Wet Wash Cloths and Comforters– Sleepwalking ‘Pro’ Tip

So I’m an infrequent sleep-walker.

I’m a less infrequent sleep-TALKER, which Lexy updates me on the apparent hilarity my sleeping mind voices, but as I don’t have a “‘pro’ tip”  for that, I’m going to have to leave that topic alone for now.

As you may have guessed, I sleep walked–slept walked?– last night, and I almost made it past my door when a wet wash cloth stopped me.

It may sound a bit odd, but it’s actually pretty impressive. I’ve been rearranging and going through EVERYTHING in my room for roughly the past month (it hasn’t taken that long, the cleaning sessions have simply been spread out), and I’m nearly done but that means that stuff I’m planning on banishing entirely from my room are temporarily taking up floor space so the rest of my family don’t have to deal with it–

So the fact that I MADE it to my door is pretty darn impressive. Dreaming me didn’t even give me any bruises, so yay for that, but WOW. Boxes, laundry baskets, and some stacked other things between bed and door, and dreamer me made it!

Only to be stopped by a wash cloth.

A cold one.

See, being near the end of my cleaning rampage, and having already rearranged my room into something with hopefully less nooks for me to shove things into, I decided sheets were a thing that needed to be dealt with. Unlike Lexy, who has flannel sheets for winter and (I think) cotton ones for summer, I just have the same, super soft cotton ones year-round. I also have this HUGE down comforter that’s just amazing in the winter months–but obviously not so great in the summer.

I dunno if it’s just me, but the transition from Comforter-on-bed to no-comforter-on-bed is a weird one– For half the year you get used to the weight of many blankets, and then everything is too light to sleep once you take that away.

But I also find that when I finally DO remove my comforter, after shoving it aside to a still-giving-off-heat lump of fluff next to me in bed when it’s crazy hot at night, it inevitably turns into a cold snap the night of.

So last night was freezing.

Boxer-shorts and t-shirts are amazing pj wear when it’s hot, but otherwise it’s a no-no.

I think dreaming-me was trying to go in search of blankets.

But was stopped by a wet wash cloth.

If you are curious as to why there’s a wet wash cloth in my room, I will remind you that I’ve been cleaning up my room, moving things around–that means dusting, which translates to using a wet washcloth to wipe everything down. Why was it STILL in my room after I was done with it? Well I was a bit bored of cleaning and didn’t feel like bringing the cloth to the basement for it to be washed, so I just hung it to dry on the door handle to my room.

Yes I’m that lazy when I get bored with something, and hey, it stopped me sleep-walking outside of my room, so.

Sleep-walking me made it across the tripping-hazard that is my room’s floor, and made it to the door, tried to OPEN the door, and was startled by the feel of a cold-wet-something in hand to wake me up.

So.

Do YOU have a sleep-walking problem? Close the door to your room before you go to bed.

Can you open doors when sleep-walking? Well how about a damp wash cloth? Cheaper and safer than a lock on your door!

There’s my sleep-walking tip for you.

*jazzy hands*

Ta da!

Also when changing from winter-appropriate sheets to summer-appropriate sheets, have an extra blanket on hand.

Or make sure your window is closed.

Tired

It’s very easy to wallow in the feeling of sadness and the lack of any urge to do something. 

Very. Very easy.

Especially if you’re experiencing a sudden change in your day-to-day life. You lose some part of the ritual of your 24hr day.

Your pet dies, you lose your job, you move someplace new, you’re removed from someplace you’re comfortable in, you finish a long-term goal… something you’ve been working on is no longer an option, and it’s a weird, sad sort of feeling. 

It makes me tired. 

It seems like suddenly everything on depression has been popping up in videos, has been coming up in articles, in every social media and blog-ish type thing, so in my infinite wisdom, and knowledge of the subject, after noticing this tiredness soon after… a big change in my life, that took away a portion of what I did every day, I’m not quite up to talking/writing about it now, I was like, Ah, Yes, Depression. Hmm

I think the start of depression is enforced stagnation. Except that doesn’t quite get the right idea across, I think. Stagnation in general sounds bad, and, ike flat soda or water that’s been left out too long, it leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Enforced stagnation sounds a lot like you have no choice but to stagnate. 

Not what I was trying to get across. 

Enforced stagnation is when you’re stuck in a rut, stuck in a divot in your life that so far, no matter how many times you try to pull yourself away from it, you end up rolling back to where you were before. I think some people don’t even notice that it’s happening, which must be even more upsetting as you can look around your divot, see nothing wrong, but still feel unhappy. 

And, seque of all segue’s, I think this is why tiredness goes hand in hand with depression. Because it is very, very easy to get tired of failing. 

Also failing is stressful, and wouldn’t you rather have a nap than deal with stress? I would. 

Because, as Lexy has so eloquently put it, my spirit animal is an ostrich. Avoidance is key. 

But I have a plan to get out of any kind of funk I may soon experience– because this change-in-life-and-daily-ritual of doom actually only happened earlier today, so kudos to myself for jumping on this writing opportunity while it’s still grumbly– but am feeling tired already. 

Like, I wanted to just go to sleep at 7pm. 

I’m 21, got up at about 9am, and was feeling exhausted enough to want to end the day at 7pm.

Fuck if I’m going to let that be my week. 

So, my game plan is to get the ball rolling again. Hard to do, as I think that just before The Change Of Doom the ball had been slowing down exponentially, but still doable. 

So I look at The Big Goal. 

What does it take to get there? Ah, yes, part A must first be completed. 

Want a certain job? What will it take to get there? Schooling? Need money first? Is there another job you can do to get money, or perhaps can you take a course or look for an apprenticeship program so that you can get yourself moving in the direction you want. 

The thing about having a Big Goal is that it’s a bit like a Gorgon. It’s the Medusa of your life. It’s much safer, less likely to freeze you to a standstill–less likely to turn you to stone–if you come at it sideways. Use a mirror and come at it from different angles. 

Or, if Greek Mythology isn’t your thing, how about mountain analogies? Everyone loves those. 

Big Goal is at the top. How do you get there? 

Well, you could climb straight up, but there’s no guarantee that you’ll have the right equipment for it. Much more dangerous, and what if you turn out to be afraid of heights? I’m not saying you shouldn’t face fears, or try something daring, but you should also be aware of your own limits. Push them, but don’t push yourself off the side of a cliff. Because you might just find  better path up the side of the mountain.

It may zig-zag, and hey–there might be parts where you can climb straight up to get to the next part of the path!–but you’ll find waypoints on the path up, you’ll build yourself up along the way, and should you slip…

well. Less of a drop straight down, and much less likely to cripple you. 

Wow I’m cheerful right now.

But now it’s 12 and I’ve challenged myself enough and NOW I can go to sleep.  

 

Oh Calvin.

So Lexy’s dog sitting right now…

He’s adorable, and chubby, and very different attitude-wise than Gwynn.

I’m not saying he’s unfriendly, no, but it’s mostly in body type.

And also commands, but that’s something else entirely.

He’s just short and stout… I actually think his ears are longer than his legs. (For visual, I’m pretty sure he’s some sort of Corgi mix. Pictures later perhaps.)

His People gave us his stuff for the time they’re gone, and included in that is his bed… That he apparently doesn’t really use as a bed.

Gwynn likes it.

Dis is my bed now. I love to curl up on and in things too small for me. It proves I *am* in fact a lap dog. Pet meh.

Dis is my bed now. I love to curl up on and in things too small for me. It proves I *am* in fact a lap dog. Pet meh.

But… The other night I had some friends over to bake and start watching Doctor Who… K has seen some of the series, but not enough to be a Whovian, form a mix of watching some scattered episodes and from the inevitable spoilers from Tumblr.

But I’m not certain that Doctors 9-11 will happen this summer, not sure if there’s going to be enough time for her to catch up in time for November, so we’re dealing with only 11 right now.

It’s good. We watched 1 episode. I was happy. my Dr Who merch at my side…

9th/10th sonic screwdriver (Left), TARDIS diary (Middle), 11th Sonic screwdriver (Right)

Yeah, but afterwards, when they left, I had some time to see Calvin and Gwynn interacting… here are my notes:

Adventures after hours.

  • Calvin apparently doesn’t sleep in his bed. Gwynn has taken advantage.
  • Gwynn eventually leaved Calvin’s bed when Calvin makes demon pig noises beside him.
  • Gwynn looks alarmed and offended when Calvin stalks to his crate, calms down to only being suspicious when Calvin drinks from water bowl instead.Gwynn is a hypocrite.
  • Calvin has apparently decided that his bed is good for sleeping after all
  • —No. No. Apparently bed is for staring soulfully at Gwynn and making demon pig noises.
  • Gwynn leaves.
  • Mosquitos let in from departure of friends keep after me. I fear blood loss problems
  • Demon Mosquito bites itch like a bugger.
  • Gwynn returns and curls himself under chair for comfort.
  • Calvin is heavy breather. Always sounds like vague growly demon pig noises.

I switched focus somewhat part way through, but it’s all good.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, baking this time was much less frustrating than last time. I did very little of the mixing and everything. I just put things on sheets, and provided the ingredients.

No stress. And then Dr Who, so it was all good.

All good.

Yes.

🙂

 

Dear Hotmail Outlook…

Dear Hotmail. You suck for changing everything to Outlook. 

It’s ugly and I hate it. 

If I had known that closing my e-mail and reopening it mere moments later to have it changed to Outlook, I would have kept it up forever. 

You suck. 

.. This is me being unhappy with changes as abrupt as this, like when the TARDIS turned into a sci-fi terminal from a mish-mash of organic everything. 

I dislike this more than I dislike the huge change from THIS to THIS

I’m sure I’ll get used to it, but for now it looks boring and ugly and I DIDN’T CHOOSE THIS!

Sincerely, me. (And probably others)

P.S. You suck for making it so that we can’t respond to your “By the way we’re changing everything neener-neener thhhhhbbbt” message. You’re smart because you’d be getting a bunch of complaints (I dare you to look up “How to change back from Outlook” ), but… You just suck. 

Image

Mixed Feelings.

So I talk about my stories a bit more than would probably be considered ‘cool’, but it’s interesting, and I have a good number of people who are pretty much my ‘following’ on the internet, who I recognize their pennames and message back and forth with them. 

It’s just a thing, that’s all. 

So I have internet friends who talk to me most when I post new chapters (conditional friendship? Yes, but I don’t exactly read their stories if they have them up…), but regularly get reviews and comments from other people. 

(Shocker)

And most times it’s pretty positive things, and that’s fantastic, and sometimes it’s just a “Good job! Update soon!” bit of almost-whatever that doesn’t tell me much, and sometimes I get these amazing paragraphs of insight. 

Sometimes paragraphs of ‘Okay, this was good, here’s my thoughts on it, some good some bad’ and sometimes that’s even better than the reviews full of nothing more than amazement at my godly ability to write and sometimes make people cry and laugh. 

But fairly recently I got a review that I had mixd feelings on. 

Less so now, but it gave me a variety of feels, so Imma talk about it. 

In my story “And I Wake Up” (A Torchwood Season 3 fix-it, because if you’re into Torchwood and have seen the end of Season 3, you know it needs fixin’) (Summary in link, check it out) my most recent chapter (4) has a part where my mc (Main Character) goes a bit insane. 

This is understandable due to the fact that he keeps getting shot. 

The reviewer said that perhaps I should have a warning for torture, or graphic violence since (s)he had to skim through it, and it was more disturbing due to the somewhat temporary body issues my mc has, and this is what has me conflicted:

It’s not graphic. 

The ‘graphic’ part is “He raised his arm and pulled the trigger” with mad ravings in between. 

Okay, there is some finger biting, and that could be graphic, so I understand that, but without copying the review here it was the shooting that was the reviewer’s problem. 

I included a trigger-warning (haha, puns) in both my archive of our own (or Ao3) post and my fanfiction.net post, because you know what? Far enough. I don’t agree at all wit the graphicness thing, or at least not with what the reviewer was categorizing as ‘graphic violence’ but it could be that I have a different outlook on what consists of ‘graphic violence’

You may ask at this point, where be the mixed feelings matey? (if you’re a pirate)

Well… 

Part of me is delighted that my writing impacted this person so much that they had to skim. 

And then I get a bit angry that they’re missing on so much insight in the skimming part, but then I kind of swing back into delight because HELLO! I wrote something intending for it to be maybe a bit disturbing and worrying and someone read it and found it VERY disturbing! That’s a writing VICTORY!

So much success!

I get super excited when people get extreme feelings from my writing, you have no idea. 

I’m practically giggly when someone admits through a comment or review that some part of my writing made them cry, and part of me is happy because it means my own getting emotional (and crying myself) over the scene was super effective, and the rest of me is ecstatic because I MADE YOU FEEL SOMETHING WITHOUT YOUR PERMISSION! 

Especially since I’m pretty sure most of my stories are feel-good kind of stories. So hearing that my stories upset some part of you is amazing in a way that is so, SO conflicting!

It’s like you’re telling me that your dog or cat of gerbil died… and then you won the lottery. 

I just don’t know what to focus on. 

So this review saying that they enjoy my story, “oh and here’s a suggestion because you gave me unexpected feelings” is just.. 

GAH!

It’s ridiculous how much I enjoy feedback, positive or negative (edit: yes I do like negative feedback, but only if you’re constructive. I don’t appreciate “YOU SUCK JUST BECAUSE! BLAGH!” feedback, because then you’re an ass and I just can’t appreciate farts). 

But then, it’s a bit like dog owners who say ‘thanks’ when someone says how pretty their dog is (Lexy.)

(That thanks is ridiculous no matter how you try to rationalize it.)

But I made the story, I had it’s plot-lines percolating in my mind for months before I got down to writing it, and it’s fantastic having people say “Hey, you did good, I look forward to more! Cheers!”

So yeah, mixed feelings. 

Anyone else? 

No? 

I’m just crazy…? 

Well, Cheers anyway 😀

 

 

Glass Blowing Glory-holes and FIRE

So, this is a bit of a response to my sister’s post HERE on her jealousy inspiring adventure into glass blowing.

She was the one to mention glory holes, by the way, this wasn’t me being a brat and trying to prompt my older sister into asking if I know what a glory-hole is.

I do, by the way Lexy.

I hope that the fact that I’m 19 helps to negate the sibling-nose-scrunch of “my sister knows about something sexual in nature?”

Yes, I’ve moved past the playground “Are you a virgin?”-“What’s that?”-“Just answer the question” trolling, and even know where babies come from.

Storks, right?

But moving on from THAT, I suggest that you read her post (link above) first (though it isn’t entirely necessary) just so you know how things actually went rather than this bout of my imagining my own reaction to being allowed to play with molten glass and colours.

I think that there would be three parts to my reaction, and because the idea amuses me, I’m going to use my three mental characters that I always end up thinking of regardless of the situation.

Sanity, Insanity, and Myself, who I have been thinking of as Mediator. Click HERE for my post explaining where Sanity and Insanity came to mind. To the left there should be a thing to find all my posts including these characters…

Anyway, Lexy mentions that while actually working with the glass, there was a dull roar of “MAKING GLASS”, and when cooling and twisting and doing other things to the hot glass, thinking “don’t touch the glass!” with lots of undercurrent thoughts like don’t set anything on fire and whatnot…

I feel like I would be having a very similar reaction, but with a bit more paranoia towards the possibility of potentially harming myself or others.

The idea of molten-glass burns freaks me out.

It freaks me out more than the idea of molten-lava burns, because people don’t try to make lava into art.

The possibility of hurting someone else while I’m working, while I’m trying to make some piece of art, while I’m doing ANYTHING that could possibly result in someone else’s harm freaks me out.

Last summer when I was working with heavy machinery daily around my fellow maintenance workers, I was freaking out a lot.

So the idea of fiddling around with molten glass with other people around me also doing this… freaks me the hell out.

I would still do it though.

But it doesn’t keep me from thinking that the insane and fairly bitchy part of my consciousness would be going off like a little kid who wandered off in Ikea.

Fascinated, freaking out, touching things and possibly breaking things, being a nuisance to other people, being a tiny-human-shaped terror.

The sane part would be that employee you go to to find that same kid.

They know what to do, they try to keep you calm and happy so you can enjoy your foray into the large plot of land that is Ikea, and when they find the child, they will do damage control and do their best to get that demon-child back to someone who can control it. The Mediator.

I have a friend who worked at Ikea for a summer, by the way.

So in my mind, the situation would likely have me looking fairly normal, perhaps with a slightly hysteric (Happiness? Freaking out? Smiling regardless of reason.) smile, with Insanity screaming in my ear all the things that could go wrong, all the craptastic things that could result in me and others going on a fun trip to the hospital. Screaming about how I SHOULDN’T TURN TOO QUICKLY! SOMEONE MIGHT BE THERE! FUCK! Oh, and also, BE SURE TO WARN EVERYONE THAT YOUR CLUMSY ASS IS HEADING OVER THERE SO YOU DON’T CRIPPLE THEM! SHIT!

Never mind Sanity speaking calmly to me at my other side what EXACTLY I have to do, as I need to do it, and that everyone knows to watch out, calm down, nothing to worry about, just be careful, breathe…

It really doesn’t help with the fact that it seems like it’s almost a familial trait to want to play with fire. I can barely be trusted with a candle… And oh look, shiny-glowing-hot-glass-FUNNNNNNN!

Yeah, I imagine that going to a glass blowing workshop would be the most mentally tiring thing I’d have done for the entire year.

And I’m saying this AFTER having just finished my exams…

Jeez…

And I still want to go to one of these things!

By the way, for the >*< at the end of her post, mentioning her setting things on fire and her mentioning of heating up a muffin for 10 minutes…

*sigh* I will explain.

I have been the source of a lot of fiery food/other being thrown to the back yard. A lot of the time it was from me trying to heat up my own food, so this isn’t me being a pyromaniac child, no.

This is usually from me not understanding the answer to a question.

The incident Lexy is talking about:

That I had asked Dad how long it took to cook muffins after he’d finished a batch.

He said to put them in the oven for about ten minutes, and then check on them.

The oven HE was talking about

 vs.

The oven I Thought he was talking about

So, a while later after a few minutes a burning smell was happening, there was the alarm going off, and a flaming muffin was being chucked out the back door into the snow.

Yay for winter.

To recap:

That I had asked Dad how long it took to cook muffins after he’d finished a batch.>> (Me: I want to eat a warm muffin later) <<

He said to put them in the oven for about ten minutes, and then check on them. >> (Dad: Aw, she wants to know how long to cook muffins) <<

It’s more of a mistake on my side, I think, but considering I was at that waist-height age, and not very good at getting across exactly what I wanted to know…

Yeah.

And it wasn’t the only thing I’d set on fire before, either, but I think that the full list would need a blog post of its own.

In case you need a visual, the flaming muffin probably looked something like this before it hit snow. You can imagine why it might have alarmed the Family to see this in the microwave...