raybear: (tattoo)
Last night at 2:45 am I was woken up by a migraine-ish headache on the left side of my forehead. I stumbled around for awhile, trying to figure out if it felt better to stand, to sit, to lay down, to swallow tylenol, to eat. The last one was a bad decision, as a few moments later I puked all those raisins up (painful). But then I felt slightly better, enough to maybe fall asleep with the pain.

Then I slipped into a dream where I had a terminal disease that was somewhat common in society and had progressed to the point of this pain which meant it would only get worse from hereon out. Some people with it at this point would decide to commit suicide, to put themselves to sleep in a way, as there were underground circles you could hire to come over and inject you with a giant syringe of morphine. I had made an appointment to do just that. But then I missed the appointment, trying to run around and take care of all my outstanding business before dying, and in the midst of it, I came into the kitchen where [livejournal.com profile] dommeyourass was sitting, and I was going to tell her my decision, but before I could, she said, "look" and the kitchen window was open and on the branch outside were all these amazing colorful birds, and some of them would flit inside our house and I raised up my hands and made a whistle signal that bluebirds liked, and the bluebirds answered back. And we just stood in the kitchen and marvelled at these tiny beautiful lovelies. [In real life, I'm not sure how fond I'd be of live birds in my kitchen, but these seemed pretty chill and not circling around and panicking.] And I realized, that if I had made my appointment with morphine Dr. Kevorkian dude, I would have missed this moment of this day. Consequentially, I decided to wait awhile longer, that maybe there were more things to see in life.

I don't usually have such made-for-television inspirational dreams. I blame the movie Life Support which I watched last night. On the DVD was a preview for El Cantante which I totally want to watch despite all critical and musical response as being negative, but because I'm fascinated by film vanity projects. Or at least that's my explanation for why I watched Loverboy some months back.

Birds have been fairly prominent lately in my life, starting at Ragdale when one of my spouses was a birder and she'd go for morning walking with her book and binoculars, and I went out a couple times with her. Lots of the info from my ornithology class in high school, I remembered perfectly intact. I came home from the residency and shortly after learned that [livejournal.com profile] jethead also love birds, even gave me a lovely guide book. I bought two pairs of binoculars, one of them a monocular binocular (which is funnily enough, not an oxymoron) for our future bird-watching expeditions. We watched part of David Attenborough's The Life of Bird series last week, the section from the dhammapada I chose for the week was about birds leaving the lake, and after [livejournal.com profile] robobebe posted pictures of the wall stencil, I've been considering ones for the bedroom or living room, most of them concerning tree branches and silhouettes of birds. But it wasn't until I had such an obvious dream that I noticed.

I really miss seeing my California people this year, but I'm extraordinarily pleased about what is happening here in Chicago too. I'm headed to the store(s) shortly for thanksgiving meal ingredients. But I should maybe decide on the dishes themselves before I go shopping.
raybear: (Wiley)
The following things happened to me yesterday, not anywhere near each other in time and space:

1. I took a hot bath in the morning, even though I knew I was biking to the gym in a couple hours, but I was so sore and achey that its all I wanted to do. During this bath, I stared out the window into the sunshine and wished for a hot tub on a back deck, because it was perfect weather for it, where it was warm, but not hot outside, there was still a barest hint of spring chill in the air that a bubbly spa would complement.

2. On the train into work, I marvelled in my head as to why so many buildings in this city are made with the same ugly boring concrete grey blocks and if there's some market domination going on, or if its just that they are the cheapest and most efficient and everyone is trying to make/conserve money, so its like building your house in the Sims, and you want to branch out but you just end up making most every house look pretty much the same because materials are limited within a budget.

3. I corresponded over e-mail with DYA and our friends about possibly renting a 4-bedroom vacation house together for a weekend in June in Michigan while we are all there for our mutual friends' wedding.

These things added up to a dream last night where DYA and I were with a bunch of people, looking at housing plans (the view was much like playing The Sims) and there was a lottery/race to pick which rooms we wanted to live in -- it kinda reminded me of the race to get seats on a Southwest flight, where they divide groups into 3 sections, but its cutthroat mini-chaos within each one. It also kinda reminded me of the moments at the beginnings of reality shows that involve all the contestants living together, and how they run around and claim beds. Everyone else was a stranger to us, except we knew [livejournal.com profile] blondestallion was coming later and would need a place to stay and we didn't want her stuck in a crappy room with strangers, so we decided to claim the biggest room that we could all share, which had two big beds and a hot tub. I was very happy with our decision and our 'win', though slightly nervous about the longterm consequences of three adults having to share a room for period of time more than a few nights, even if it is two people that I like a lot.

I'm not allowed to go to the gym today. Working out has totally become my tool for avoiding writing, and while it has some benefits over say, watching oprah and eating cookies and napping as a tool to avoid writing (nothing wrong with any of those things on their own, of course, only for me when done in combination for long periods of time), it also has some disadvantages like my back being a little inflamed and angry at me because I've been overdoing it. I am going to the grocery story though, which is one of my favorite activities in the world.

Please enjoy the latest installment of my imaginary boyfriend.

raybear: (Default)
On the elevator ride up to work, the mini-screen with flashing headlines mentioned Livejournal being sold to a "Russian media company".

Last night at 2:22 am, I woke myself up from trying to escape the bed and some weird freudian psychosexual dream. I hate those. I only get them maybe once a year, and last night was something about my mother sleeping with some other man and telling me about it, but worse she was telling me about it when the man's child was in the room with us. This was obviously influenced by the Margot movie. There was also some weird appearance with the Clintons and reference to Hillary sleeping with Obama and Bill talking about public sex and I was just like, agh, enough, I want out of these conversations! So I got up, was groggy, but also far from sleep. Perhaps not so inclined to return to the possible narrative awaiting me. I played my scrabble moves online, then went back to bed and did a crossword puzzle. Then I read. Then finally, around 4:30, I turned out the light and eventually fell back to sleep. I suspect DYA was maybe waking up around that time on the other side of the apartment.

A random bout of insomnia wouldn't be so bad with my schedule, except I had plans to meet Coxy at the Y at 8:45 am. The alarm went off and I made it happen. Even got there early! We scooted in just in time for our Hydro-Aerobics Class. This class was my suggestion and Coxy was totally game (and possibly equally excited, though I don't want to presume to speak for her). It was sort of exactly what I expected -- we were the youngest people in the class and we were definitely being observed and sized up, though it never felt hostile. Just...questioning. So imagine about 9 people in a pool, with my grandma standing on along the edge and calling out the exercises. It started off with going back and forth across the short distance of the pool, doing specifical leg or arm movements. Then we got these styrofoam dumbbells and she called out more movements for our arms. Then we got floatie noodles to recline in the water and she called out more movements for our legs. Then we went to the wall and did a bunch more movements. Then we did about 8 seconds of stretching and the class was done.

I actually liked the class a lot, because you could adjust all the movements easily, to make them as vigorous as you'd like. Its not swimming focused, in fact I wore my glass the whole time because I never went fully underwater -- its more about movement underwater so its easier on joints but there's also more resistance. It was sort of soothing being in water for an hour too.

After the class, Coxy stayed behind in the pool to do some laps and I went exploring the rest of the fitness area. I tried out a few machines, including the climber. For some reason elliptical machines are daunting, but I had no problem hopping up in this rail thing and climbing away for a couple minutes. it looked like this, if you don't know ) Then I went to the circuit training room, which I haven't done in years, and I kinda love all the weightlight machines, even more than free weights. Except, I got all bold and did the assisted chin-up/chin-dip bar, and now my shoulders are jelly and I could barely lift my arms to get dressed for work this afternoon. I'm a little worried that tomorrow morning will be worse, though usually if the tiredness happens right away, I'm less sore the next day.

I liked being there, because I didn't feel as self-conscious about my body. I mean, its probably more likely people stare at my tattoo instead of my scars, since the ink is actually more prominent. The majority of the people there were older than me, there were all sort of body types and fitness styles, it wasn't too crowded and the people there were utterly fascinating to me. Also, they have machines with tvs on them. So, assuming they don't require a year commitment, I think I'm going to join the YMCA. Its 3 train stops away, and about 2 blocks from the station (it took me about 15 minutes to get there, door to door).

So maybe every Wednesday, Coxy and I are going to do water aerobics and then eat at the Golden Nugget and talk about things that make me agitated (in a good way).

I can't believe I'm joining a gym and super excited about it. I also can't believe I wrote a whole blog post about it. I don't expect it to happen that often. Except maybe after I go to the steam room for the first time.
raybear: (profile)
So, uh, I finished Bully. I conquered all of the cliques and then I caught Gary and saved the school and finished the main storyline and the credits rolled at the end after I kissed the girl. I only completed 82.47% of the game, techinically speaking, so now I'm in Chapter 6: Endless Summer so I can run around and collect all those rubberbands and win the go kart races and finish taking all the yearbook pictures. But will I? Maybe a little, but really, I think its just as well to put the controller down. DYA said, "what are you going to do now?" And I said, 'have my life back.' Last night in bed I kept thinking about the music and sounds and was already feeling nostalgic for little Jimmy and his life, so who knows, maybe I will go back and visit and get him the gold lame Elvis suit.

That was a lot of my weekend. Though I also went to a going-away bowling party on Friday night for a co-worker which was pleasant but slightly removed -- it reminded me of social outings in college. But I still managed to stay out until 1 am. Saturday evening was date night that included non-video games and last night we watched For Your Consideration which was kinda bad. I think maybe I don't really like Ricky Gervais. Wait, no, that's not true. I think Ricky Gervais is great when he's doing his thing, his one thing, but it's not very versatile and I didn't think it added anything to Christopher Guest & Co. folks. That movie just had too many people and too many insider jokes.

I've slept so much more in the past few days. Its strange, I'm usually a 7 hours a night person, but lately I've been doing 8, 9, 10 hours. Maybe because I'm not napping during the day. This morning I woke up after a really good intense dream with my anima, which was a little odd because she was married but divorced and they had two kids and I met the whole family, including the ex-husband, but I was there to see her and we hadn't been seeing each other long, only 6 months, but she was like look, I'm ready to do this. I am with you. I want you. I'm ready to have your baby. So get it together, cause I'm right here and you're wasting time that we could be doing something bigger and better. Except, this wasn't all said like a threat, or a fight -- she's always supremely grounded and loving and real, if firm and sometimes dabbling in tough-love speak -- it was more like a 'get it together' speech. So I woke up all like, okay, let's inseminate and do this thing! Which, is kind of hilarious. But the feelings, the subconscious meanings, I get that part, I know what it's all about. That's why I said -- it was a good dream. Plus, any dream with her presence is a pleasure, it's very soothing. And kinda hot. I mean, what's not hot about a person you're super attracted to ordering you to come inside them?
raybear: (Default)
I just rated "The Devil Wears Prada" on Netflix, and based on my positive feedback, they recommended "Another Gay Movie" and "Boys Briefs 3". I fckin swear it. Apparently only gay men and women who like to watch gay men enjoy The Devil Wears Prada. That sounds about right.

I'm glad I'm not catholic, or at least a practicing one, because then I couldn't be eating this bavarian creme paczki for breakfast dessert. It's a pre-treat for going to the dentist in about an hour. I should probably finish getting dressed, even though I appreciate my outfit of a coffee-stained a-frame and purple american apparel briefs a.k.a. hipster underoos.

I had a dream the other night that I was attending some sort of weird "Dark Circus" that was basically like a performance/event of people who had clown fetishes mixed with some sort of goth theme party. And before it started, I accidentally walked onto the stage where there was a rehearsal featuring 6 acrobats and Marilyn Manson. And Marilyn Manson came up to me (and in the dream, I had suspected that he was reading my blog, but I wasn't sure if it was actually him or someone posing as him) and he walked right up like he knew me, even though we never met, and said, "Raymond, your journal makes me laugh." Totally deadpan. Then walked away.

Later in the dream, I ran into [livejournal.com profile] mintwaster at the bizarre performance and told her the story and she's like, oh man, you need to add that as a blurb to your profile! "Raymond's journal makes me laugh." -- Marilyn Manson.
raybear: (Default)
Last week, as a combination birthday/anniversary gift and exercise in overcoming inertia (and therefore also somewhat depression), I cleaned the middle room. I gathered up the rug and futon cover and pillows and throws and pillow covers and mat covers and took them all to the laundromat. Two of the large pillows have perhaps never been washed. I came home and removed all the furniture and dusted and swept and mopped. I put it all back in place. The room was glowing again, or maybe it was just the orange of the futon brightened by the layers of dust and dog hair removed. But now I can enjoy sitting there and not feeling grossed out.

It is the brightest sunspot of the apartment and next to a radiator and therefore good for naps. I have pleasant memories of warm and intense nights spent there. But I love sitting and lounging there because the room is also our library, and I can sit and stare at the rows of books and have the same feeling of calm and longing and curiosity that I have when browsing through bookstores and libraries. I am constantly called to read and I have all the patience and attention in the world to do it, I don't get distracted by sleep or tv or snacks or internet.

Tonight I settled down to finish working on a budget, to perhaps do some paper journaling. I pulled out John Coltane's Lush Life, an album I'd been thinking of after listening yesterday to his A Love Supreme. After finishing doodling and brainstorming with the calculator and feeling satisfied with my plan, my eyes wandered over to the shelf which has started to accumuluate a textbook collection. I have many of mine from college, but these are all recent acquisitions, mostly literature collections I find used on online for cheap because new editions are now being required for students. I am drawn to them for several reasons: I like collections, the idea of collections and what brings stories togethers and the essays included with the primary sources, I like to think about how I would teach literature and writing in the future, I like the concept of textbooks, even with their inadequacies. I pulled down a Norton collection of short stories and was surprised to see an Amy Bloom story included. I started to flip to it, but got stopped by the sudden need to read James Baldwin's "Sonny's Blues". I read it years ago, but have been wanting to revisit for craft reasons and paused because I felt a bit ashamed at the cliche of reading it while Coltrane blew on his horn about being like someone in love. But I did it anyway.

The story moved me as much as before, but for different reasons and I couldn't even stick with my examination of the language and structure, I was just too drawn in to the movement of it, I didn't want to pick it apart at all. When it was done, I put down the book and pulled the dog close to my chest and curled up on the pillows. I could feel my eyelids getting heavy and wondered if sleep might be a bad idea at this time of night, but the warmth of the radiator and pillows and fur, from my inside -- the fuzz that comes after I absorb a moving piece of creative work -- and in the air from the music, and for a moment I actually thought, this is the most amazing moment of my life. I don't want to move, I can't move, I don't want to move, I want to stay in this place.

Of course, I fell asleep seconds later. I woke up to silence, the record over. How long was it? What time...day is it? Who am I again? All the disjointedness of unexpected nap, feeling awake and sleepy and unrested and calm. I stand up and I'm shaken, I am still not myself, but I don't know who this other person is yet. It's like I am blurred and nearsighted and far away. I am the character in some other story, stuck in the spine as the book was shut on me while I was out of the scene, a mere subplot (what if I'm only the subplot in someone else's story? ), and I can't find my way back to the action.

Of course, I'm back together seconds later. I look at the clock, and figure I can't have been asleep more than 10, 15 minutes tops. I am silly and sleepy and its Sunday night. But I go into the next room and the candle is out. There is no draft, no breeze. The wick is fine, it did not drown in wax. I look at it, and think, I was right. Someone was here and passed through me first, on the way out.
raybear: (collapsed)
While I would definitely prefer the phlegmyness to stop, there is something hugely satisfying about watching gobs of it get washed out of my nose and into the sink with the neti pot. Sorry, maybe I should have put a bodily function warning on this statement.

It was 49 degrees this morning in our apartment, but I think it's gone up one or two degrees because of the sun. I've had the oven on all morning while working in the office which maybe makes it 60 degrees, or maybe I'm just doing better because I'm wearing a skullcap. I'm bundling up to leave soon and go hang out at the apartment of a friend who we're catsitting for, and hopefully when I return, the heat will magically be back on (if by 'magic' I mean the repair guy scheduled for 11 will have come and used his skills).

Last night I slept in long underwear and pajamas and between down comforters and I got overheated and couldn't really maintain a proper body temperature, since my options were 90 degrees or 40 degrees. As a result, I had many fever-pitched dreams, the last one involving being in the backyard with Sophie, two squirrels, and a skunk. I did some reading on the symbolism and the concepts that stood out were about assertion and balance, my sense of self and being in my body is out of whack, erratic energy with no focus which leads to stagnation, and losing energy on worry instead of action. Or maybe I just fear that I smell bad. Or the damage of carbon monoxide being sprayed on me from an oven and space heater being on all the time, but I can't actually smell it to know that it's killing me.

May 2010

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