Prejudices

I saw a dead hawk on the highway today. Not something you see every day. And for that reason, I guess, it made me so much sadder than seeing the deer, racoons, and squirrels that are so much more common as roadkill.

I have a long way to go until enlightenment.

Halloween Scare

Some people are afraid of spiders, or high places, or the bogeyman. Don't get me wrong, I'm afraid of all those things too, and more besides. But it appears that my phobia du jour is that of not being prepared.

The dajadaddy informed me the other day that several times in the past couple of weeks, I've sat bolt upright in bed in the middle of the night and gasped "Oh my god I'm not wearing any clothes!" Which was true, but not really reason for panic since I usually sleep rather scantily clad unless it's freezing out. The unusual thing about it was that it appeared to really worry me, like I was in a situation where I really should have been wearing clothes. That, and the fact that I was leaping up from a sound sleep at some ungodly hour to make the pronouncement.

I don't remember anything about what I was dreaming, so I can't really do a lot of interpreting. But it does resonate pretty well with my phobia du jour. And I'm almost positive I'm going to have that dream tonight, due to something that happened to the dajamou and me this evening.

We were heading out to do some grocery shopping around dusk, rather later than I usually like to go. As we were driving through West View, I saw a number of kids in Halloween costumes. At first I thought they were heading to a costume party or something, because they were all grouped in one spot on the sidewalk. So I didn't think much of it.

After picking up dog food, however, we were heading back through West View on the way to the grocery store, and I saw more and more families from all different directions, walking along the sidewalks with bedecked children in tow. And then the Minor Demon of the Lower Hell of Unpreparedness raked his claws through my conscience and snickered in my ear, "You've put off the buying of the costume too long! And the face paint you wanted to get will never happen in time! And your daughter's still got a cold and you don't have the right kind of warm layers to put under the costume! It's tonight! The trick or treating is tonight, and you're not even close to being......mwah-hah-hah......prepared!!!

So naturally I start driving a little more quickly and looking around (instead of straight ahead, which is usually the better way to be looking when driving in the dark with a lot of pedestrians) and muttering "Oh dear, oh dear" to myself and trying to see if any of the aforementioned Bedecked Ones were walking up to houses with lit porches. It was hard to tell, since by then it was nearly full dark and also? Oncoming headlights make for not great visibility on the sidewalks. Plus I really was trying to drive with some modicum of safety.

I announced to the dajamou that we were going to skip the grocery store and head home, and I explained my reason to her. She thought it would be capital if tonight were trick or treating, and the lack of a good 40 percent of her costume didn't phase her. She had the butterfly wings, that was all that really mattered.

She also thought it would be novel if it turned out this wasn't trick or treating night (in Ohio we called it Beggar's Night, does anyone still call it that anymore?) but instead a previously unheard-of Halloween parade. I told her in no uncertain terms that if it was a parade we were NOT GOING because she is STILL SICK and it's COLD OUT. Moderate grumbling ensued, but she didn't push it.

So anyway, we dashed home and I hopped online. I still have no idea what was happening in West View, but I was right that trick or treating isn't until Wednesday. But I swear, I'm going to have those damn dreams again.

Fear and Loathing

I've been meaning to write a long, heartfelt, thoughtful post about the fact that I think my depression is caused by the background radiation in my head from being in a constant state of low-grade panic for 1,811 days. And counting.

I've been meaning to write about my mild epiphany about Gandhi's quote, "Be the change you want to see in the world," and how that relates to my lack of social life.

I've been meaning to go through a bunch of cookbooks and find the recipes that have the most flavor with the fewest carbs, because I'm pre-diabetic and I realize now that sugar was my main source of "flavor" in my diet, and now that I can't have it I am going crazy with bland raw almonds for a snack and never knowing what to make for supper.

But it's all too much trouble.

Do Your Part to Reduce Those Farts!

h/t to David Brin's blog:

Eating less meat could help slow global warming by reducing the number of livestock and thereby decreasing the amount of methane flatulence from the animals, according to an article in the medical journal, Lancet. Gases from animals destined for dinner plates account for nearly a quarter of all emissions worldwide.

The dajadaddy says we should, in fact, be eating MORE meat so there are fewer cows to be producing those emissions.

Kings Play Chess On Fine Green Spaces

There are many kinds of geeks. There are engineering geeks, and computer geeks, and history geeks, and geeks for every kind of hobby and/or specialized knowledge in the world. And then, there are science fiction geeks, which somehow encompass (or at least overlap) all of the other categories and more.

And someone's categorized them. All this system lacks are humorous Latin names for each category.

Perhaps I'll set my Classical Studies major, role-playing, goth geek friend to the task. Heh.

No cause for alarm

I have always been a forgetful person. But lately? Lordy, it's getting bad. I'd worry more but I forget to.

Nah, that was a cheap shot. Actually I do worry about it. Especially now that the dajamou is approaching the age when she will have things like homework (dear God, they give homework to kindergarteners) and permission slips and extracurricular activities and sleepovers and stuff. I remember when I was a kid I always forgot to give permission slips to my mom and she'd have to rush them to school on the day of the field trip or whatever. Or I'd forget what day was class picture day and so I would forget to take a bath the night before and I'd wear my grubby corduroys with the stained Tshirt, and then feel like an idiot when I saw everyone else in their khakis and nice clean gathered-front shirts. It was a cause of a lot of anxiety for me.

I don't want that for the dajamou. But if I can't even remember something I promised to do twenty minutes ago? She is so screwed.

I'm also concerned for myself. I've been feeling more creative lately, and by that I mean I'll notice little vignettes that I think would make a neat picture. Or I'll come up with a really nifty turn of phrase in my mind that I think I hould use in my blog or in my NaNoWriMo novel, or whatever. But the pictures I want to take are always seen while I'm driving, and I haven't yet scraped up enough money to get the cyber-eye-camera implant. And the turns of phrase are usually when I'm doing something else, and I forget them before I can write them in my little notebook (which I carry around for just such a situation...the irony!).

I want to remember these things. I have tried lots of different techniques for retaining these things (the notebook, the blog, the digital camera that's always in my bag, the writing on the palm of the hand....). Maybe I should get a dictaphone. It wouldn't work for pictures but I could at least talk into it when I'm driving.

Bah. I'd probably forget to use that too.

But there's this untapped well of wonder and eloquence inside me, I just know it's there! For some reason I'm sensing it more than I ever have before. How oh how do I tap into it?

I I know! I'll just have to hire a personal secretary to go everywhere with me. Then I can say everything that comes to my mind, and they'll jot it down, and I'll go through it later to pick out the nuggets of wonderfulness. I'll just have to find someone who will agree to be paid at a later date, like in 20 years when my superstar best-selling writing career finally gets going.