, hahaha. Off to ponder some notes for that Fallen London setting I had meant to sit down to address two hours ago… Almost three.
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Can’t sleep. I’ve been pacing around while rereading old writing and thinking about my current Parabola campaign and drinking water now and then. More gothic haunting of stairs and halls…
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V Positive today: Sophia flooding my Tumblr feed with super cute pics of cats or Dr. House meme.
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I found a pale pink satin scrunchie that looks super cute with my dark hair for contrast. Drinking a hazel nut and hot chocolate potion. Had sushi for lunch! Eating a childhood favourite snack of mine right now, (steamed broccoli dipped slightly in soy sauce as you munch away.) Despite the gloomy weather, I saw two mourning doves on the balcony. And Kit liked a mug I tagged with “#kit would like this” on Tumblr!
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That mug is fantastic.
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Hesitant plans to talk to a friend tomorrow about writing some of our characters together again soon, it’s been a minute.
In more neutral news, I drifted off briefly and had the oddest dream. Do you ever just know the identity of someone in a dream, even if you don’t know what they look like? In my dreams, it often is from a third or first person perspective, often switching rapidly between the two- and in a vague haze, more often the sensation of remembering and gut instinct than clear visuals: the people are always cropped so that their faces don’t show properly in frame, have their backs turned persistently to me, or they’re a watercolour, blurred mess- with occasional cartoon like black holes for mouths and white gnashing teeth.
I had the weirdest dream about meeting up with some regulars for coffee, and it’s the oddest thing to know someone is someone without actually knowing what they look like. More disconcertingly for me- what they sound like, because that’s my major way to identify people. The most unsettling part of dreams is that recurrent characters will recognize me- and are often self aware that ‘you’ve been here before’ which makes sense, as plot lines and locations and speech and writing often repeats- they’re even self aware of what’s about to happen to them and will try to leave, or get extremely agitated and tell you to get away from them or follow close and escape now, often a blurred collection of shapes or smudge of colours in a void that I feel like I know is the road.
I can read writing in my dreams, but never numbers on clocks or signs. The writing is short, often poems or business cards. Books are normally nonsense. Geography and space never make sense. Stairwells of impossible configurations bending and warping into themselves- just lines of black for railings on blocks and planes of grey, hallways that endlessly loop- a red rectangle runner rug and beige walls, walking along girders like tight ropes with the wind in your hair and the unyielding metal digging into your soles and smelling the cold and knowing that if you look down there will be absolutely nothing below your feet, because all around you is nothing, and while you can feel the breeze and the drop in your stomach: there’s only an absence. When I die in dreams, (usually in reliving the crash) after, then I wake up. It’s always a weird feeling.
Anyways, I wonder if Hanon drinks oat milk caramel crunch frappes with extra whipped cream in the real world, haha. He probably doesn’t have red hair, I imagine that’s the icon’s influence. It was very interesting hearing the voices my brain had dubbed in for the lounge regulars…
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That’s not weird. Either that or I’m also weird. 
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It probably just feels a bit more strange since I have no idea what people on the board look like, aside from Kit, who has shared lots of selfies on Twitter and Tumblr, haha. And people who have icons that’re pictures of themselves (like Love, who for the longest time I thought his icon was a picture of a skull, but I think it’s actually him in a car or something) or representations like your Mii avatar possibly? So even if I got a better look at the person, I’d have no idea how to tell if they were actually who they felt like they were supposed to be, if that makes sense. Sort of an uneasy feeling.
It could be entirely normal, or we could both be weird little guys, hahaha. I’m always curious about how other people experience dreaming, since it can vary so much between people. Just like how Pinkunz was talking about how he can see pictures and even cinema esque montages when he reads, whereas I don’t see anything at all, and instead just read aloud in my head.
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AH I have those too! Also when I write something. Images can be so vivid. It’s great for creative medium (thought terrible when you can’t draw at all…). Downside for me: super vivid dreams too… that doesn’t help to get a restful night…
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One time, I saw a Mii and I immediately thought of a guy whom I never met or even know what he looks like. Yep, that’s him. Incredible, to be sure, but it has happened more than a few times that I no longer feel weird about it.
No doubt, this is where ESP tales come from…
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Aw, ghost stories are just for fun, but I’m still not taking any chances with letting someone whip out a ouija board in my house. They can get the local Starbucks haunted on the teeny tiny possibility it does anything. I actually have looked up how to get an exorcism in the city, (since I’m on friendly terms with an Eastern Orthodox priest, and had been investigating the differences between their practices and Roman Catholicism, which I’m more familiar with) and it’s a whole lot of mailing paperwork, which I found amusing. Suffice it to say, with the postal delays of a few weeks, I’m not risking getting a new ghost roommate! Haha.
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You may find an old book Black Elk Speaks interesting. It’s about a Native American shaman. Asians have them, too. People who can journey into the afterlife, and back.
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While somewhat inconvenient, that seems more sustainable than the Catholic “I need an old priest and a young priest, and one of ‘em might not make it” approach.
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