A Little Gaga Giggle

OnlySon and I are both enjoying playing Fallout 4.

If you are familiar with the game, you’ll know that there are certain characters you can seek out as companions who will fight with you as you traverse the Wateland.

OnlySon was playing the other night, & had Preston, a certain human companion working with him, and was telling me about the dynamics of all the different companions.

OnlySon- “You know, you can shoot them, over and over, hit them, again and again, and they will never die- and they won’t be mad at you, either.”

Me- “That’s cool, since you often like to destroy everything you see,  including NPCs,”

OnlySon – “Nah, it’s just a Bad Romance”
*snide grin for his music pun*

Me – “Actually, it’s a Rad Bromance”.

*OnlySon knuckle bumps me*

There is no such thing as Pure Truth.
There are half-truths, opinions and theories,  little white lies, fibs and falsehoods.

All tinged with truth, shaded with it- saturated, sometimes,  but never wholly pure.

Truth is fluid and changing, flexing itself around the circumstances and actions of those viewing it.  It slides around corners, twisting itself into complicated knots; then suddenly unwinding into simplicity and clarity at the oddest moments.

But, never is there a pure and shining one and only Truth.

Opinion varies the hue of Truth, according to the person living in the moment of it.

Challenging to seek, impossible to hold onto, Truth squirms in the grasp of the Seeker, slipping from their grip, only to shine enticingly at them from behind the next tree, down at the end of the next forest path.

If only I could get to the Truth, you sigh and gaze longingly after its escape.
I’d be happy if I could just know the Truth.

But the Truth can be a hive of wasps for the Seeker. It stings and burns those who have not prepared, armored themselves against the possibility of pain.  It scars, Truth does.  Searing a path of light in its wake, it clears away all distraction, all the garbage we surround ourselves with in our daily lives.

It strips away the defenses and leaves you vulnerable and bare to its blazing light.

But it can also set you free.
As long as you don’t seek to keep it hostage.

Truth is subjective.  Your Truth and mine are not alike, possibly wouldn’t be friends, maybe wouldn’t even notice each other in passing or lift a hand in hello.

If you seek Truth, keep this in mind.
Truth is never pure.
It may cause you pain.
But along the way, if you let it…
It can set you free.

Journaling /Journeying

When I was a kid, I had a diary.
Red, faux-leather, with a golden lock to ostensibly keep people from reading my deepest/darkest.

I could barely write block printing when I got it, but I had somewhere to put all the fascinating 6 yr. old thoughts & occurrences of my life.

“Got up. Got dressed. Had breakfast, but the good cereal was all gone because brother ate it to get the prize.”

“Went to school, and had fun at recess.”

Went to my friend’s house & played Barbies, then Mom said it was time to go home, so rode my bike back.”

Thrilling, riveting stuff.

As I got older, the diary morphed into school notebooks, endless scribbles of horrid poetry & strange bits of stories.  I was Emo before it was a thing, minus the dyed hair, stark makeup & cool black clothes. 

It was all in the attitude. Down with authority,  up with the weird & morbid!

Plus, my mom wouldn’t let me dye my hair, wear Emo makeup, or dress in all black. 

“Down with authori… yes, Mom, I’ll be down in a second!”

As an adult, I hung onto the notebooks, but I also started using a typewriter to put down my thoughts. Then, a computer.

And then…*cue choirs of angels in Gloria Excelsis*…

Along came the INTERNET.

Heaven. Nirvana.

Every so often, I feel the need to pour out everything. And here, I can do that, in a format that gives me an audience. Maybe a small one, maybe somedays, a nonexistent one. Maybe all the voices in my head gathered together & decided to take up Internet identities in order to placate me, to show me that at least there’s someone out there, reading.

And yes, I vent, I mourn, I share & I rejoice. All in the same place- here, my blog. To some, this may seem to be bi-polar, or mutiple-personalities.

But it’s not. Those disorders are much more complicated than what I go through.

So, if none of these entries seem to “flow” in any discernible order, don’t worry.

This is my life.
Up, down, sideways, twisted.
With moments of random sanity.

I just journal it when the mood strikes.

But as someone once said (don’t ask who, I have no clue)

We all have chapters of our lives we don’t read out loud.

Branching Out

Here are some pictures of the newest trees I’ve made.




This one (above) I was going to put in my Etsy shop,  but ended up selling it to my boss.

This next one, I made for myself… but I might end up selling it as well, as my boss has now ordered 3 more!


It’s a little bigger than the first one, & has more little details, like a ghost, hat & broom.



So, now I’m busy creating more.  I might even start making sets of miniatures for my Etsy shop, since the sculpting is so much fun, and I can make multiple items at once. We’ll see once I get this new order filled.  (And I’d better get back to it, since I only have a week to make all 3!)

Now, for the particulars for those who are interested…

1.  The “log” is something I found at Hobby Lobby,  & it’s called “cactus wood”. I stuffed it with craft moss after affixing the trees to it.

2.  The sculpted items (pumpkins, cats, hat) are made from colored Sculpey, a polymer clay that oven bakes in about 10-15 minutes. I love this stuff, and have used it for years!

3.  The ghost is a different type of clay called “Creative Paperclay”. This was my first time working with it, and it’s a very different clay than I’m used to. I’m still not sure how much I like it, but it is very light-weight, and air dries over a day or 2.

4.  The broom I also picked up at Hobby Lobby, in the miniatures department. You can also sometimes find these in the scrapbooking area.

5.  The only things I painted on any of this is the stems on the pumkins, the cats’ eyes, and the face “holes” on the 2nd tree. On the first tree, I tried black Sculpey in the face holes, but didn’t really like the way it turned out.

6.  The trees themselves are aluminum, 20 gauge craft/jewelry wire.  Again, Hobby Lobby. (I spend waaay too much time and money in there, I might need an intervention)

7.  Everything but the trees are glued down with an epoxy called “Goop”. Stinks to high heaven for a while, but I haven’t found anything yet that works as well.

I’m going to keep experimenting, try to figure out how to do trees for each holiday, or at least, each season.

Christmas trees are going to be…interesting….

Today’s Forecast

Some days are good.

I’m up, and engaged with my fellow humans at work, I can concentrate on my tasks, and focus on my goals. I get through the day with hardly a hiccup, and rest easy that night when I come home, knowing that I’ve accomplished something.

I like those days.
I savor those days.

Because, there are other days…

The ones where I wake up, with a vague feeling of dread at the back of my throat, unsure why I’m uneasy. It’s hard to swallow around the lump, and my whole body seems to vibrate at an elevated pace.

My hands shake throughout the day, not reacting to the anti-anxiety meds that are supposed to calm these tremors.

My head aches, and I find my jaw clenched at odd times, and have to actively work my muscles to loosen the joint.

I can feel my heart racing right through my clothes, and I’m almost certain that others can hear & see it too, revving like a hi-test engine, with intermittent pounding of the pipes rapping as it revs down.

Short-tempered, I try to keep my head down & mouth shut at work, never knowing what’s going to light the match on my fuse.

And, at the odd moment, I’m overwhelmed by sadness, almost drowning in grief – over what… I’m usually not sure. Nothing major has happened, I think to myself, so why do I feel like weeping?

Everything seems to cascade at once, a massive memory dump into my adrenal system… flooding it with hormones and adrenaline.

Exhausting – even to think about.
It’ll pass.
I know this, having been through it more than once.  It always does.
I’m resilient, or so I’ve been told.  And I’ll bounce.

But somedays, it feels like the bottom of the pit…

And the light is very far away.


Self-fulfilling Prophecy

When I was in 3rd grade, I wished for glasses.

My best friend had just gotten some, my mom wore them, my older brother had them…

I wanted some of my very own.

So, I deliberately flunked the eye exam at school.

Oh, yes. I could read the letters perfectly, but I said just enough of them wrong so the school nurse would write a note to my parents. I figured that was enough. Surely, Mom would take her little blind darling out to the glasses store & find me the perfect pair that afternoon, right?

Well, let’s forgive naive little me, shall we? A third grader doesn’t really get the concept of “retesting by a professional “.

Anyway, I was retested, and in my panic at being found out in a lie, I was honest at the Dr’s. office.

And I failed.

I got my much coveted glasses, and lived to regret it, now that my eyesight is going topsy-turvy. Always near-sighted, I now have to wear reading glasses to read or see things close. Sucks. But, here I am, playing trombone without the little squinters.

Did I self-fulfill myself into glasses? Or was I headed there anyway, and decided to get ahead of the curve? *shrug* whothehellknows?

Now, here’s the kicker…
I’ve also been fascinated with mental disorders my whole life.

I read Sybil at about the age of 11, The Bell Jar when I was, oh, 14? Depression, Multiple Personality Disorder, now known more accurately as Dissociative Identity Disorder. Schizophrenia. I read a lot of material about these, fact and fiction alike, it all drew me in like a moth to a flame.

I used to wonder what it would be like, to live with such radically different mindsets such as those. 

I honestly – used to fantasize about just…one day… letting myself go bugnut crazy, & see if I could end up with a stay at the hotel with the padded rooms.

I didn’t, in the end.

But I did end up, many years down the road with GAD.  Generalized Anxiety Disorder.  Not one of the disorders I’d read about. Not one I’d ever even given a passing thought.

In 2008, I was in an extremely stressful job situation.  Constantly under pressure from customers, over situations I couldn’t control, without a decent boss there to deal with the anger, the recriminations & once, a man screaming in my face… while my boss stood not 5 feet away & let him tear me a new hole. 

A few weeks of that was enough to send my nerves around the bend.  I dreaded getting up in the morning,  because that meant I had to go to work. Work was stress, it was anger, and resentment.  And it took its toll.

At night, at home, I would find myself tensing up into, what I call, the Human Fist.  Every muscle clenched, from my teeth to my toes.

My chest hurt all day long at work, I had panic attacks, & couldn’t breathe.  I would break into tears incontrollably.

So, I went to the doctor & he prescribed anxiety meds, and told me I had GAD.

Was I researching mental disorders in my youth because I somehow knew, down the road, I’d be sharing in one?

Like deliberately flunking an eye exam, had I brought this on myself?