I just have to say, if you read the title for this post, and are still interested enough to read, I think You are Totally Awesome! But just remember the source of the compliment. Always remember the source!
Premenopausal-Aspie-Freak-Prophet—that’s how I felt yesterday. Not sure if you picked up on that energy, or not.
No one told me there’d be days like these.
Click to see where image was found
Yes, I figured out a lot by watching my own parents and people on television, but didn’t know the heart of mood swings, until my early forties. I feel like I’m back in the pubescent period of discovering aspects of myself that would be better off buried one hundred feet underground, beneath a thousand-pound golden statue of a fierce, scary creature that everyone believes is possessed, but in actuality is a Greek God that turns into a handsome mortal warrior and visits me with passionate kisses at night…I digress.
Today is a dip-cubes-of-dark-chocolate-into-a-mug-of-hot-chocolate day. Yum! Gone are the past few days of dieting. Dieting at certain times of the month is just plain stupidity.
Yesterday, I detoxed something terrible—emotionally and physically. The rings of sweat under the pits of my shirt were simply frightening. (That’s that whole over-sharing Asperger’s part of me that you will either find endearing or offensive.) One time, a couple years ago, I shared on Twitter that I stunk so badly my dog was licking my armpits. It was true.
No animal licked my armpits yesterday, but if given the right circumstances, who knows.
Yesterday, tears came out of me from nowhere, and I was immobilized with dread and fear. I thought for certain my time had come—that time we all as mortals must face. I thought the Gods were escorting me out of here. Yet, here I am! Still blogging. Aren’t you relieved?
Yesterday was not a good writing day. Maybe it had something to do with my literal stinky mood. My first post didn’t resonate with me, and left me all antsy and misunderstood. I do this weird thing, where if my home page of my blog doesn’t vibrate with beneficial energy, I can’t stand it, and I obsess. Dirty D’s, Don’t You Weep, didn’t do anything for me. Think of a creep of a boyfriend/girlfriend latched to your arm that you want to shake off.
Thus, I took away the title of Day 58 from the post. Then, OF COURSE, I felt guilty, like I was hurting the post’s feelings. Got that whole personification thing going on big time. I fretted about the letter D’s feelings. Felt like I’d honored him, put him in the spotlight, and then yanked away his stardom. Bad, me! And then I worried about what my blog readers would interpret by my rash behavior. Worries which led me to write another post; only Melancholic Little Me was back, and coming off of a much-needed chocolate high, and Little Me shared about a God experience, ‘cause that’s what she does when she is sad.
But sharing about God experiences in the past has always, without fail, scared people out of my life. Unless God is used in the context of OMG! Which is a highly, socially acceptable saying that has no actual connection to a higher power source: kind of like a nightlight with a broken bulb plugged into a socket. It’s there—that OMG!—but doesn’t light up or call attention to itself.
It’s so fun being ME! (Gagging myself with my finger.)
I got all wigged-out last night, about taking the title of Day 58 off of one post and applying it to another, that I delved into Escape-Ville. That’s a far away land I plunge into feet first to escape myself.
In Escape-Ville, I did what all citizens of Escape-Ville do: I researched.
Click to see source of image
No one can figure me out, professionals and spouse included, so I rely on Google-God for the answers. He is the King of Escape-Ville. His Queen is a collaboration of non-fiction books, in all forms. And I imagine the court and prince and princesses are documentaries, newspapers, blogs, websites, videos, and the like.
While in the faraway village, ruled by Google, I discovered incarnated angels, indigochildren, and other life forms. I’m officially no longer from this earth—Sir Brain has decided. LV wants to remain an earthling. Crazy Frog—he doesn’t care as long as there are hot toads on the planet where he lands. Hot as in frog legs that sizzle. Wink, wink!
Little Me is convinced Sir Brain is borrowed from someone else. I figure there is some brainless creature on a distant planet wanting to curse me, but lacking the mind to do so. Either that or I’ve been possessed by some demi-god whose sole purpose is to blog and get to know you. It’s a toss up.
Yesterday’s funk—got me thinking…
I was contemplating why I felt drained of all my beneficial energy and spunk. Essentially why spunk had transformed to funk. Hormones and lack of sunlight came up first. Then my iron and vitamin deficiency came up second. There are always my disabilities to consider.
But primarily, what came to mind, were all these school events I’ve had to attend of late. There’s been a bundle: violin concerts, choir, plays, etc. Events with crowds are hard on me. Which is sort of funny, because and event without a crowd would likely be a big flop or burnout, a no-show.
But a room full of people is not my cup of tea (said with a British accent/or should I say UK accent?).
I am overly affected by others’ energy—in person, online, or across the states. Who knows, I’m probably affected by energy across the nations, planets, and quantum physic’s multiple dimensions. That would be just like me, to be affected by another dimension’s being, like some balding barber in Transylvania fretting over an infestation of cockroaches.
A wise friend of mine said it is best to try to raise the energy of another person who is vibrating at a low level. I have tried this by using positive words, support, asking about positive events in someone’s life. But certain types—I’m not pointing any fingers—but certain types of folk, they will continually try to pull me down.
With those types, I find it is best to bolt away at high speed!
I’m pulling this list out of my head as I type. It’s how I’m feeling at the moment. Please don’t hold me accountable. Blame the list on some brainless alien on a distant planet or the whole possession thing. I do hope, if I have to be possessed, it’s a beneficial source of light, and gorgeous, too. Here is my list, straight out of another life form’s mind-source.
People-Types (Sometimes referred to as Energy Vampires)
Lonely Lillys: These are people who lack proper nourishment of the soul. They haven’t acquired all the love needed in life to flourish. They are seekers of others’ light because they are lacking their own light. They have yet to realize that what they seek is already inside of them. Lonely Lillys will cause a person to feel weak and helpless. A person will feel a need to want to help but want to run away at the same time.
Willow Droppers: These are enormous energy takers. They are so filled with others’ energy that they can’t distinguish their energy from others. They take and take without realizing they are doing so. They droop like the willow tree and partially block others’ paths. Much of the energy they collect is not beneficial, and is a combination of rage, anger, disrespect, eagerness, and injustice. They are protesting against something or someone all the time, unable to love themselves, and equally unable to love others. They have stopped realizing they have something beneficial to offer the world beyond their feelings of anger. There is a disproportionate amount of non-beneficial power that causes another person who comes in contact with a Willow Dropper to feel overwhelmed, frightened, and nervous.
Angel Bears: These are people who act like angels but have raging bears inside. They pretend by saying what the other person probably wants to hear, but have a hidden motive at all times. They are not self-conscious and worried; they are not over-compensating; they are not in contact with their inner essence enough to know that they can be themselves and not a model or idea of what others want them to be. The energy of an angel bear is not threatening but odd. There is something amiss and not quite right that one cannot put their finger on. Angel Bears need love and take love, but they do not mean to take. They see themselves as givers.
Juggling Jacks: The energy of a juggler is always changing because the juggler is involved in too much. He or she has too much on their plate and is constantly trying to empty some of their load onto another. The juggler is an energy stealer because the juggler takes the beneficial energy from one and leaves instead a heavy residue of what another does not want or need energy-wise.
Dramatic Diva: Dramatic Divas did not get enough love. They are still seeking love through every action and word. They are very defensive and subjective. They analyze what others say, and wonder if it is directed at them. They are in the spotlight, and if someone else steps in, they drain the person so they cannot shine. Dramatic Divas offer unsolicited advice to make themselves feel better, create drama, and believe their problems are everyone else’s problems. Dramatic Divas are the hardest energy to deal with because they are so busy focusing on themselves and zapping others’ energy they cannot hear what you are saying.
Rapid Rovers: Rapid Rovers steamroll over people, and they enjoy doing it. They know exactly what they are doing and they set out to hurt others and steal their light. Rapid Rovers have been hurt repeatedly in their lives and believe they have no other recourse but to hurt others. They think because they are different that they have a right to be themselves no matter the consequence to others’ feelings. They hide behind titles and names, believing they have a right to do what they please. They do not understand rules and context because they choose not to understand. They are the first to blame others for their wrong doings and the first to lash out. Their energy causes others to want to run, hide, or charge forward and fight. You will know you have been caught in a Rapid Rover’s energy if you find yourself saying or doing things that go against your character and belief system.
People Peezer: These people piss on you. They come across at first as someone who wants to be your best friend, comrade, or buddy. They appear trustworthy, sound-minded, honest, and sincere. But they have a history of backstabbing and serving their own best interest. They will surprise you with their charm, and equally surprise you with their ability to turn against you and throw you to the wolves. Their energy feels comfortable with a strange tinge of discomfort. They have an energy that makes one say: There is just something about them I’m unsure about.
Moody Mac: This person’s energy makes one feel like that ate one too many hamburgers (or veggie burgers). They are heavy in energy, over-compensate, over-eat, over-worry, over-obsess, over-state, over-step, and do pretty much anything you can add over to. They are out of balance and typically without direction or goals. They are seeking help and direction. They are energy takers. They suck up the beneficial moods of others through their actions, words, and presence. They are confused, baffled, and sometimes boring. A Moody Mac needs a hobby or something that enables him/her to shine. If they aren’t shining, they are doom and gloom, coming down on another’s parade. They may appear crazy or out of their mind.
Cinderella Cindy/Charlie: Cinderella Cindy/Charlie is happy all the time. Nothing gets him/her down. She doesn’t understand when others are sad or disheartened, and is the first to say so. He says things like: Cheer up; Things will get better; Don’t worry about it; Focus on the positive. Cinderellas will refer back to a time when they had a rough patch, and explain how they got out of it just fine. Their energy feels heartless and self-centered. They take without meaning to do so. They have beneficial intention, but forget how to empathize. They find it easier to smooth things over than to deal with emotions.
Reactive Reapers: They pull everything apart, analyze, dissect, and worry that what they have discovered somehow affects them as a person. They are convinced someone or something is always out to get them, to find their flaws, to embarrass them, or to point them out of a crowd. They are hyper-defensive and hyperactive. Their energy wears a person down and makes one feel like they are gasping for air. Reactive Reapers can clear out a room. They don’t understand how they are not the center of the universe. They are closely related to Dramatic Divas, but don’t long for the spotlight. They are very much trapped in a cycle of looking for oppression and feeling oppressed as a result.
That’s all alien-brain wrote, folks. Tune into tomorrow for more adventures in Sam’s-Head!
Losing Your Mind? Here is What You Don’t Want to Do!
1. Don’t rely on phobias for diagnosis. At one time or another, you probably had: 1) Nomophobia: fear of being without your cellphone; 2) Soteriophobia: the fear of having a dependence on others; 3) Syngenesophobia: the fear of relatives; 4) Ecclesiophobia: the fear of churches.
2. Do not rely on the projective personality test where you are asked to draw a house-tree-person picture, unless you are prepared to know your overall brain damage, your possible rejection of home life, your need for satisfaction, and how you present yourself in society; and, if indeed, you are feasibly psychotic.
3. Don’t read A Course in Miracles quite yet; you might think you are a present-day prophet.
4. Don’t list all of your psychological symptoms on your blog; only the ones that make you seem interesting, quirky, and fun. In other words, avoid discussing the paranoia you sometimes feel when you believe your computer camera has been hacked, and others are watching you pick your nose.
5. Don’t check yourself into a psych-ward, unless you have a high tolerance level for patients who go by the first name of Jack-Off, nurses with bushy eyebrows who scowl and shush you for laughing, and cheesy television shows from the late 70’s like The Chipmunks of North America.
6. Don’t peruse the DSM-IV (diagnosis code book); you’ll likely determine you are narcissistic with rapid-cycling bouts of depression and mania or have the earmarks of oppositional defiant disorder.
7. Don’t see a therapist in training (intern); she’s more confused than you, and still trying to shake off her last frightful bout of DSM-IV, mental-health self-analysis.
8. Don’t trust a psychiatrist, if after fifteen minutes and a short multiple-choice test, he casually says, “Hmmmm. It doesn’t seem like you qualify for this condition. But here’s a prescription I want you to take, just incase.” He’s likely closing in on earning those pharmaceutical credits needed for that trip to the Bahamas.
9. Don’t rely on a fetish search. Depending on your state-of-mind, (and your alcohol intake), you might believe you have: 1) Dacryphilia: an attraction to tears and sobbing; 2) Flatulophilia: an attraction to farts; 3) Liquidophilia: an intense need to submerge your private parts in water; 4) Scatologia: a desire to make obscene prank calls to strangers.
10. Don’t look for signs from beyond. Two hundred blog hits, a sunny day, and a good bowel movement are not signs of sanity.
11. Don’t pull a Tarot Card. You will likely misinterpret the tower of inferno, the fool, and the card with all the daggers.
12. Don’t rely on numerology. It’s the only numerical field where the meaning of the numbers change, depending on context, culture, and interpretation.
13. Don’t think about thinking about thinking, or write about writing about writing, or talk about talking about talking. Just don’t.
14. Don’t Google: I’m nuts. For some reason Justin Bieber shows up.
15. Don’t over analyze that dream about the flying banana slugs attacking the golden-winged big toes.
16. Don’t rely on your mother, your mate, or you mutt. Your mother is your maker, your mate your mirror, and your mutt a mini-you.
17. And lastly, if you had a particular type of brownie, don’t call the emergency room. Wait ten hours, the room WILL stop spinning, your heart will not explode, and you are not crazy.
Disclaimer: If you took this seriously, seek professional help immediately.
Seeking a way out of insanity: Get a good night’s sleep, study the great minds of our time, and read a few pages of someone else’s blog. You’ll soon discover your less insane than you imagined.
I just discovered the word fore-play can only be used in one way!
In California slang: Oh, My Gosh!
And here I was thinking I could use the word to mean: the time before I played or the time leading up to play.
(I’m hyphenating the word fore-play, in hopes of avoiding the p-er-v-s that might use the search term. No offense if you used that search term and were just looking for tips with your Honey. I don’t mean you. But maybe I do. Can’t be too sure, these days…now I’m realizing I just typed p-e-r-v-. I give up.)
Writing is an act I generally enjoy. Not so much yesterday’s post, but overall, writing is like PLAY to me. I believe I ought to be able to write fore-play to imply the play time leading up to my writing. But it looks like I’m out of luck!
I am picturing myself in a crowded room (heart beating fast) and having a small-chat-chat with a stranger (heart beating faster), and casually offering, “My writing involves a lot of foreplay.”
At this time, I would probably start obsessing about my heart beating so very fast, and start hypothesizing all the ways in which I could be dying, e.g., heart attack brought on by genetic mutation, clogged arteries, and my favorite, that Sir Brain continually obsesses about—heart suddenly explodes for unknown reason!
As I was obsessing, I’d likely miss the nonverbal clues of the person standing next to me, who was processing my statement.
I’d miss the person raise a brow or I’d miss him/her attempt to raise a brow. (I can raise my right eyebrow super high, and forget others don’t have my same skill set.) I’d miss the quizzical-who-the-heck-are-you-smile. I’d not realize a tape (CD for younger generation) was playing in the stranger’s mind.
Perhaps something like this: “Is she naïve, uneducated, bold, or just plain stupid? Or maybe trying to pick me up?”
I’d miss the follow-up smirk or wink—dependent upon interpretation. And I’d mosey along towards the food table, entirely oblivious of the person’s response to my utterance, while gorging myself on prawns and crab-cakes, in an attempt to subside Sir Brain’s rapid thinking on death.
They know what I'm talking about!
Words like fore-play get tangled in my mind.
I love words. I am fascinated by words. They are brilliant and beautiful. And I love to paint pictures with words. Words are my primary colors blended into soothing pastels, when they merge with the white of my computer screen.
Words are my friends. And they are also my enemies. I keep words close. I watch them carefully and with awe. The slightest change, just one little letter, alters the whole meaning. Just a slight dab of painted word, a speck in the corner of the canvas, transforms the entire picture.
I still don’t comprehend why the word fore-play can’t be used in other ways.
The word fore can mean: the front, that which is in front; the future. A method of proceeding. Before. Previously.
The word Play means: Engage in activity for enjoyment or recreation rather than practical purpose. Usually involving children.
But when I combine the two together, they don’t mean: the play you do before the play. This is confusing.
Why can’t the word combo mean the play writing I do before the writing? I love to play write before I write. I usually write a half page or more, before I find my voice and know what I want to write about. Then I delete, and begin again.
Some people, reading this post, are thinking, really? This is the best you got after you played and deleted?
Yep. This is ME!
I wanted to call this post the Origin of Fore-play. But I didn’t want to attract creeps.
Just putting that out there.
It is a funny and intriguing title, after all.
Be forewarned, don’t go digging into the word origin of fore-play, unless you want an eye-full. Neither do you want to search for images or search for examples of what p-e-r-v means. And YouTube—you know how Crazy Frog likes to find associated videos for my posts. In relation to this post, AVOID YouTube searches. LV is still hiding in shame.
You might be wondering about the point of this here post. How this could possibly relate to Asperger’s Syndrome.
Let me point out what this post demonstrates:
Words mean a lot to me.
Words are confusing, especially when they have multiple meanings, or when society has combined two words to mean something different than expected and/or that don’t make logical sense.
I confuse words.
Confusing words can cause embarrassment.
I am often unaware I ought to maybe be embarrassed.
My actions confuse others.
Confusing others can ostracize me (or make people like me even more).
I can pretty much write about anything given a particular topic.
I’m a risk taker and have a hidden talent for finding cool videos.
The combo of Green Tea, chocolate cookies, and the supplement Gaba make me even more interesting.
You Tube Links You Might Enjoy
Sometimes certain words leave me feeling unsettled. If you’re like me, this is to relax you.
For those of you who were really hoping for more out of this post, here’s a frisky dolphin.
And music, we have to have music!
Now I’m wondering about the words play toy! And thinking about when I was 18 years of age, a college freshman, and how one of my first college courses was all juniors and seniors, an upper division class, that I had no idea I ought not to have signed up for. And I’m thinking about the videos in that class, and the topic, and how my face was always beet-red.
I did the unmentionable this morning—I stepped on the scale. I’m hearing horror music in my head, like from the shower scene in Psycho.
I’m not on speaking terms with food. I’m so over eating.
As in done with chewing all together. I need someone to stick an IV (intravenous tube) in me with a nutritional drip of fresh-juiced organic fruits and veggies. Then I need someone to remove my refrigerator, my pantry, to cook for my children, and escort me to the athletic club. I need a cook, an athletic trainer, and blinders—like the horses wear. Actually, I probably need all my senses blocked. I can see myself with blinded-eyes, arms stretched out, feeling my way to find the food, like some starved zombie. I can see me with my pointy chin in the air and my nose twitching, as I sniff out the sweet and sours. I can even see me, once absent of all my senses, except the ability to taste, walking around aimlessly licking things.
Maybe that psychic was right! Maybe I was a dog in my past life!
I try to workout, I do. I’ve done the dance and yoga thing. Even the occasional treadmill in the dark room at our gym. A whole darkened room dedicated to those of us who don’t want to be seen with our fat jiggling. What a concept!
I’ve got this mind-boggling, athletic club phobia happening at the moment. Some of you know what I mean. All of the sudden the gym becomes this monstrosity of the mind. You can’t figure out how to get yourself to go, but yet you have this running tape in your head telling you that you should go. And then you promise yourself you will, or make some excuse.
My excuses are actually quite good. Forgetting for a moment that I’m disabled and I actually undergo substantial pain exercising, I’ve got a long list of reasons that home is better than the gym. Basically, what it boils down to (odd word phrase to picture) is the following:
dyslexia (makes dance classes hard)
body odor and odd body movements (makes yoga class hard)
naked people (makes the locker room hard)
sweat and germs (makes the treadmill room hard)
People in general (makes leaving the house hard)
Hard as in not comfortable, as in a mattress you wish you never bought.
Of course, this time of year, the outdoors aren’t super inviting. I did choose to live in one of the wettest US states imaginable. Which does indeed make for supple skin and that pale vampire complexion.
Just on the way to school today my youngest son said, “Wow. So dark outside. So much rain. Look at all the puddles. I wonder if more ducks will be here soon.”
I’m convinced the town I occupy, in the state of Washington, is runner up in cloud-coverage to the town where the popular series Twilight takes place. The author of Twilight researched to find the cloudiest place in the USA, a town where vampires would want to live.
Perhaps my current location and complexion is the reason I am rethinking my whole vocation and life purpose, and considering this whole vampire lifestyle. That and now a days vampires are so good looking and hot! Which is ironic as they’re physically quite cold. An irony I probably only find interesting. Which concerns me to no end.
I like to walk. I am very thankful for these two functioning legs. But the majority of the time, in these here parts, a stroll in the neighborhood means sopping wet shoes, drenched clothes, a rain-slapped face, and dog-shivers—and that’s with an umbrella.
Plus, this born-and-raised-in-California gal is still adjusting to the temperature change. Where I used to live, if the temperature was 40 degrees in the morning, it rose to 65 degrees by the afternoon. I thought, for most of my life, that all places gradually rose in temperature throughout the day.
Here in my town in Washington, when the temperature is 40 degrees in the morning, sometimes it’s only 41 degrees by mid-day. What the heck? Not one single Washingtonian thought to inform me of this meager frigid-factor when our family was scoping the neighborhood. I’m fairly certain that Washington natives get a kick out of watching the newcomers from California adjust to the pangs of climate change. I actually sleep in my day clothes many nights because I’m too cold to undress. And I’ve developed quite the close relationship with my space heater. Even my socks and me are buddies.
On a sunny day, I have to be careful in traffic. As it seems everyone takes the day off of work, and there exists a good three-times as many vehicles on the road. Give us a little sunshine, and we’re all tongue-wagging chipper, like a bunch of canines set free at the dog park. Only instead of sniffing butts, we are all glancing up at the sun and smiling wide. Some of us even point up: There’s the sun!
If you ever think about moving here, don’t be persuaded by the green-lush beauty and the natives telling you that you can wear open-toe shoes in May. Last May the temperature topped in the high-50’s. The smart folk, they head down to Arizona for the late winter or fly across the ocean to Hawaii.
Of course, if you ever visit in August, you’ll see why we stay. When the sun comes, the land looks like pure heaven.
click to see where image was found
Despite my aches and pains, my issues, the weather, and the temperature, I do need to get the ball rolling, so to speak. LV (see MY LINGO) keeps chatting in my ear. She’s whispering day and night the likes of these types of statements:
You do know that it’s not too good to be able to pinch a full half-foot of belly fat in one try, right?
How can these same jeans still fit you when you are clearly carrying some fifteen pounds more of fat than when you bought them? They must be Amazing Super Power Jeans!
If you keep going at this rate they’ll have to get a crane to move you out of the house.
Crazy Frog has been flashing images of sperm whales and singing: “Do you know the muffin-top, the muffin-top, the muffin-top. Do you know the muffin-top, that lives on Sam Craft Lane.”
And Crazy Frog has done the math: two pounds from being snowed in from snowstorm, two pounds for three-day power outage, two pounds for the loss of our dog Scoob, two pounds for the university incident. He figures we should sleep for the rest of March to avoid anymore stress-eating.
I have no idea how to end this post. I’m just staring at the screen thinking about cream puffs, cinnamon bread, and bagels, and wondering if I can in fact sleep the month of March away and wake up some 15 pounds lighter. I’m wondering about the Amazing Super Power Jeans and Vampires, and thinking of a new superhero. I’m wanting to search YouTube for superhero songs. And, I’m gradually coming to the conclusion that I really do need to get out of the house more, take the first step and head to the gym–despite the Naked People!!!
Everyday Asperger's 