The idea that there is someone working for the government who is paid to sift through information about me that they (perhaps) glean from my blog postings is absurd.

I suppose they could use computers to pull “information” about us based on our word choice. But would they be able to put together themes based on that? Probably. Infer things…? I’m skeptical about that.

Facebook does it. I guess. Of course, Facebook was recently under the impression that I’d be interested in coupons for “up to 60% off” my next purchase of a pair of clogs.

Wooden clogs.


I feel frequently like people who should know things about me sometimes have as many misses as the computerbots.
Everything I’ve ever said about my Wolf is like that. One huge misdirection so that nobody will remember that, once upon a time, I used to say I was a dog. I was, too. Tamer and sweeter. Or perhaps I am misremembering myself. (I suppose I may have still been prone to a certain poor temperament, but I had not determined at that stage to use whatever came to hand–misdirection, cruelty, aggression–to look after my interests.) But the point of my mentioning it is this: that is how I classified myself. I belonged to someone, too, and I liked to think we were both pleased by this illustration of ourselves.

If you’ve ever seen a happy dog with a happy human, I think that is how it was then.

And…of all the things in the universe that I could have unintentionally fixated on…that was the one. Even after trying to metaphorically beat it or burn it or freeze it out of me…I haven’t been successful. And sometimes I hear a thing that has the same effect on me that the words “walk” or “treat” have on some dogs: the internal picture of me will prick its ears and its tail will start wagging and I can’t do a thing to stop it. I’d like to. I’d like to roll up a newspaper and beat it because I have thought of a million reasons why I should never have felt and should never feel that way about these things…

But I can’t do it. I can’t do it because I love dogs. And I love me. And I love the way the little doggy eyes shine with happies and they make all these little squeaking noises. And why, why would I want to injure myself for feeling like a happy, squeaking doggy?

For all the bad qualities I express towards others, they have nothing at all on the inhuman way I treat myself sometimes.

I just wish to death that I could have found something less utterly ridiculous to be that way about. *shrug* It doesn’t hurt me the way it did for a long while. I’m just…exasperated? Embarrassed? I’m not sure. But I still feel very strongly that it’s a thing to discourage in myself. And I do what I can…but…sometimes…just…it’s all like, “who’s a good boy? Huh? Who? Who is it, Reesey?!” And I don’t want to respond, but damn it, I can’t do anything but wag my tail and be an idiot.




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Nothing more disappointing than starting on the last story in the anthology you’ve been reading, and realising you’ve read it before.

(Just kidding. There are lots of way more disappointing things…but I was particularly bummed out by that one last night.)

Oh well. Done with Cthulhu for a while. Moved on to the last book in Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake trilogy…I’m extremely upset that I’m reading it though, because the first book was great. The second one was nowhere near as good, and this last one looks to be just more of the same.

I wish authors did not feel the desire to continue a storyline until it’s not absorbing or fun anymore, and becomes something far inferior to what it started out as.

Again: oh well.

Pretty exhausted right now, but I feel like I should not go to bed yet because if I do, I’ll wake up too early…not having anything close to a consistent sleep schedule sucks. I hate that yesterday, I had to get up at 530am just to get to work on time, and that tomorrow it will be after 2am when I leave work to come home. I slept for 11 hours last night…started falling asleep while reading at about 130am, and woke up a bit after noon.

Went hiking with my youngest sister. The kind of activity where we wish almost right away that we’d never decided to do it, but that we keep doing anyway because afterward it doesn’t seem so bad…traipsing up and down hills and me wheezing because there is too much water in the air and my lungs can’t filter enough of it out. And both of us not speaking, but now and then pointing out a shadowy false pathway or a seemingly-intentional clearing that is removed from the path, and making little remarks about the Devil. Or witches. Or dark, antlered figures.

I am pretty certain those moments are the ones that we keep going on these hikes for. So that we can make dark little speculations.

Our other sister is upset that we didn’t ask her along. I can’t fathom why though, since her least favourite thing to do is be outside. And there’s always been a genuine animosity between she and I, which makes me think that taking her along would not only destroy the one reason for going, but that she would make everything downright unpleasant with her complaining and meanness.

No matter.

Now I am going to go back to my pathetic attempt to write more in my saving Christmas dream story … what a lot of rubbish.



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I’m not having such a great time.

I still have a pinched nerve or pulled muscle somewhere, and I can feel it up my back, in my shoulder, and all the way into my neck and jaw on the right. It’s the worst.

And there is a cut on my hand from one of our dogs, and it finally closed up, but it’s still red and puffy, like it’s a little infected. Not enough to worry about…just enough to be uncomfortable and annoying.

And the humidity is a tool of the devil…the pressure in my head won’t go away, and since I woke up this morning, it’s felt like someone is pressing and pressing on my face, around my eyes and forehead.

And then my mouth is a mess. I bit my lip a few days ago, and now there’s a canker sore. Hurts something awful. And in an effort to not irritate it further, I was talking a little awkwardly and bit my tongue, so now that feels swollen and infected, too…

Can’t win.



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Almost done with this anthology of Lovecraftian short stories…

Yesterday I read one where, I swear, the author was channeling the same writing personality that I’d tap into when I did stuff for my creative nonfiction class. So many ridiculous asides and nonsense to create the illusion that things are happening. And that, while horrifying, they’re also pretty funny.

It was a weird story to read.

The other one…was longish…and probably the only time so far where I have almost cried over a weird tale. I think that at some point in my life, perhaps I will stop getting sentimental over characters who I perceive as “being me”. I have not arrived at that point yet, it seems.

And lastly…it occurred to me–while I was supposed to be at a training class on how to properly manage food and beverage, but was thinking about Cthulhu instead–that although I’ve read SO MANY stories from other authors who used Lovecraft’s ideas…I think the only story I’ve ever read by him is The Call of Cthulhu. Nothing else comes to mind.

Sure, I know about his stories…but all that knowledge is secondhand, from authors who’ve spun it into all kinds of things…WWII Nazi stories, noir-type spy stories, Doctor Who adventures, Woodstock-type stories laced with all kinds of drugs, Star Trek-inspired voyages…but I’ve never read any but that one of the original set.


I have two collections of Lovecraft stories lines up to read this fall when I might have time…but…I feel weird now. What if I don’t even like them?




Twelve years. What a damnably long time for something so pointless.

Still, every now and then, there is a thing that happens and it is all new again and a little ray of sunshine pokes through the polished black of my heart, and the little dark flowers bloom as if they may never do so again.

I worry sometimes, that maybe my whole mode of thinking has been marred by books…but…that aside, I feel a strong possibility that this kind of thing may truthfully be the sort that only happens to a person once.

I just wish it had been completely different.



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I think that, by immersing myself in some truly remarkable weird fiction, I have a more keen appreciation for what makes things wrong. Primarily, that thing is imagination. A particular kind of imagining, that allows a particular kind of inclination to apply itself to an actual thing one encounters, and everything goes dark and cold. Or uncomfortably humid and close, depending on the inclination.

I have a suspicion I know a creature whose inclinations are to the latter. She would better appreciate the soft, somewhat oily texture of the cover of this book I am now reading. She would appreciate that it feels like flesh…the complete wrongness of it.

Not that I don’t think those things enough to be writing about them; she would simply appreciate it more.

On the other hand, I had a moment of terror brought about by my own imaginative inclinations…and I completely forgot about it until I started reading this book.

I drove when Jesse and I left for vacation in June. Driving the whole way up to Michigan and wishing he talked more in the car because I get irritated when I am driving for a long time and can’t sufficiently focus on my own thoughts because I am trying to be a responsible driver, but I have nothing else to occupy the bits of my mind that are not focused on steering and the other cars and whatnot…

And then, on top of not really talking, he fell asleep. Bah and humbug.

So, there I am, driving on a highway with dense trees on one side, and on the other side, a passing lane and more dense trees so that one cannot see traffic in the other direction. Every now and then, some crows are gathered on the side of the road, either eating road kill or daring each other to go out closer to the cars and possibly become road kill.

It was a pretty sunny day. Some little clouds. And suddenly, I noticed a big dark spot in the sky out the driver’s side window.

Everything was the same…happy sun with little, puffy happy clouds…and one dark streak that, as I looked, grew even darker. And I wanted very much to not look at it, but the road curved and I didn’t really have a choice but to drive on and try not to stare at this hole of evening-coloured sky that had opened up in front of me.

The wrongness of it unnerved me a lot, and I almost wanted to stop driving until it went away and I would not have to look at it…but of course that particular stretch of highway is where there just aren’t any rest stops or gas stations for miles and miles…

And I started thinking of all the ridiculous stories about monster things from space, or even about the idea in the biblical book of Revelation, where, at the end of the world, the sky will roll up like a parchment.

And after what was maybe only three or four minutes, the dark spot dissipated…revealing itself to be two clouds which were smooth enough to look like flat patches of sky, and dark enough that they just happened to have an extremely sinister effect when they passed near each other.


And the other day, I thought of this dream I had. The one that I have no easy way to find in my back-log of posts…but it was about traveling through space on an endless longboat with the souls of so many dead Vikings, and passing through a fjord at the bottom of cliffs that went up for miles, and what were topped with vast, white wastelands…

It was an unnerving dream. One where, when I recall it, I still feel uneasy. Who dreams stuff like that, anyway?



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Screened Guardians of the Galaxy with some of the employees, and I am irked by something about movies with space battles.

When I was in college, we read Ender’s Game for a SciFi class I took, and the book made a fantastic point about movement in space–that you can’t keep orienting yourself with a constant “up” and “down” because you’re free to move in any dimensions, and up and down have no meaning.

I was super annoyed that they didn’t make more of that in the Ender’s Game movie, and I have been increasingly annoyed by it in any of the space-related movies I’ve seen since then.

I get that it might be difficult to animate, or that it might be disorienting for audiences to follow scenes like that…but movie makers could be doing so much MORE with their space scenes, but they just keep doing the same sort of stuff, with the same up/down orientation in battles, and the same sorts of ship designs that have designated up/down layouts…which I totally think makes sense for most ships…but not ones that are specifically fighting ships. They should have greater freedom to maneuver. But what do I know.

On a totally unrelated subject, I have a question.

Does anyone know if it’s possible, as an adult, for one’s eye colour to change slightly? I’ve always thought of my eyes as being fairly dark, but I’ve noticed what seems to be a lightening or brightening that’s dramatic enough that I can more easily see the greenish/reddish contrast of the inner and outer iris. I’ve also been feeling like I have a greater sensitivity to natural light, especially on overcast or cloudy days…been squinting a lot more or caving in and putting on sunglasses, which I’ve never done a whole lot in the past.

Just curious if anyone has ever heard of something like that.



I slept for three hours again last night. partly because I can never sleep. mostly because of fighting with jesse for over an hour via text messaging and then being too worked up to fall asleep. and now I am so tired. but I know I wont sleep if I try. I can’t. my brain will just keep humming along. with spells of non-thought–toni’s “brain static”–getting longer and more frequent. just staring. or watching thoughts waft across my mind, while being unable to catch any of them.

that’s great, I guess. that he can go out with his friends and tell them hes upset. I cant do that. as much as I want to think I am likable, I cant bring myself to get anyone else involved in my own problems. they don’t really care. or want to hear that. so why bother.

I think I want to pretend to myself that I have no problems, too. what better way to do that than to never speak of them. nobody needs to know. nobody wants to know. I don’t want anyone to know. its all good.

nothing is bothering me.
nothing matters anyway.

I keep wanting to focus instead on someone else. I want to help Toni and Schyler move apartments. I want to help my employee whose family lost their house. I want to just watch cartoons about the candy kingdom and fighting zombies, and just not think too hard about anything. because what good is it anyway. if I get distracted with important stuff, I always seem to open my mouth. and destroy and destroy. and I cant stop myself. part of me is horrified and wants it to just stop, but I cant do what it says. I cant do anything but keep going just a bit too far. and destroying.

im not even shocked anymore. just tired.


Heh. Jesse told me last month that he wanted me to take off a Saturday so we could have a cookout…so, today rolls around and the forecast is storms and more storms…

There was some thunder, but mostly nothing all day.

And then almost none of the people he invited could come out. We wound up with three of his friends, and one of their little kids, and Toni and Schyler, since I had the presence of mind to ask her if she was free tonight.

I will have to ask him what he thought of how it went though…since it turned into two separate groups of him with his friends and me with mine, in different places and not talking to each other. Weird, I guess? Idk.

I am glad Schyler wasn’t being grumpy today though. He was super glum last time we were hanging out. I suppose that is probably how I come off when I tag along with people though. Eh.

Still. I liked seeing them again. And that Toni said she told a bunch of people from the Dine-In and they all told her to say hello. I like the idea that someone is so excited to hang out with me that they tell other people. ^_^

I wouldn’t be that excited to hang out with me. (Or, maybe I would, since I am a narcissistic moron and seem to like people best when they are most like me…)

They left around 10 to try and make it to a show for a band that someone we know is in, and it wasn’t until after they left that Jesse and his friends finally got the fire blazing…and not 10 minutes after that, it started pouring.

Some cookout. :P
We will have to do it again sometime and hope for better results.



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You know how sometimes you will forget about something until someone brings it up and you start talking about it, and as you talk, you hear your own voice getting louder and your facial muscles tighten and you…really didn’t realise you were still that upset about it, and have to stop yourself before you say too much.

I really did forget I am upset about it. But we were at work, and telling stories…and Brandi asked something about him. That repulsive creature masquerading as a human.

I knew I still felt guilty about going directly against my own nature and leaving her with him…but I didn’t realise how angry I still am at him. Until I came within a heartbeat of blurting out to Brandi what he’d done, and had to cut myself off like I’d been given some poorly scripted line…

But I am angry. So angry. The image kept popping into my mind, of smashing a rock into his smiling face, and smashing until all that remains is a pulpy mess. And that sickens me, because I don’t usually imagine harming anyone…I just feel the violence, and it doesn’t go anywhere. But apparently, deep down, I want to hurt him.

…Richard doesn’t believe that anger is my most easily expressed emotion. But it is. Or, it would be if I didn’t feel like I had to restrain myself from talking out loud about it. I mean, you don’t just tell people, “I hate that kid and want to smash his head in because he did xy and z”. (Instead, you write about it on your blog so the internetz can notify whoever monitors us all for potential violent tendencies.)

I can put it in a better light though, I suppose.

The things that make me angriest are 95% directed at people who have hurt someone I love. I like to think this makes me not such a crazy person. All that rage…because I can’t stop people from being hurt.

I keep trying to persuade myself to email K and talk to her more…I would like very much to talk to her about it…but I keep stopping myself or thinking of other stuff to do…keeping myself “too busy” so I don’t have to tell anyone when really I am bursting to tell someone…so much so that I almost today told two people who have no business whatsoever knowing what I allowed to happen to this girl.


Wears me out. (Although I guess I could still just be tired from yesterday’s roller coaster park adventures.)

Think I will go read for a bit, then sleep.


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