Odds & Ends

I have the itch to write, and naught a topic to write about. I’ve been sitting at the keyboard, staring dumbly at the screen to no avail. I do have some ideas to ramble on about, but none of them will have the length I am accustomed to. Maybe I should have made a Tumbler.

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There was a forum conversation about morning rituals. That went south quickly. Some that did elaborate rituals looked down on those that didn’t as slackers. Some that didn’t do morning rituals looked down on those that did as superstitious at best and Internet braggarts at normal. Someone called someone else out and demanded justification for such-n-such action. And the thread went to shit shortly thereafter.

That’s like asking how you put your underwear on. As long as you don’t have a wedgie, does it really matter? Maybe you strut better without underwear. Good! What works for one, may not work for another. Just keep your own ass clean and you’ll have nothing to worry about.

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Two thread starters that I avoid like the plague. “Who here believes in the Bible?” “Who here is a Witch?” Yeah. No. Not going there. Experience has taught me the more diverse the forum participants, the more heated these types of threads will become. I’d rather sit it out and be thought an ignorant fluff, than allow myself to be baited into a vicious flame war.

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Still dreaming. Still recording the ones that stick out at me. But the notes don’t make for great stories. What winds up on Twitter has been enough. Today’s two morning tweets for example:

Disjointed dreams. Ranging from Amazon forest to Relaxing at home to Yggdrasil to Army training.

All connected by a spider.

Although, the General trying to make me a poster child for the domestication of “lesser races” still pisses me off. I’m sure there is a political statement buried in his use of Army Basic Training as a way to make “vicious, low-thinking, savages” such as myself into “obedient, docile, numbed servants”. What started out as a failed attempt to set me up for a false burglary charge turned into him placing his hand in my mouth while he spoke to his assembled officers about his “loyal pet”. His officers looked at me nervously. I winked at them, and they took a step back. When his officers tried to warn him, the General derided them for not having faith in the superiority of the “greater race”.

So I bit off his thumb.

And chewed on the flesh in front of him.

As he held his bleeding hand in shock, I spat out the masticated flesh into his face. I declared him to be “of no nutritional worth and too bitter to be used as flavoring”. As he blustered about why the training failed to hold me, a familiar spider crawled onto my shoulder. Now completely lucid, I kicked him out of his chair, and ate the lobster & steak lunch that was meant for him. I looked over other symbols on the desk, and wondered why this military imagery. His officers were frozen in fear, unable to leave, unable to assist the wounded man. As I looked them over I noted they were all of the same “race” as the General.

Yea, there’s more that came before, and a little that came after, but this was the only scene that really stood out.

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Med-rare steak on a bed of fresh french-fries is all sorts of yummy awesomeness. Bonus for the french-fries soaking up the yummy juices from the steak. Just saying.

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The svart-alf has changed. Or rather, my perception of him has changed. Features that I had hung on to as identifiers are nothing more than a mask to make him easier to recognize. Now that I see differently in my dreams, now that I do not have Loki’s deception blinding me, I no longer need to see him as the short, granite alf. I find it interesting, he chose the shorter statue so not to unintentionally intimidate me. But now I do not need that appearance, he’s been taller than me every time.

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Speaking of appearances, I keep showing up in a skirt in my dreams. A SKIRT. I have no skirts in my closet, and only two dresses. Have no idea why I’m showing up in a skirt now. Perhaps my inner femininity is trying to express itself. I asked my daughter about it. She passed out from laughing too long. Nothing special about the skirt. It changes color to suit the requirements of the dream. But it’s a skirt. Not something I wear.

(Why don’t I wear skirts? 30 inch waist. 42 inch hips. That’s why.)

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the memories come drumming back
with each beat of my heart
as each thrum strikes the drum
it shakes the chains apart

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Had some personal malaise to work out. Did so. Realized someone tossed some juju against me. Fixed that. Realized there may be residual juju in the house. So, to use an inspired phrase, I went “all Tangina” on the house. Managed to get time alone and used it effectively. For once. At the end, the house felt a magnitude larger inside and completely at peace.

My roommates reaction to the peace was expected. He settled down and looked forward to a peaceful weekend. She was uneasy in the peace, and immediately started picking a fight. I suppose I should check to see if the malicious juju rubbed off on them. Yea, I should. But so far, this is all expected behaviour from them.

Okay, okay, I’ll look. If it’s anything external, I’ll take it off. But if it’s of their own making, they’re on their own.

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My morning ritual? Arabica. Arabica. Robusta. And some time spent in the morning breeze.

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Make of that, what you may.