brightrosefox: (Default)
'Reborn' by Laura Sava (anotherwanderer.deviantart.com/)
'Mirabella' by Rachel Anderson (www.silverstars.us/‎)

Two forms of my own story character, Asha Clara Night, my strongest, most individual, most personal fiction character.

These paintings. Completely different images that look almost exactly like incarnations of the same character of my own subconscious creation Women who look almost exactly like the dreamself I am becoming in my dreams and visions.

Laura-sava-Reborn

Rachel Anderson Mirabella


She was in my dreams last night and many nights before. I haven't decided exactly who she is yet, but in my dreams her name is Asha, meaning "desire, hope, hopeful; life; alive; she who lives." Which says so much, so so much.

She is another dreamself, not a spirit guardian, but much closer to my Self than my other characters (Alicia, Serena, Ananta: my spirit guardian coping mechanisms for epilepsy, memory loss, insomnia, sleep problems, [Alicia], chronic pain and fatigue, depression, anxiety, physical disabilities [Serena], neurology, neurodivergence, autism, total mind-body connection [Ananta].

Asha seems to represent many internal things about my emotions, my heart and mind, my rhyme and reason, my logic, my science, my creativeness and creativity, my power, my energy, my beauty. If she were to reveal herself as a guardian, she would be for emotional states, creative thoughts, desires, loves, patterns, ideas.
Asha is definitely powerful in a way I always wanted to be since childhood: Fae and and Elemental Mage and Neurodivergent and Autistic Witch and Quantum Magic Scientist and Story Crafter and Shape Shifter and Magic Librarian and Magic Keeper.

Asha seems to represent my deep, obsessive, compulsive wish and desire to be one of the psionic-mage superhumans in my stories, to take over for be when I feel failure and self-loathing and terror and panic. I think Asha may in fact be an actual entity, one who communicates outside instead of simply speaking into my visions, dreams, pain flare withdrawings, anxiety attacks.

All I know is that Asha was in every dream last night and throughout the past several sleeps, long detailed intense dreams, and she quoted Kosh. She spoke in a soprano version of my voice that could sing. She was always here She is always here. She has always been here.
I think she was with me since I was a baby. In different forms, in different species, with different names, in different imaginary beings, in different fictional characters. She was made of fire. She used to be a phoenix, a unicorn, a dragon, a star, a nebula. I know Asha. I know Asha in the way I hope to know myself.

The thing is, Asha has a fully active voice when I am completely conscious, aware, awake, functional, and stable. She didn't completely create herself, but she grew and evolved over my lifetime in her own way as a character in my subconscious. She took ideas I worked with and wove them into her personality, behavior, and mentality. My disabilities are hers. She stayed and changed and grew with me like a permanent piece of my spirit. Asha also represents my fluid sexuality - I often visit her in the place she calls home and we make love, representing my desires for love and orientation.

She lives with Alicia in the Wonderland cottage, but she freely moves about my brain more often. She shapeshifts into elemental energies, she moves around my hippocampus and amygdala and temporal lobes and cingulate gyrus and thalamus and auditory cortex and somatosensory cortex and parital lobe and the back of my brain.
She has altered the Wonderland cottage to be something else entirely, with three bedrooms, two bathrooms, two office rooms, a large entertainment living room, a large kitchen, a basement. The outside build would contain concrete, cement, hemp and limestone, bamboo, steel. The glass windows are shatterproof. The doors are hemp-lime and timber. That must say something about my mind's inner workings. Especially since the main reason for hemp being illegal is due to its threat to corporate patentable synthetic fibers and wood and paper product industries, while the medicinal drug potential became subject to false claims and fear mongering alarm campaigns until the original industrial potential became buried under the alarmist anti drug campaigns. Part of me probably knows how powerful this is. Medicine from nature itself and the human brain itself is usually denied and seen as worthless.

Asha represents that part of me that firmly supports the controversial balance of traditional pharmaceutical medicine and nontraditional botanical medicine.
Asha is my activism and advocacy. Asha is the fire that moves my belief in the combination of synthetic drugs and organic drugs. Asha is the phoenix in me that rises after every defeat, every failure, every attack, every oppression, every attack and assault on my truths and faiths.

Throughout many names, faces, back stories, lives, personalities, and individual growths... she has always been Asha Clara Night. And this is how she asked me to look so I could see that there is beauty deep and shining.

I must find and thank the artists for these images, since I found myself taking these pieces of artwork and subconsciously turning them into incarnations of my own fictional character.

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10151978626835684&l=17dde55bf4

Asha may well be the character in that second novel after all. It won't be this Asha, my Asha; just a version, a more humanized incarnation I can bring out to show the public. This excites me. She could help me write it, just by living in my mind.
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So, I had an absolutely bizarre dream last night and I absolutely need to write down what I remember:

I'm able to drive. I'm in a little white Dodge Neon, which is important because I'm taking it to a mechanic garage for various maintenance things. After I park the car and get out, the dream takes very wild turns:
There are multiple and frightening methods of getting down to the mechanic's office itself, which in a sub-basement. Someone comes up to fetch me and leads me through a series of mechanisms. A shaky elevator lift similar to the one used in the TV series "Archer" as well as a Faraday cage. Metal stairs with crumbling plaster on the walls. A metal ladder with slim rungs. Once down into the garage, I meet the family of mechanics, who explain that due to certain circumstances - which in the dream were explained but which I cannot recall - they will not charge me for anything. I spend some time there. They ask one of their daughters to guide me back upstairs to the basement and then the street, where my car will be waiting for me.
The woman is in her early twenties, with long red hair, green eyes, and a tall slender athletic body. She limps on both legs which doesn't seem to hinder her speed and agility. In fact, when I'm having trouble keeping up with her with my cane and my own physical issues, she snaps at me. When I tell her to cut me some slack because I have a disability and I'm crippled, she says this: "I was never cut any slack. My family pushed me beyond it. I had to keep going. I never told anyone I'm crippled, so nobody knows. You have to do better than that. Don't tell anyone. Don't let anyone know, don't let anyone see."
I said, "I was born like this; I've never known anything else. People always saw no matter what. I explained. I educated. And you sound bitter." She pauses and says, "I wasn't born like this. It happened a few years ago when I was working and a car jack slipped and part of the cat fell on my legs. I guess I never thought of it being something intrinsic."
I tell her, "Well, for you it's an acquired disability, and it sounds like you've been forcing yourself to ignore it, right?"
She nods. She says that when she was little, she would have dreams of wild animals turning into cars and she knew she would always be in the family business, and becoming disabled nearly destroyed her. The majority of her family refused to let her rest after she recovered and demanded that she continue working through her pain and difficulties. She tells me that the choice was made for her - that her disability would be seen as a weakness, a shame, something to be pitied and tossed aside. She begins crying and then slamming her fists against a wall. I put my arms around her. We sit on the floor while she cries.
After some time, we hold hands and walk outside, where my little white Dodge Neon is waiting, washed and cleaned. It's very bright and sunny outside. The girl hugs me and thanks me and walks back into the garage.
The rest of the dream involves me going back and forth between diners and fast food restaurants for some reason.
When I woke up, I thought, "Did I just dream myself being internally ableist or was that just my brain recycling activism and advocacy against criticism?"
I am still not sure.

To Google for dream analysis!
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The "The Greek Gods" Greek yogurt in Honey is one of my favorite yogurts ever. Their Pomegranate flavor is second.

(And I become incredibly perplexed when someone scolds me for liking it because it doesn't match up to the brand they like: which apparently comes imported from the inside of a magic mountain somewhere in Greece made from the milk of pampered special cows who eat magic grass that grows around the magic valley flowing around the magic mountain, and also the folks who make the yogurt are genetic mages and witches, and every so often the god Pan comes along and separates the curds from the whey and plays a magic song to make the cows happy. I never recall the name of this magic yogurt, because once it is spoken by an asshole, it fades from my memory, and all I can think is "Something Something Dark Side Real Greek Yogurt? I don't even know?". But remember - this is not my The Greek Gods yogurt, this is The Yogurt Snobs' yogurt, which is magically Greek, made with help from actual Greek gods. Which is apparently not the The Greek Gods yogurt. Remember that part.)

Seriously, though. This is really good yogurt. It's supremely creamy and rich and filling and it tastes like how full yogurt should taste without thickeners. I mean the one I like. The brand The Greek Gods. Which apparently is not the brand the naysayers of The Greek Gods Yogurt approve of. The main reason I love the The Greek Gods yogurt is because it helps keep me full when I have trouble eating due to various neurochemical eating problems. I would rather have all the calories than the thickeners pretending to be filling, am I right?
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You guys, I amaze myself. I've been writing helter skelter all over the place: Novel, stories, novellas, blogs, facebook, notebooks with various pens, everywhere... in the middle of a postictal migraine and insanely horrific agonizing chronic pain flare-up following recovery from a panic attack. If I didn't have a computer or paper I might write on the walls. I hurt so badly I have no idea what I'm doing. I feel half fire and half water. Wild and raging, and all I want is a crackling bonfire and a rushing river.
I doctored up a photo of myself and it came out half gold light and half blue light. It looks inhuman. But part of me adores it so much. My face is two different parts. I am two entities in one. When I burn, I am cool. When I am cool, I burn. It is ying yang, dragon phoenix, up and down, left and right, I don't even know. I don't speak out loud except to my cats, I just speak through Story. So much Story inside me.
That rock. That rock that my husband gave me, the rock that he held while standing in Room 217 of the Stanley Hotel, in which Stephen King wrote "The Stand" and used as an inspiration for "The Shining". That rock is still next to my laptop. I am covered in words. I am filled up with Words. I may disappear into Story. I may not even see the world until I have to.
Is this what it is like to live in the land of the Fae and then come back to the land of humans?

jowitchzen2

Maybe it was the super moon. Maybe it is the heat from the sun now. Maybe it is anything.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Okay, I may have to write a happy surprised email to whoever makes that D30 orange bouncy stuff for cell phone cases. I had one of the D3O covers on my Galaxy S 3 while walking around White Flint and I dropped my phone from almost five feet up. It bounced on the concrete twice. It was completely fine, no problems at all. It actually bounced. On concrete. Crazy. Slightly unsettling.
(http://shop.tech21.uk.com/store/ProductDetail/TE0115YAF003W_Impact-Snap--Samsung-Galaxy-Siii)
Also
http://shop.tech21.uk.com/store/ProductDetail/TE0102YAD005W_Impact-Shell--Samsung-Galaxy-Siii
(I bought them locally, BTW)
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Somehow, my neighborhood area rarely gets hit with all the weather that hits everything around it.
Mom called to say, "So, I hear all the towns and cities in Montgomery County got slammed all over with a tornado. Are you okay?"
And I blinked and said, "Wait... tornado? OH. Right! Tornado! No, we just had a violent screaming thunderstorm that sent me panicking into my bedcovers after taking anxiety drugs."
Later, Adam called from his job in Las Vegas (101 degrees, dry heat) and asked how our community area had fared. I told him that it was wet. And fine. Not even a power outage.
I'm starting to think all the magic and psychic shielding that he and I had placed around our house has extended to our community. Or something. Who knows. Like, if trees get knocked down from storms, it's always in the neighborhood next to ours. If a water main breaks, it's one around the corner that doesn't affect us. If there is a local power outage for us, it doesn't last long. If there is a random screaming gunfight, it's far away enough that we're not bothered beyond having to call 911. Any sort of major damage somehow becomes far less damaging once it reaches where I live. Now I just feel weird.
And now I shall knock on every piece of wood in the house. Including the maple tree in front.

I have no idea how the weather will act tomorrow, but I hope to do a little more grocery shopping. It's gotten to the point where I've stopped giving a fuck if I get caught in the rain. It washes my hair for me.
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A song for Rose kitten.

***
Maybe I didn't pet you
Quite as good as I should have.
Maybe I didn't brush you
Quite as often as I should have, oh.
Little treats I could have found and gave
I just never remembered the time
You were always on my lap
You were always on my lap

Tell me that your sweet paws haven't dug in
Give me, give me one more chance to stand up
To stop you mashy pawing, pawing.
Maybe I didn't hug you
All those interrupting times
And I guess I never told you
I'm still happy that you're mine.
If I made you feel second best,
Kitty, I'm sorry I call the other cat my precious.

You were always on my lap
You were always on my lap

Now please get down off my lap
Now please get down off my lap

You are always on my bed
You are always on my bed.
***
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Weird searches lead to weirder finds.

A link of Facebook leads to a funny article. A link near the funny article leads to another funny article. I found myself reading about all the films in which actor Sean Bean plays a character who dies. Hint: It's a lot.
And so I read one of the synopses, "Far North" - and the way the writer described it made me decide to search for it. It was based on a short story set in an anthology of "Dark Tales" in which the author retells folk tales with grim outlooks. But I wasn't sure what made "Far North" grim other than than Sean Bean's character freezes to death naked in the Arctic.
I read a few spoiler reviews on IMDB that explain that at the end of the film, the jealous older woman kills her adopted daughter, skins her face, and wears the skin during sex with Sean Bean's character, which he doesn't even realize until a few minutes into sex, which is presumably what leads him to be naked in the snow and dead. And then I had to find the short story, because holy shit what.
And then I found the entire story text reposted. Interestingly, the male character finds time to put all his clothes and snow shoes back on before running away.
http://bean-daily.livejournal.com/968345.html
Also, I... don't think facial skin works that way. Also, I get that the husband was all caught up and lustful and barely looked at her face during the sex, but still. No matter how smooth she made the skin, wouldn't it just not fit properly even with her pinning it? Maybe I'm just missing something about how to skin an animal skillfully.

***

Also, the fish tank has been relocated upstairs to my work room, and other bits and pieces from the dining room are now upstairs. Before we know it, the room will be empty and ready for carpeting. Neat.
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I really wonder if I am the only person actively trying to research the major comparisons between Chinese sea buckthorn oil and Brazilian andiroba, copaiba, pracaxi, and acai oils. I'm talking bioactive compounds, nutritional compounds, fatty acid compositions, phytosterols, polyphenols, microelements, carotenes, capacity for tissue regeneration and cellular regeneration, etcetera.
Part of me wants all those oils and extracts all in one, but it feels selfish. What if all the Brazil oils can do everything the Chinese oil can do? No, seriously, I mean that.
Would I be satisfied? Yeah, probably. It's just that I've been invested in sea buckthorn oil for over a decade and it's hard to switch to another healing botanical from another country just like that.

Actually, what am I doing? I don't have to choose. I had a memory lapse. Sigh. I love you, Rochelle.
http://www.etsy.com/listing/111067455/beauty-by-brazil-all-natural-amazon
http://www.etsy.com/listing/78951907/2-oz-everlasting-superfruit-rich-natural
(Those glowing reviews, by the way, are mine. I was the Superfruit co-creator.)

So, where does your OCD and or ADD addled brain wander off to late at night when you want to sleep but can't because *something is important on the internet (and you forgot why)*
brightrosefox: (Default)
Still fucked up, crappy, reclusive, snarling, burning with electric pain, etc.

To quote a good friend:
"I've been doing okay, but it's like... I just get my feet under me, and something else knocks me over, and then it takes me forever to get up again. And, frustratingly, embarrassingly, it doesn't take much to unbalance me.
People say not to let your illness define who you are, and I agree with that, but often there's no letting about it. It does dictate what you are able and are not able to do. Even when you are able to do more, that's the illness letting up. So a very large part of my frustration is born of being unable to be the person I desperately wish I was."

No arguments, on that, please. I cannot right now. I just... I am too tired and snarly. I was born damaged, I grew up damaged, my damage got worse in my adulthood... I'm not going to pretend I am made of roses and kittens and songbirds. I am a cripple. I am disabled. I am fucked up. I am I AM. Primary to that, I am Joanna, a writer, a reader, a sensitive, a weird nerd with geek properties, a polytheist polyagnostic pantheist pagan who agrees with all the skeptics because everything is true because we have High Brains mashed with Subconscious Brains that work to make Quantum Psychic Brains, and I know I can't prove a damn thing but I don't care if I can't, because I know things and I don't care if my skeptics doubt me.
If I "pray" to my Quantum Psychic Brain that created gods and spirits to fit my needs, so be it. If my "prayers" to my Quantum Psychic Brain are mostly about treating and healing my horrible terrible chronic pains, so be it.

I am who I am. And you know what? My disabilities really are part of that. Other cripples may argue, and I will let them. Nobody ever is the same, and why should they be? I am Joanna the Peaceful Dragon Warrior Princess of the Mediterranean, full of disability, and I. Am. Proud. My spears and swords are raised high.
And that is all I will say for now.

http://brightrosefox.livejournal.com/1570608.html





chakradragon



lotushands

powerlight
brightrosefox: (Default)
Guess what I just learned that I probably should have known about all along?
The Grand Design Spiral Galaxy M81 was the basis for the God Galaxy in Futurama, first shown in "Godfellas."
No wonder I always loved seeing it in Futurama.
It is also one of the most conspicuous spiral galaxies known, which is awesome, because it's easy to observe.
Also, to quote a friend, "Astronomers once thought that every object they saw was a star. But now, we know that the cosmos is a whole lot Messier..." (rimshot)
http://messier.seds.org/m/m081.html
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Actual chat conversation on Facebook earlier tonight:

Person: Hey, did you hear Esquire named Mila Kunis their Sexiest Woman Alive?
Me: Did they? That's nice. I love Mila Kunis. She's so beautiful and she seems genuinely lovely and wonderful.
Person: You know, you look a little like her. :)
Me: What?! Fuck no. I mean... thank you, holy shit, but I do NOT look anything at all like Mila Kunis.
Person: Well, aren't you, like, half-Russian?
Me: Technically. My mother's family was all over the Russia area, Romania, and Hungary. Soo... what?
Person: Mila Kunis is Ukranian.
Me: Yes, and?
Person: Well, you have similar features...
Me: Uh...
Person: And you really are beautiful.
Me: Again, thank you. Again, what?
Person: She could be like, your sister? Or a first cousin?
Me: That's very sweet of you. Weird, though.
Person: I mean, your eyes are really big like hers, and your face has the same shape, and your lips are full like hers. I love that one photo of you with that lawn in the background. You are just so, so gorgeous like Mila.
Me: Sweetie, I'm married and not into other men like that.
Person: No, no, I just meant that you're really pretty.
Me: Thank you again. You know, I'll just say thank you.
Person: Okay! :)
Me: Well, have a good night.

I sign off, I do an image search for Mila Kunis, I say, "Ehh... she's prettier." Then again, I am biased. I always thought Mila Kunis was beyond incredibly beautiful.

And I believe this was the photo they mentioned.

brightrosefox: (Default)
Well, gods damn son of a wild cat.
I stepped outside, stared at the moon, opened wide my mind and my arms, and got blasted by a wave of energy that surged through my entire body and brain for over a minute before spiraling into the soil under my feet. My head and torso actually snapped backward without my control.
What the hells do I do with that now? My skin is almost electric, and I am not sure I can describe what is happening inside my head.
Things hurt and do not hurt simultaneously. Everything is all wibbly-wobbly.
I need time to process this.
I am totally fine, just full of a weird witchy wibbly wobbly weirdness.
It feels like a wild creature crawling around and investigating all my systems.
Magic is funny like that.

Okay. I have meditated, grounded, and stored.
I went out barefoot into the dirt near the front yard's maple tree with pentacles embedded in its Y branches by Adam and me when we first moved in in 2005. I held my hands out to the tree while watching the moon, and I gathered energy, letting the tree wrap its own power around me, and I cycled it back, boosted by the pentacles in the tree, my ouroboros pentacle pendant with amber in the pentacle's center, and my amber bracelet on my weak left wrist. The power of a tree circled around my wrist, calming the tiny muscle spasms. I thanked the tree and went back inside to the back of the house.
I went out back near the garden for a clearer view of the blue moon, my toes digging into the long grass. I took a long breath and recited a private unrehearsed incantation, asking the moon to grant me strength, confidence, magic, love, kindness, and wisdom.
The magic electric wild creature has calmed down and is now quietly exploring my body and mind for a place to curl up. What a fascinating thing!
brightrosefox: (Default)
Would any fellow fans of "True Blood" like to speculate on, discuss, and pick apart the final episode and such? There WILL be SPOILERS in the comments. There are too many things I loved and too many things I disliked to write here, so can someone just start so I can chime in?
brightrosefox: (Default)
I don't know why I find this so strange, but this is my brain:
During these post-ictal severe pain states, I tend to be quite verbose and effusive in writing much more than I am in verbal speech.
Talking with my voice becomes mildly improbable, weak, abstract, and inept as I stumble. But in writing, my brain can move quickly, pause to check itself, and encourage my fingers to pull forth just the right words.
Naturally, my parents frown upon my constant use of the internet's social media to communicate, including email, because they want to hear my voice, which they call mellifluous. But there is no dulcet fluidity in a voice whose owner has been struck with temporary neurological damage.
However, sometimes communicating via writing, typing, and online social media really is just that much more powerful. And it gives my mouth and throat ample time to rest while those complex speech areas of my brain that had been momentarily damaged can gather themselves and become once more coherent.
It really is very embarrassing to speak out loud and find my words too jumbled, my tongue tripping up, my emotions spilling over until my voice cracks because I cannot convey what I need beyond the simplest of words in the manner of a fairly intellectual toddler.
Even when I have been hit by those neuron storms, words are very easy to find. Making sure others hear those words in the context I need can be so difficult that I bring myself to tears.
I am certain you know what I mean, friend's list.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Fever goes up, fever goes down. Look, body, make up your mind, because this is the difference between doing stuff and falling over.

And this is also why I prefer to wear concealer or base makeup every day: When I feel sick and chronic badly enough, my skin turns sickly white with a weird flush even though I'm already pale as winter, and sometimes the makeup is the only thing I like about myself. I know, I know, inner beauty, confidence, makeup doesn't matter, etcetera, whatever. It's just one of those things. You who are there will know what I mean.

http://www.laurenbrookecosmetiques.com/creme_foundation/
This is one of the only makeup products I like to wear all day all the time, because it helps with the nourishing and healing and making me look more human. But when my shade, Warm 2, makes me look artificially healthy, there is a bit of an issue. Even the matching concealer in Warm Light isn't enough to hide the crap. And my eyes look so glassy and exhausted and not even my favorite eye makeup can help (sorry, Josie Maran, Bare Minerals, MAC, Revlon, Maybelline and Neutrogena; I know you try).

Also, there's a reason I prefer neutral dark red or dark pink lipcolors aside from pretending to look healthy. Well, actually, that is the reason. Which is why I am so grateful for the following:
Aveda's Maracuja and Cherrybud lipsticks, Aveda's Ginger Lily lipgloss, Bare Minerals's Italian Ice and Passion Fruit lipsticks, Bare Minerals's Pomegranate lipgloss, Salma Hayek Nuance's Paprika and Passion Pink lipsticks, Revlon's Red Velvet Lip Butter, NARS's Flamenco and Shanghai Express lipsticks, Rimmel London's Red Action Moisture Renew lipgloss, and Sally Hansen's Cherry Twist and Berry Blend MoistureTwist lipgloss.

The red and dark pink lip shades, which I also use as blush, all make me feel prettier than Snow White's resurrected body after a week under glass on a cloudy day.

I don't remember where I was going with this. Wow, I have a lot of lipcolor products. I'm going to the vanity counter in the bathroom to stare at my eyeshadow collection.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Okay, sleep, you win. Just promise me bizarre dreams set in Salvador Dali paintings to the tune of Tangerine Dream's album "The Dream Mixes One" with glowing Tarot cards featuring shiny exploding chakra points at random times... and we're even.

Oh, my joints and muscles. You won't even listen to medicine tonight. That's okay. I'm going to sleep you down so hard you'll have trippy dreams of your own.

Hm.

Sometimes I wonder what I would have been like had I not been born with all the damage that caused cerebral palsy which led to epilepsy, fibromyalgia, sensory integration dysfunction, nerve pain, joint pain, lordosis, sciatica, OCD, ADD, depression, anxiety, migraines, spastic hypertonia, hemiparetic tremors, hypersensitivity, and mild synesthesia.
I still am not sure if brain damage and cerebral palsy is partially responsible for the wild dreams and the insatiable love and urge for writing fantastic futuristic speculative fiction that dares to go anywhere my writerbrain dares to go, which is all the way over there and way past it, where all the other dimensions are, where every dimension and little universe pulls together in the place where spacetime folds. I'll point it out after I wake up. It will be easier to find when I dream.

I don't always trip over a dream, but when I do, I prefer insane. Stay weird, my friends.
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Well, I just proved a theory by experimenting on myself:
Certain topical botanicals and nutritional supplements really, actually do help my hair grow faster.
One month ago, I got two inches cut off my hair after having it colored with the newest color technology which promised intense vibrant color saturation. I experimented with those botanical treatments and vitamins and herbal supplements on a daily basis. One month later, my hair is three inches longer and still vibrantly colored at the ends. My roots are vibrant, too, which makes no sense, but hey, science?
Which fascinates me, because a. most human hair only grows half an inch per month and b. even though hair grows faster in warmer weather it's not by much. My personal conclusion: Three inches in a month is insane and unbelievable and kind of implausible. But I was there when it happened, whether it's true or not. I blame quantum magic.
Also, I don't know if it will work on anyone else. Maybe my success was just a weird fluke. Biology and chemistry is made of crazy weird magic.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Cats, cuddling, clonazepam, carisoprodol, chocolate, cheese.
My amygdala will probably be freaking out heavily for the next three weeks, but the rest of me seems to feel okay.
Unless I count the daily simple partial seizures, exhaustion, true muscle weakness, inability to concentrate, headaches, xeroderma, bruxism, and lack of balance.
This may be why I keep watching all of Futurama on a steady loop. People who tell me not to watch a single television series over and over really don't understand how my brain works.

Also, this is sort of what it looks like on the inside of my mind right now.

ChakraCherubim
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I have decided to list All The Books What Need Reading here, because oh gods there are too many what do I do first, etc.

-"Blackout" by Mira Grant
-"The Folded World" by Catherynne M. Valente
-"Emperor Mollusk Versus The Sinister Brain" by A. Lee Martinez
-"Twilight's Dawn" by Anne Bishop
-"Unbroken" by Rachel Caine
-"Dead Reckoning" by Charlaine Harris
-Something About Witches" by Joey W. Hill
-"Trance" by Kelly Meding
-"Serpent's Storm" by Amber Benson
-"How To Be Death" by Amber Benson
-"Bloodlines" by Richelle Mead
-"Born At Midnight" by CC Hunter
-"Taken At Dusk" by CC Hunter
-"The House of Discarded Dreams" by Ekaterina Sedia

Granted, I've nearly finished "Blackout" by Mira Grant with just over one hundred pages left, but soon enough Adam will have started reading "Feed" and he consumes books quickly, no matter how thick they are; he will soon be on "Deadline" and if I don't finish "Blackout" soon I will just give it up to him and finish it later. I already know how it ends, but it's the getting there that makes me happy.

And then, there is the list on my Kindle For PC:
-"The Witch Sea" by Sarah Diemer
-"Seven" by Jennifer Diemer
-"Sterling" by Dannika Dark
-"Twist" by Dannika Dark
-"2:32 AM" by Emily Ford
-"The Afterlife Series" by Mur Lafferty
-"The Intertwined Series" by Gena Showalter

And later, "Team Human" by Justine Larbalestier and Sarah Rees Brennan and "Endlessly" by Kiersten White will be delivered to me next month once they debut, and I can wait, but I have to wonder how many on my list I can devour by the end of July or August? I may need to make it a personal challenge. I would employ my speedreading skills, but I want to savor these as meals. Most of them, anyway.

And now, of course, I want to dig out all my Ray Bradbury books. But I think if I do that I will collapse in a pile and start crying. I have so many books, and life still needs living in this reality.

Oh gods, three weeks until my disability hearing. No wonder I want to bury myself in books. I have no idea how I'm keeping my full sanity. I would like to thank the academy (I forget which), my husband, my parents, my cats, my friends, My Little Pony Friendship Is Magic, Futurama, Klonopin, Zoloft, Soma, codeine, valerian, magnolia extract, morniga tea, seabuckthorn oil, tamanu oil, coconut oil, pomegranate oil, mango butter, shea butter, helichrysum oil, frankincense oil, coffee, chocolate, cheese, and tea. And my friends on Livejournal. I love you.

I will blame all the spastic hypertonia, freakish pains, insane fatigue, muscle twitching, and mental fog on the cerebral palsy and fibromyalgia, and I will move on as usual. *fidgeting* *lip biting*

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