Remiscent

Yesterday while I was drifting off to sleep(continuously until 3:00am, why, body, why?) I was thinking about how playing Super Mario reminded me, in a way, of Toy's R Us when I was a little kid.

When I was a kid I used to dream of getting one thing, just this one thing, and then everything else would fall into place. And at Christmas time I used to ask for my big wish. My parents never failed to buy me the big gift that I wanted more than anything. Heck, they still do, as last Christmas what I really wanted was my Acer laptop, which is a gift that keeps on giving. I love you my precious, er, my laptop.

One of the gifts I wanted was a My-Size Barbie, not because she was a Barbie which was kind of a downside, but because I was kind of hoping she would come to life. It sounds silly to admit it now, but this was pretty much what I wanted. In elementary school I had plenty of friends and my best friend, Jessica Lee, who I would argue about jumprope with and..I don't remember, but we had fun. In fact, I'm pretty sure that the last time we fought was about jump rope in 3rd grade, and I was dreading going back to school because I thought she wouldn't be talking to me but the next day she didn't remember and I didn't mention it.

But I wanted a friend whom I could talk to about the imaginary cities I made up in my head, my crazy science experiments and philosophy and all that good stuff. Also, nobody else was reading the Animorphs except for a guy in my class, and I'm pretty sure he just liked the explosions. Besides, back then I thought it was not proprietous to have close guy friends. I didn't want to make up an imaginary friend because I could predict what they would do. I wanted someone who wasn't me to give a different angle. Even if an imaginary friend gave me praise, it was false praise. It also thought that this seemed like a recipe for schizophrenia. Believe it or not, reading about all of the creative kids having imaginary friends made me feel dumb because I didn't, a situation which only changed later.

This is not to say my classmates weren't cool. I was really into Geology and fish, collected types of Silly Putty, weird pens and miniatures. And everyone was totally cool with that, or at least I think they were.

Ah, how times have changed. Except that I still find people who are cool with my various oddities. I love you guys.

Another gift that my parents gave me was Lego Mindstorms. I am going to dig that and Barbie out of the closet one day and do stuff with them for fun. Barbie is going to get dressed up as an art piece and the Mindrover will roam around my apartment while I laugh with glee. Then I'll probably dissect it and start getting crazy over robots. Look forward to that stage.



William Shatner making fun of Sarah Palin. He's so different now! But he's made it clear that he wants to be known for more than Star Trek, so let's appreciate him for being an awesome actor.

Ptbbbbbbth

Whenever I see something incredibly strange and perhaps scarring, I get this urge to share it with my friends. "Hey, this hurt my soul, maybe you should check it out!" Don't worry, I never do this without warning people first.

Watermelon juice that tastes like squeezed watermelon is at Trader Joe's. Go get some, because it is delicious.

Americans produce so many anti-dystopic themed stories but we are sort of living in a dystopia in which we are the fat cats. Of course, we are now sort of paying the price and taking everyone down with us, but think about how corporations affect labor laws to keep their bottom line down. The problem is that those who don't generally don't swim.

Here is an interesting structure called "The Bat Spiral". I like this article for these two lines:
"I'm led to wonder, however, what non-human future might await something like Aranda\Lasch's 10 Mile Spiral if it were to be constructed – and later abandoned – amidst an ecosystem for bats...
We are inadvertently building the future infrastructure of an animal world."

One of the gifts I was planning on making Chris was a terrarium with abandoned architecture, so he could watch the plants slowly grow over and break it down. I'm planning on making one for myself in that magical time known as the future.

Here is a reason why they like physicists and computer scientists in Wall Street.

Also, though I talked about how much I dislike Twilight in the last post, I would like to point out the irony of calling Edward gay-ish: the main fans of the series are women.

Today saw me trying to dissect Mario, figure out optimization strategies, and then ask myself what exactly am I doing. Things are more fun when you're good at them, but this no longer feels fun. I'm doing it wrong.

Self-Referential

This happens to me all the time, except that it's usually what I'm thinking and I don't eat giraffes. From xkcd.

Thoughts on Star Trek:
1.)I like that after any of the characters have an outburst, they apologize
2.)Apparently being in space for so long has made the crew and captain susceptible to any pretty female who is not in charge of the ship's communications.
3.)Those are really short skirts. The crew is lucky that gusts of wind don't exist on the ship.

This article on memory strengthens the theory of memory connections I mentioned before. There is probably a more eloquent way to phrase the previous sentence.

This article from Jezebel about the abuses of the fashion industry, where young girls are powerlessly in the hands of much older and more experienced men, and citing the prevalence of rape in our society, is devastating and something I would definitely recommend checking out.

Another article discusses the true perils and motivations for mothers who adopt from Africa vrs celebrities like Madonna. It also elaborates on a sentence that I posted yesterday: "I don't think that all people from third-world countries are broken or something similar". There is a difference between feeling empathy for others and portraying them as simple, lower beings needing our mercy. People were whole, complete beings long before electricity was harnessed; I just don't think it's fair that somebody's relative or child could potentially die of the flu or something similar. I could write a lot on this topic, clarifying and clarifying, even putting in my own personal experiences, but I will leave it here for now.

Muhahaha, my picture is the first, second, and third result for my full name on Google. On one hand I want this blog to be the first result, but on the other I have an unusual enough name that it probably would not be hard to find out a lot of details about me, especially since I have mentioned the general area where I live. Perhaps when I need to be hired I will make the switch, as I know potential employers look for web presence. I have deliberately not promoted this blog up to this time.

It's interesting that the first hits for "SchizotypalVamp" are ones which I barely use. I don't particularly comment on io9 or Jezebel. I haven't used Library Thing since I was fifteen or sixteen. My original idea was that a searchable database for our collection would be ideal so that we could confirm if we had a book or not before buying it, since we did accidentally get a few books twice. One hundred and twenty-two books later I realized that if I continued I would never get a chance to actually read anything since there remained many more still to be listed. I have posted once on Twitter. I haven't visited The Planted Tank/Frank's Aquarium/MFK in forever. I haven't used my Flickr in a long time, either. But it's nice that my pseudonym retains exclusivity in a Google search.

Frosty posted about Vermicomposting in her apartment earlier today. My attempts to create a compost pile at home fizzled, and it's always something I wished I could do. There was the slight issue in my last home that my parents would string me up as a warning to other messy daughters. However, looking at the composting bins in the pictures of this article, I could always get a box and put it outside. Heck, I could even pretend it was a table, a table my mom would never, ever sit at.
Now when I mentioned getting more plants to my mom, her answer summarized to "you better not make it any more difficult to move out", a sucky but valid point. However, I live right by a university. If making a few calls does not help, I can always dump the fertilizer in the random nature park.

"Why did you bring a large plastic bag on the bus?"
"Uh...no reason"

I'll figure it out. Meanwhile, I believe they sell earthworms at Petsmart. I'm off to go get myself in trouble. Also some pizza.

This is SO COOL

One of the problems with the internet is that there is too much good stuff to keep track of in it. I am not a culture blogger; being a university student with a lot to learn and a voracious appetite for books makes it hard to keep up with all of those who deserve recognition. Not that I am sorry about being a university student with a large appetite for books.

I have to admit that I really like good journalism and entertaining, informative writing to accompany my news stories. I've tried to be an aggregate of raw facts and I simply don't have the time to be one. I'm not quite sure I'm pleased with the situation. Bear with me while I figure it out.

It's incredibly hard for me to look at difficult news stories, which is ironic due to the fact that I have chided others for not doing so. It's just that I have gone through so much pain from my medical disorders and I come from a well-to-do family. What about those people who hurt every day and can't get medical care? What about those people who can barely get water because they've been uprooted from their homes? What the hell must they be feeling, thinking? I've tasted but a drop from the pool that is despair. Maybe I'm weak, but I can't imagine what it's like to wade or swim in it.

I don't think all people from third-world countries are broken or something similar. It's simply the barriers needed to leave that poverty. My intelligence as a peasant girl in India would not have mattered if I had married at nine and had my first child at twelve(though I most likely would have become as close to a monk as I could have been). Wanting to read, write, or learn is simply not enough in that climate.

In other thoughts, our culture has so many dichotomies, one of which being that the religious majority of this country encourages abstinence before marriage, yet culturally male promiscuity is encouraged. It reminds me of a quote from Joseph Campbell's Creative Mythology:

"In Christian Europe, already in the 12th century, beliefs no longer universally held were universally enforced. The result was a dissociation of professed belief from actual existence and the consequent spiritual disaster, which, in the imagery of the Grail legend, is symbolized in the Waste Land theme: a landscape of spiritual death, a world waiting, waiting-"Waiting for Godot!"-for the desired Knight, who would restore its integrity to life and let stream again from infinite depths the lost, forgotten living waters..."

Not only must we actualize ourselves but charge forth in battle against those who would suck us dry.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I started the review of the Trader Joe's cloths today. I used one to clean my oven top and was impressed. It did the work of about 10 paper towels due to various cleaners I implemented to test it. Soap with water, which will destroy several paper towels in one go, was easily dispensed then mopped up. The cloth proved to be durable and porous, and rinsed out very easily. I would definitely recommend this over paper towels while cleaning so far(or if you have fish tanks).
So far I have used the other cloth as a dinner napkin. It requires a little wetting to create the consistency needed to pick grease off the fingers.
I will keep you updated. Note that since a two-pack costs $2.99 this could actually save money as well as breaking down easily in compost piles and reducing paper consumption.

There is a character called Dr Strange who I wish to check out. Also, Ellen Roger's Flickr(Via Warren Ellis) is so, so good. The picture is credited to her. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but sometimes I don't understand what it is trying to say. These pictures do not invite you into their worlds but simply taunt you with their beauty, daring you to ponder while shutting the door.

I think I need The Encyclopedia of Fantastic Victoriana.

Love and Creation in the Nation

Comics courtesy of A Softer World.

Tomorrow is the anniversary of the Stonewall riots! I wonder how to celebrate.

HOLY C***!!! NEIL GAIMAN IS AT UCSD STARTING ON THE 28TH AND PEOPLE WHO ARE NOT ME ARE BEING TAUGHT BY HIM! Ok, I am totally finding a way to see him while he is here. This is happening.

"All love letters are
Ridiculous.
They wouldn't be love letters if they weren't
Ridiculous.

In my time I also wrote love letters
Equally, inevitably
Ridiculous.

Love letters, if there's love,
Must be
Ridiculous

But in fact
Only those who've never written
Love letters
Are
Ridiculous

If only I could go back
To when I wrote letters
Without thinking how
Ridiculous.

But today, really,
my memories of those
letters are the ones
that are truly ridiculous

(All the strange words,
all the strange thoughts,
are naturally ridiculous)"

-Fernando Pessoa

I have never written a love letter. Chris and I were unabashedly sentimental in a way which led to both of our parents making fun of us so it's not as if our emotions were not expressed, but love does not inspire me to write, it inspires me to do. I wrote a couple poems dedicated to my first love after being rejected by him and a dark poem about the emotion itself once. But I completely agree that sincere and eloquent writing dedicated to deep emotion is worth creating even if to some it seems pretentious or overdecked, though I would make a conscious effort to stay out of the realm of complete ridicule.

The latest Star Trek episode parallels Peter Pan and Never-Neverland, which is sort of brilliant, as was the Venus drug episode(though wives are not for cleaning and cooking, of course).

Today I saw a name in my inbox which made me conceive Caronlina Muffet. Caronlina Muffet only exists in words. She is a doll with button eyes that was cobbled together by someone with too much time and imagination. The child that created her lives in a world of canopy beds and bedtime stories. She or he, as I haven't decided on his or her gender, spends most of his or her time in his or her room. Ms. Muffet is made of scraps of muppets and pages from Fairy Tale books in character, but in the reality in which she exists she is only made of scraps. She might have gotten a part in Coraline, had she auditioned, but being a doll she couldn't. Secretly she was deeply disappointed in this, but do not tell the child that made her, because he or she simply wants the doll to be happy.

Carolina Muffet may appear creepy to some, but she is not bad in any way. She was created from a simple love of life and retains this in her stitches.

Origins

My family has a fascinating history. My great-grandmother was Middle Eastern; I can't remember what part of India my great-grandfather was from. It was these two who made the trip to Trinidad, then a British colony, following the promise of land and a better life. Why, and their original families, remains lost in history.
My father was born to a then-well-off family in Guyana. I don't know how or when his family ended up in the South American country. His dad never discussed this subject with him and so it remains a mystery to me.
Due to the various migrations and England's love of collecting colonies at the time I ended up with Indian, British, Caribbean, and Middle Eastern elements in my upbringing in addition to my Americanization. For some people, family history defines their identities, but for me it reinforced that the person I could be included a smorgasbord of people. In a way, my background is also painful because it gives a glimpse of how hard it is to truly understand and grasp the intricacies of another culture from outside of it, though I certainly try.
I also ended up with a American, Caribbean, and slight British accent.

Whenever people ask where I am from I feel obligated to give a small summary of these events which seem to pass over many individual's heads and summarize to "she's Indian". I'm not close to my Indian heritage, though I've read many sacred texts of cultures for unrelated reasons and can understand elements of the culture because of how it affected and has been passed on by my family. I don't know how to wrap a sari and neither of my parents are Hindu or Muslim, though being Hindu or Muslim as a religious identity is different from the cultural identity Indian; people seem to mix those up.

Throughout human history there seems to be a period of stratification into a king, nobles, craftsmen and artisans, and peasants in cultures which "advance" into civilization. Does this innately make sense to the human mind or is it simply the result of political pressures and a certain group of migratory humans? In this day and age we could say that Democracy innately makes sense to the human mind, but that would be ignoring the power struggles and history which led to this government gaining a foothold in world history. If other turns of events had taken place communism could be in its stead. Saying that a group of disparate humans developed this form of government would be negating the large influence of the Indo-European migration; much of what happened before that time is lost in prehistory. I, as probably you, can think of several logical reasons why this stratification makes sense, but that could be enculturation more than logic.
This argument is more of a devil's advocate position than anything I have developed into a thesis.

Ouch, Year One is getting panned on RT. So far it has a rating of 18%, extremely disappointing considering Jack Black, Micheal Cera, and David Cross are involved.

Saying Something

Apparently, Warren Ellis is writing a comic which is free for viewing online.

The latest entry of PLFM features an extremely psychotic man who deserves to have a derisive entry written about him. However, I take offense to this statement:

""I'm just not that into casual sex," he explained. For those women not in the know, that's man-speak for "I can't find anyone who will f*** me." "

That's just untrue, though it may not have been in this man's case.

Speaking of PLFM, Mike/Weasel recently did an interview on another blog. Here is a quote from it:

"And like most writers, I absolutely abhor what I write. I post entries, and I never read them again, because I can’t. I’m my own worst critic. They just seem so fucking awful, so unfunny."

I can completely relate to this. Part of what I try to do while writing this blog is to go back and correct entries a week and a month after they are written in an attempt to improve my writing style. I always get the urge to delete the posts, cobbling together the reasoning that hey, Kafka wanted to burn all of his work, maybe yours is actually good! It seems to be part of the natural torture of being a writer.

One of the reasons that I believe creates the high divorce rate in this country is that people do not know how to communicate with each other. This seems to be a reason that nobody is addressing.

It's kind of saddening that Micheal Jackson's death is the only thing that brought about renewed respect for him. If he was a child molester I don't feel any sympathy for his faith, but he really was never allowed to live a normal life and was damaged in so many ways.

Short but Sweet

"I thought, I wrote, I conquered"
-Me, thinking about a slightly pretentious hypothetical situation

Amanda Palmer is at the Troubador on Thursday! Tickets are only $20.

Oh my God, this exists. Is it an actual organization or a home for Stepford Wives? On one hand, the list of recent events

"Many of our projects and special events offer leadership positions and challenging opportunities. Some of our most recent projects include our Blood Drive, our Annual Benefit Dinner, Dances, Christmas on Third Avenue Event, Spring Brunch Card Party, La Cadena Fashion Show, Table Setting Contest, and Tea Parties."

suggests the latter, but Amanda is performing for them, which suggests the former. Will I go to the show? Uh, maybe.

Apparently I have an allergy to something? What I thought was pink eye was diagnosed to be irritation. What do I have an allergy to? I had to go and buy eye drops.

I spent a lot of time reading The Customer is Not Always Right today, thanks to Tedrick. The anecdotes are hilarious! Here is a sample from the first page:

"

Me: “Hello, I’m calling about a bill your [credit card] that you haven’t paid in two months.”

Customer: “I don’t even have this card.”

Me: “Well, is this your address?” *asks address*

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “And is this your correct phone number?” *asks phone number*

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “May I verify the last four digits of your social?”

Customer: “Yes, it’s ****.”

Me: “Okay, that’s what we have. Were your last charges at [dentist] and with your phone company on [date]?”

Customer: “Why, yes, I did go there on those dates.”

Me: “So, you used this card.”

Customer: “No, I cut up this card. I don’t have it anymore.”

Me: “Well, the account is still open and you’re still responsible for the money you owe.”

Customer: “No, I cut up the card! I don’t owe anything!”

Me: “You have a balance of $2000 on the card. Even when you cut the card up, you still owe what you spent.”

Customer: “Really?!” "

Image credit: JUNG YEON-JE/AFP/Getty Images. The girl is a sex worker in South Korea, but the image and women herself are so delicatley lovely and thought-provoking that I had to post them here.

Cute(Edited 6:44 pm)

From left to right: Spot, The Brave One, Socks, and Dasha

"Mongol" is well worth seeing, though it contained some historical inaccuracies. The style of the editing felt very Mongolian from my little reading of The Secret History, and the movie had a certain poetry to it. The fight scenes are portrayed with adrenaline and brutality; the fighting is exciting but not glorified. The Mongols themselves are portrayed as "uncivilized"(insert long diatribe about civilization and our enculturation here) but living with their own code. I especially like the portrayal of Mongolian women and wish there were a few more American heroines like them. We have few records of The Great Khan's early life, which makes it strange upon speculation that it is not the topic of more imaginings. Also, I would like to mention something that Ilya said a long time ago, which is that Mongolian ponies are short and fat. The horses in this movie are big Hollywood studs.

Snuggles is becoming blinder every day. Also, he was going to pee on the mat when I picked him up and put him in the litter box, getting some on my foot in the process.

Yesterday my mom took me to the mall. Tired from all the shopping this week neither of us lasted long, and I soon escaped to the bookstore. I met a former physics major working as an engineer in the mathematics section.

At home we watched the aforementioned "Mongol" and "Mamma Mia", the latter thanks to my aunt Brenda who had recommended it to my mom. I promised to watch "Mamma Mia" with my mom if she watched "Mongol". The movie turned out to be exactly what I expected: a light, fluffy romantic comedy with lots of singing. The songs were integrated well into the plot. Also, things stopped making sense somewhere towards the end and the tone was slightly unfemenistic. All of a sudden the independent woman realizes that she's needed a man this entire time? Perhaps the best thing that happened was that after seeing Meryl Streep in "Doubt" my parents were very impressed with her acting range and are now fans. They are also starting to borrow good movies instead of sappy Bollywood flicks. My mom bought another Meryl Streep movie and is renting "The Reader". I did too, in fact, so I'll probably be writing about that later today. My parents actually had an argument about the conclusion of "Doubt" in the car.

I keep having dreams where I'm Buffy. Also in last night's dream was Chris, and it was a pleasant dream. I'm not implying something euphemistically there. It was just a nice dream, except for the werewolves and demon slaying.

So I'm going to keep up with summer vow #1, read real news. Stay tuned for more updates.

Edit 6:44pm:

The last entry brings up a point some people have nitpicked on. Do I consider myself beautiful? Sometimes I do and sometimes I don't, because how I look throughout the day can vary considerably. I don't necessarily consider myself beautiful in the way I want to be all the time, either. What I am sure about is that other people can find me attractive.

It's nice to be in La Jolla, since most of the harassment I experienced in LA has stopped. I have heard many a time stories about how beautiful women bemoaned the cat-calls after they were gone, but it's nice to be surrounded by so many other pretty girls. That way if someone takes a special interest in me, it probably has more to do with me than my face.

I fell down the stairs this morning after my mom told me to come quietly. The kittens were curled up on the lawn chair and I took the above picture of them. Clingy was with Gaiylee on the lawn. We bought a bunch of books in the UCSD student store and ate at the Indian place. Now I'm going to clean and watch "The Reader".

"The Answer, My Friend.."

One of the things that I'm really looking forward to about getting rid of my chronic pain is the ability to read my body's signals. I used to be a bit hypocondriacish, which has gotten better. Here is an example of why I was, using the symptoms of a heart attack:

"The most common symptom of heart attack is chest pain or discomfort. Most heart attacks involve discomfort in the center of the chest that lasts for more than a few minutes or goes away and comes back. The discomfort can feel like uncomfortable pressure, squeezing, fullness, or pain. It can be mild or severe. Heart attack pain can sometimes feel like indigestion or heartburn."

I constantly a pressure in my chest that gets better or worse depending on the time of day, how my back is doing, and other myriads of factors.

Other common signs and symptoms that a person can have during a heart attack include:

• Upper body discomfort in one or both arms, the back, neck, jaw, or stomach
• Shortness of breath may often occur with or before chest discomfort
• Nausea (feeling sick to your stomach), vomiting, lightheadedness or fainting, or breaking out in a cold sweat

Minus the shortness of breath most of the time, we have what an average afternoon used to be like.

I know, I know, I'm whining, but it was hurting a lot yesterday. And honestly, I can't wait! I've been making tons of progress.

Apparently, women can get pregnant on their period.
"While a woman is unlikely to conceive during menstruation, "nothing, when it comes to pregnancy, is impossible," said Aaron Carroll of Indiana University and co-author of "Don't Swallow Your Gum: Myths, Half-truths and Outright Lies About Your Body and Health" (St. Martin's Griffin, 2009).

Once inside a woman, sperm can wait for an egg for up to a week. Ovulation can occur soon after, or even during, the bleeding phase of a woman's menstrual cycle, giving patient sperm the chance to get lucky. The timing method of birth control doesn't work well, Carroll said, agreeing that couples who practice it are often called: parents."

I'm making a vow today to stop fantasizing as much about certain things.

That reminds me of when I was a kid and I created a fantasy world with "evolutionarily sound" animals. It always got to me that fantasy creatures were seemingly based solely off graphic design and would generally not survive in a real world, because I was a weird kid who also loved silly putty, similar-to-silly-putty goop, and collected pens. Pokemon came out about the same time I was creating my this world in the USA, which annoyed me greatly because I was afraid that it would look as if I was ripping things off from them in creating my creatures, even though the two had nothing to do with each other. In middle school I had a fantasy that if I wrote down enough of the details from one of my other fantasy worlds, it would come to life. Heck, I still kind of wish that would happen.
Who am I kidding, I have billion-zillion fantasy worlds that I think I will start visiting more often.

In all honesty, though I never thought I would admit this "out loud", if I came across one of those portals to another world that exist in many a children's book I wouldn't feel that surprised, though my views on the metaphysical have expanded into something much more complex. Also, unless hypothetical fantasy worlds evolve, well, real mythology can be very freaky. You might be seeing some contradictions in my personality here. The short version is that it all works out in my head. Also, science is awesome, did you know?

I've been thinking about how an object is simply an object, separate from patterns that related to other objects and the word that describes it. I've also been thinking about cases where being a part of a pattern is part of an object's being. Maybe the Dhammapada is being absorbed into me by osmosis.

Genetics final tommorow. I have to stop staring at this photo, but it's so evocative and beautiful.

Photocredit:Stockxpert via Livescience via Jezebel

Title quotes Bob Dylan's song "Blowin' in the Wind"

Calm Before the Storm

This article on Jezebel is horrific.

"Female infanticide in countries like China has widely been considered one of the causes behind the gender discrepancies in population growth. However, Baute points out a study by Siwan Anderson and Debraj Ray that shows that while infanticide is certainly an issue, the majority of "excess female deaths" comes much later in life. As Anderson notes: "Previously, people had thought that they (the missing women) were all at the very early stages of life, prenatal or just after, so before four years old. But what we found is that the majority are actually later." Those "later" deaths can be attributed to a number of factors: poor access to health care for women, high suicide rates, HIV and AIDS, and dowry-related murders (which, Burke notes, are marked as "injuries.") "

Even worse are some of the comments:

"When we go back to visit India, and people meet my father and find out he has three daughters and no sons, they say, "I'm so sorry."

It's really insulting of course, but it is honestly how people think. In a culture like that, how can you not have a dwindling female population?

I have to say, it does affect me when I'm there. It's hard to hear people lament about how unlucky your parents are and not consider yourself devalued. I could see how someone who's lived it their whole lives would turn to suicide."

-momentsofabsurdity

"Is this really all the fault of men? My mom, who grew up in India, doesn't trust any men, since she grew up in an exceeding crappy home, in which her father didn't care for her and her brother was valued above her and her 4 sisters. But she puts a lot of blame on other women for perpetuating this kind of vicious, misogynistic behavior that keeps other women down. After all, it was her own mother and my aunts who taunted her for having 2 daughters and no sons, and for marrying my father, who isn't the best-looking guy ever, but is really forward-thinking, and more importantly was the only one to move his family to the US (all other sisters are living in traditional families in India). In my mom's family, there are also rumors that an aunt murdered her son's young wife (with the rest of the uncles, who were city bigwigs, covering it up) because the wife was poor and the son was a drunkard who couldn't support the family...."

-JeromeCabaret

In a different time and place, I could have been one of these women. In fact, I'm only three generations removed from this world.

My family's story is fascinating and caught up in the politics and threads of the world. My grandparents on my mom's side were indentured servants, and my mom was alive when Trinidad gained independence as a country after being a colony of Britain. World war II is much too close historically when I think about these things. I don't like to think about how recent it was. It's terrifying to reach through the sepia and black and white to bring that horror into the real light of day.

I was thinking about art history last night when lying in bed, about how, really, it shows how history created art. The problem is that studying something like that from books is something of an exercise in futility, because many times it is necessary to see the art in person to fully appreciate it. So much is lost in photographic translation, from the brushstrokes to the size to some sort of magic which I can't explain but makes the experience in person very different when looking at a masterpiece. This is true of sculpture, also-Winged Victory is breathtaking in person. I mean this literally, as remembering it is taking my breath away. That's why I decided to include it in this blog entry.

It's hard in museums, sometimes, to appreciate what is on display, with one masterpiece after another and time as a constraint. Only afterward, when context is created, do I sometimes appreciate what I've seen.

Of course, I believe the futile effort is definitely still worth undertaking.

With Chris gone, I also have to research film and (more) music independently. I'm hesitant to say when I will do this, but I will. Also, I should research photography. So much to learn, so little time.

Tomorrow marks the four week anniversary of Chris and I splitting up. At first I was surprised at how well things were going. Now I really wish they would go faster.

Quantum Physics final tomorrow! So sorry if this seems especially hastily written or edited.

I Have Forgotten the "Art" Tag in a Bunch of Posts

For me, personal space is a necessity. I am one of those people who may appear messy, but are actually very organized. I have a folder with my medical records, household manuals, etc sorted into neat files and my shirts are all organized according to type. There just are a bunch of books on the floor and I tend to not hang up my clothes right away.

I've learned to let go of certain things. When we first moved into our house in Winnetka I started stealing books from downstairs and buying others, all of which accumulated in stacks along the side of the wall. My parents finally decided to buy me a bookcase, so I organized the non-fiction books by topic and the fiction books by date published. The fiction books took a very long time to sort, probably four or five hours at the least, and I could never keep their order straight(though when my mom used to throw books back on the shelves it resulted in several screaming matches). I now know the general area where a book is supposed to be and the structure is too much to keep track of, so I've stopped being as exacting about it. The same thing happened with my stuffed animals. I know you're mocking me now, but I will take your mental words with a quiet dignity. Wait, I already used that joke recently. I'm cornered! The moral of the story is to not use a system that requires being more organized than you wish to be.

I tend to create a "nest" where I spend most of my time. Why do I call it a nest? Usually it is in a narrow space on the floor that rapidly accumulates books, artwork, and various other random papers. I tend to have another "nest" on a couch. These two places are where I spend 95% of my time at home. No nest of mine has ever been on a desk. I don't use desks, and I don't particularly understand why, though the big black chair next to mine tends to make me fall asleep. I like the floor.

Flight of the Conchords-"What is Wrong with the World Today"

"There's people on the street getting diseases from monkeys
Yeah that's what I said, their getting diseases from monkeys
Whys this happening, please, whose been touching these monkeys
Leave these poor sick monkeys alone
There sick, they've got problems enough as it is"

I stopped by the Betta section today in Petsmart. There was a purple boy, a color I have never seen before in real life on a Betta. After finals I'm going to clean out the three gallon and put a Betta in it or something. Also, part of my dream last night involved choosing between a water dragon and a friendly salamander, but I decided to buy these small fish living in a "sustainable environment" they would obviously be dead in a week from.

Chris and I would always stop by the Bettas together in Petsmart. I would look at them and he would go "lo-ove", as if I was going to buy one, and I would get angry with him because I thought he thought I lacked the self control to keep myself from

getting one. Why can't it be "I love you, you love me" instead of "I love you, you love me, but we're really not right for each other so no amount of trying is ever going to make this work"?

We tried, we really did, and now it's time to try with other people. Or lock ourselves up in seclusion, which is what my preference is for the moment.

I feel sort of strange for liking the following two songs. The first is "So What" by Pink, which I've mentioned here before. It's extremely catchy, and Pink uses it as an opportunity to sing her heart(break) out. I can't embed the video, so click here to listen. While I've never particularly been a fan of Pink's music, she seems like a genuine enough musician, whatever that means. I don't have anything against her.

The second song, Jai ho, is more complicated. While I loved "Slumdog Millionaire", this song is a feat with The Pussycat Dolls. I hate this group because instead of actually making good music, they writhe around on stage going "Don't you wish your girlfriend was a skank like me?"*

*not the actual lyrics

And no, I'm not jealous of them. If I thought being a skank was cool, I'd be a skank. And if your boyfriend would leave you for a skank, dump him and re-evaluate your priorities. Unless...that makes you happy(?!).

So anyways, while the singer gyrates around, the voice synthesizer she's singing into makes her voice decent and this was obviously not arranged by them. And I like this song.
Again, I can't embed the video directly, so here you go.

The above photograph does not reflect how I feel in any way. I just thought it was very evocative.
Photocredit: ALBERTO PIZZOLI/AFP/Getty Images

Straight Up

I past my first independent credit check today.

I miss Chris and I's relationship, though what I'm missing is sort of an idealized version created by letting go of bad memories and annoyances. So I don't know what to call what I'm actually feeling right now. Marisa-wants-to-live-in-an-idealized world syndrome? Marisa had a dream last night where she met Chris and Artur and then had psychic powers and rained fire and lightning down on her enemies but the enemies still won, so she had to eat orc meat and sing the country, which contained Mallorn trees, back to life? Marisa is letting go of the idea of any significant other being present in her life for the time being? Speaking of the dream, I was with Buffy and Chris and Artur were dressed up for Halloween. Buffy and I were trying to evade an attack from Spike, but then we got pushed into this other world and were using magic seeds on the ground in a woodland area for protection, but the woodland animals who were supposed to be defending us decided to eat some, so the army of spiders got through. I was helpless, except I developed psychic powers which I wasn't sure were working, but worked.

Part of the problem is that I know what it's like to be truly alone, a state which is extremely unpleasant, to say the least. I don't want to ever experience that again. But I don't think I ever will have to, for a variety of reasons, one of which being that I have these people called friends. I think I would have done better in a time period where friendship was regarded more seriously, except for the sexism and racism and the fact that I probably would not have survived being born prematurely.

It's strange to suddenly be at a different stage in life. Suddenly wedding dresses and a shared house are things of the distant future, instead of realities happening in the course of the next few years. If they even happen at all, though I also thought I would be someone who reached twenty without ever being in a relationship or even kissed. In other news, my first kiss sucked.
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I was in third grade, and taking a class at John Robert Powers. "Stand up straight against the wall!" said the teacher. I tried to stand up straight against the wall, but failed, as I knew I would. My back didn't line up properly with it the way that it should have.

"You have the most sensitive back I have ever treated", said my chiropractor in eight grade after I had sprained my back.

"I always wondered why you veered off when you were walking. It's because you're crooked! Here..." Alex Jacobson, my flute section leader, tried to adjust my posture. "OW!" I ejaculated, tearing away. All the other flutists laughed, and I tried to laugh too, but it wasn't funny. I knew that had no idea what it felt like, and I still feel no grudge against them for their reaction. This was in tenth grade.

"Wow. This is a lot of tension. Was this caused by trauma?" Andy, who was filling in as my physical therapist last Friday and is not to be confused with Andy from the lab. I wish my physical therapists could simply massage my knots away all at once, but after the pain I've gone through from being overenthusiastic, I'm quite clear on why they don't. I don't want to end up in the hospital in shock.

"You have to be able to bend that way. Everyone is able to bend that way." I've heard this countless times throughout my life.

Today, this morning, I can stand up straight. I feel so happy and blessed for that simple gift. People are born with much harsher circumstances than mine, and I can't look at pictures of people with severe back problems. After what I have gone through, and I look like I have a normal back, what must these people feel every day? If the pain were just a bit sharper, I would need medication to keep it under control. My arms are horribly sore, and I spent a lot of time massaging out knots in addition to exercise and appointments, but I can stand up straight. It feels good to be rewarded for all of this effort, though my physical therapist and my mom's insurance played a crucial part in helping me. I have a while yet to go, but straight! Me! Happy!

Scum of the Earth. and Some Stuff about Fish.

Ok, so most of you will have probably already seen the link to the KKK kid's wear I posted on Facebook, so I won't re-post it here. Here is a page with more "interesting" t-shirts. In my opinion, striking a blow against anything KKK related is a worthy cause. The KKK and neo-nazis barely register as humans in my regard, since they choose to identify with something so evil and hateful to their fellow beings it makes me want to throw up. The only reason that they even register as human in my regard is because of the careful enculturation and indoctrination that is involved in making someone a member of these societies and brainwashing them into these rabid ideologies. Neo-nazis are the worst in my opinion. Almost any education in Europe or America will show you what the Nazis did, what excuses for human beings they were, and to choose to identify with something like that...well, I'm not God, I can't claim almighty judgment, and re-education programs probably would be the most helpful thing in this scenario, but I would be lying if I said I wouldn't be happy to punch these people in the face, repeatedly. I mean that.

From my understanding, two routes of those indoctrinated into Neo-nazi society are those who are born into the ideologies or singled out loners who are "trained". Lonely kids at school whom skinheads befriend and then poison.

Just..ugh. I can't write about it anymore, even to vent. On an ideological level, on a historical level, and on a person level, thinking about all the wonderful Jewish people who have passed in and out of my life, my friends, imagining them being told that they aren't human, is too much to take.

Later, Marisa calmed down.

Here is an interesting study of sexual harrasment in guppies.

"The findings showed that females who had experienced a lot of sexual harassment were less able to recognise the other females in the group and were more likely to form bonds with new females introduced from outside their network."

Also, apparently vunerability to angling may be related to genetics in bass, says an ongoing study of 20 years.

"This provides the first direct experimental evidence that vulnerability to angling is a heritable trait and, as a result, that recreational hook-and-line fisheries can cause evolutionary change in fish populations."

Bitterness and Jetpacks

"Jetpacks are the ultimate dream of every scientist! Skies filled with ordinary citizens strapped to rockets. "-Phil
"Flying through the air at sixty miles an hour in any direction!"'-Lem
"A lot of people are going to die.."-Lem
-From "Better off Ted" episode "Goodbye, Mr. Chips"

I've always wondered how our spatial perception would change if we were allowed to navigate fully in three dimensions. I also think that it would change the perspective of the generation born with the technology in existence if the technology were created, much like how people born in the age of computers generally have an easier time using them.

People have this weird love-hate relationship with my handwriting. I have gotten comments from "it looks like Arabic script" to "what is this? It's unreadable!". The interesting thing is that I may be ambidextrous, as there are specific tasks that are easier to do with my left than my right hand, and I can write with my left hand like a fifth grader. Now, remember how much training it takes to get a dominant hand to write correctly. Even accounting for the better motor control as an adult, that's pretty good evidence that if I trained my left hand I could use both hands interchangeably.

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING IS NOT DIRECTED AT ANYBODY. THESE ARE PERSONAL MUSINGS, NOT AN ATTACK. I MEAN, I HONESTLY DON'T SEE ANYTHING I WOULD ATTRIBUTE TO ANYBODY READING, BUT JUST IN CASE.
CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPS!!!!

I ensconsed myself in the recovery community for about a year after rehab. But the dreary, depressing AA meetings in smoky church basements made me realize these people lived their lives in the past. They carried their history of addictions around with them like a dead hamster in their pocket. And the hamster was really beginning to smell.

Recovery was a daytime talk show on a grander stage, with particpants shouting back and forth their survival stories of so many years ago. Stories of addiction were no longer stories, but rather they became a means of competition of who had been more addicted. People fabricated ridiculous stories to garner more sympathy from the crowd, and I noticed people even changed their stories over time.

“I lost everything,” a particpant would say. “I went from being a litigation attorney to sharing iceberg lettuce out of a dumpster with a dog.”

Not to be outdone, the next person would offer something like “I sold my daughter to a porn company for two fifths of Jim Beam and a packet of sherm. I got on a moped and crashed into a tree, knocking my girlfriends two front teeth out. Now every time she talks, dogs flock to her.”

With pity filling the room like vodka into a bowl of prom punch, the stories would escalate. “I abandoned my children with a molestor in the Target appliance department, prostituted my own grandmother, and killed a family of migrant workers having a picnic.” It wasn’t sharing, it was gloating.
I confided in a friend that I was leaving the recovery community. He looked at me like I was something he had just picked out of this teeth, but kindly offered a final mantra as I skipped out the door.

“Just remember, you only have to change one thing. Everything.”

That was the only mantra I ever took to heart.

-The Weasel

"The Weasel" shared part of his story about recovering from alcohol and cocaine abuse in his blog. I don't agree with some of his points. For example, the man does not realize what the cycle of abuse is, and I have had a couple people try to use the "giving me a kick in the ass" method to get rid of my depression. It didn't work, and, in fact, scarred me a bit, though the depression was not a life choice I made but rather a biological time-bomb that was triggered by my environment. However, some people may consider it as falling into the same category, which is why I include it as such.

I've been thinking about this quote from Weasel's blog combined with my previous post on post-traumatic embitterment disorder. I used to be very sympathetic to bitter people. Hey, I carried a lot of bitterness myself in the past, though most of it has evaporated, at least regarding events that relate to me personally. I can't stop being bitter for the children in Rwanda, or the endangered iguana that got beaten to death by a drunk, for instance. But I always related my ability to move on, to blame actions on myself and not on my past, to not being through enough pain.
And it's true, I have been extremely lucky. I have been through some bad bad things, but I have had a lot of great things happen to me and great luck in my life. Being monetarily supported through college is something many people could never have.
But at what point does personal responsibility come into play? When do you say that "you're supposed to be an emotionally mature adult, start acting like one"? Sometimes people simply can't move on, and it would be unfair to ask them to do so without help. That's not weakness of character, that's events overwhelming the individual ability to cope with a situation. But other times..how can we, as people separate from the situation, make the distinction?
And there are people who use their stories to negate other's pain. Not that I think anyone living in the lower middle class and up in first-world countries usually have stories that would compare to a Rwandan refuge; that's not the point here. I don't know, I think that people who have suffered pain, real pain, all can sympathize with each other, and a common goal: wipe that pain off the face of the earth. I personally hope that nobody ever has to go through the things which I have, and there are far worse lives than the one I have lived.
I think many people go through at least a phase where want their pain to be special. It required so much effort to go through, and there is a myth in popular culture that the more pain you have suffered, the deeper a person you are. Yes, being touched by a truly traumatic event changes a person and gives them new perspective on life. Perhaps this phenomenon also stems from archetypal spiritual purification, such from the libations of the Hindus to the many interesting inventions of Christians. But I think Buddha had a point when, after starving and whipping and starving and whipping himself, he realized this was madness and sat underneath the Boddha tree. A deep life full of meaning does not mean a life full of pain.

Special Edition: A Bus Story

To celebrate the new post on PLFM, I am going to share one of my more traumatizing bus stories.

This is the only day I have ever worn regular shorts: normal khaki shorts, paired with a regular skinny t-shirt; nothing special. Chris and I were on the 761 to UCLA, sleeping on each other's shoulders. Except I was only "sleeping", and still had enough of my eyes open to see what was in front of me. A skeevy old man wearing a weird looking hat whom Chris and I had seen around before inched into the empty seats across from us and took out his cell phone.

Then he took a picture of me.

I immediatley "woke up", and asked, "Sir, did you just take a picture of me?". The man said nothing and retreated. Chris immediatley offers to go *talk* to him but I hiss to do nothing, that it is ok, precisely because it is so very not ok, and I'm afraid that if I confront the man I'll scream and get physical. I felt so violated and dirty. Chris pointed out the man's prison tattoos.

I don't want to know what he does with that picture.

When people ask me why I don't want to modeling, this is a story that I tell them. Besides my other qualms, I would be handing these people my picture. All the creeps, all the weirdos, all the other questionable people of the world could do whatever they wanted with my image.

My other qualm is that models are usually simply being used to sell something.

I, and every other girl, have many more of these stories.

I Used to Love Nancy Drew(and own all the Books)(Edit 7:38pm)

I apologize for all of the spelling errors in yesterday's post.

In more interesting news, there may be a new personality disorder classification soon: post-traumatic embitterment disorder, affecting almost all anti-heroes since 1895. Another thing which makes me upset is the glorification of mental illnesses.

Today is the fortieth anniversary of "Sesame Street". Scrolling down through all the clips in the link, I felt a disconnect. I barely watched television as a child, and though later I watched such classics* as "Sabrina the Teenage Witch", "Fresh Prince of Bel-Air", and "Sister-Sister"(my mom loved "Friends) my time was spent mostly reading books. I never knew the cultural references which the other middle-class kids kept making. Now, after a long period of socialization into pop culture, I can spout out many more references, although I can't say I am a better person for it. I've always been someone who valued critical thinking over name-dropping pseudo-intellectualism, though that is another topic entirely. This reminds me of the time when Ilya and I were watching "The Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny" in the lab and he didn't know who Mr. Rogers was. I acted shocked, but shouldn't have-this is the exact same thing which I went through again and again. Generally I would consider myself sensitive to these sorts of things, but in this case I failed spectacularly. I wonder if I should apologize to him? How would you phrase that? "Hey Ilya. I'm not crazy, I swear!...."

*Sarcasm Alert!

Also, could people stop conducting studies on a few individuals who are socialized the same way and pretend to scientifically confirm gender stereotypes?

You know what would be a good invention? A computer screen that emits the spectrum of sunlight.

Beached

My day started at 3:13am this morning when my mom and dad brought Snuggles home from the vet. Apparently his tests came back with normal results, and the cause of his illness was speculated to be either his teeth or a hairball. One of his teeth needs to be pulled and he, as we suspected, has cataracts. Both of these will be attended to by the regular vet on Tuesday or Weds. The emergency vet gave him a solution of electrolytes and stressed that he needed to eat every day for now, but once he was healthy again he had to go on a program of diet and fitness to reduce his weight. The message has finally gotten through to my mom, and I look forward to a new, healthier Snuggles.

I then had a dream about Chris and I trying to get back together and how miserably the attempt failed.

After watching the kittens prance and pounce in the backyard and petting Snuggles goodbye, we headed off to San Diego. Mom kept going over how mellow Snuggles had been at the vet last night. They also were talking about how proud they were of what Christopher has been accomplishing, and, when they thought I was asleep, me. At Petsmart there was a large black cat named Snuggles who looked and acted a bit like him. Dad half-seriously suggested that we take him home.

After they left I browsed the internet for a few minutes and then started out for Black's Beach(Torrey Pines). Andy had invited me to bbq-and-ultimate-frisbee-get-together-thing. The directions I got were shoddy, however, and I ended up getting off the bus early against my better judgment. This was my first time at Black's that didn't involve someone else driving me.

Crazy screaming lady is back again. I can hear her rattling cans.

After getting off the bus I started stubbornly walking in the direction I thought the beach was in. In my olden days I would not have had the gall to simply wander in a direction without giving up and going home. Literature champions large decisions which "show your true character"; less popular are all the little choices showing how your character interacts with everyday life in situations which might seem much bigger than they are when they are taking place. I ended up going through the Salk Institute and witnessing a silent panoramic view by myself in a rare moment of peace. After reaching the site where the handgliders launch , I finally got on the trail to Black's.

I didn't even know I had such a harrowing fear of heights until this one particular spot in the path which looked like a smooth downward curve with no handholds. Usually I throw dignity to the winds when hiking and, if necessary, start using both hands and feet. I started fearfully inching down, wondering if the traction of my sandals would hold me, when a couple came up behind me.
"Scared?" asked the man
"Yes."
"Join us!"
With their moral boost I did not slip and die, although not looking down helped a whole lot. We talked for a little while and I called Andy, who said that at this point I should keep walking south as I was probably on the wrong side of the beach. I was unconcerned, for while at that point I had walked about a mile I was on the beach and enjoying myself. Except for all the naked men-did I mention that Black's is a nudist beach? I saw more *insert your favorite name here* today than I ever wanted to in a lifetime. I figured that I would walk to the main entrance of Torrey Pines and take the bus from there if I couldn't find Andy at that point. And that's how I ended up taking a three-or-more mile stroll on the beach today, which probably added a few years to my lifespan. For part of the walk I was completely alone. There are so many thoughts seething in the water, though none probably as beautiful or as edifying as the clear waves themselves in the here and now. My thoughts wandered, and for a little while I struggled between holding on to the moments and living them. I'm terrified of the day that words will only bring back dying embers of past experiences, but I would rather have lived those fully than spend them remembering the details to write down. Everything from crabs to Chris; making all the little unconscious corners let go of him. They say that the death of a relationship is mourned like the death of a person. For me this was not true; it was a moment in time with both good and bad memories, all of which are over; we touched and then parted. With a person, the person is over, usually for no clear reason other than what we in our puniness can metaphysically attribute.

I had to climb a large rock to get to the other side of the beach. A stranger held my hand for a moment so that I wouldn't fall, though I navigated it surprisingly well on my own. My bag wasn't even there. I dislike handbags, as they feel like a sexist weight which hampers physical activity and fitness. I can't just keep my wallet, keys, and phone in my pants or they would fall down. Speaking of which, this entire time I was wearing shorts and a thin t-shirt over my swimsuit and not freezing to death. I once read that symbolically cold is attributed to individualism, climbing a mountain. Perhaps minute adjustments have been made in my constitution because of my mental state. I personified nature and wondered if the colors and shapes of the cliffs had some deeper, hidden meaning.

Anyways, there is too much to write. I got on the bus and came home with sandy feet, although physical limitations took over and I became numb while walking to my apartment. There will be more opportunities to go out and meet new people(at least I hope), and I had a great Memorial day.

Good Morning

Is there such a thing as a pointless memory? I don't think so; my belief is that every experience lends something to be learned from, as long as we don't overgeneralize from it. Then again, I am only nineteen, but I have a sneaking suspicion I won't be proven wrong.

Today I was attempting to deal with some of my worst memories, prepared to accept that they were simple exercises in pain that one must let go and forget. Then I realized that those experiences helped to make me damn strong. If I can survive and grow from them I can survive and grow from many, many things. And that is a wonderful way to start the day.

One of the reasons I often read and rarely write is that part of the joy of tales for me is the mystery of their every aspect before I start and complete them. It is interesting to write a story not knowing where it may lead, but far more difficult. Part of what I enjoy about writing in general is that I sometimes sit down to scribe what I know and a conclusion will magically form from the previous elements. Take, for example, the shallow issue of clothing and American culture.

Clothing has, throughout human history, helped to form an indicator about a person, whether it be rank or affiliation. In the modern day, subcultures are no exception, and there are instant subconscious impressions which can be formed by looking at how a person dresses. Of course, in the modern day, a lot more influences a person's dress than cultural affiliation, such as time, comfort, and aesthetic appeal. Lastly, it is impossible and not worth the time to indicate all the things which compose a person in dress. There is a paradox here, where some people dress specifically to be associated with a culture and others simply dress for convenience. It seems the wisest thing to do is not to form opinions based on clothing, but ironically, some people may even be offended if their cultural affiliation is ignored. Perhaps the only thing possible is to tread lightly and give the benefit of the doubt. Stereotyping people based on the way they are dressed is at times no better than stereotyping people because of their race.

Writing organized the structure of my thoughts and helped me to articulate them in a manner much more effective than speech, even if this was a shallow topic.

I also love drawing because when I start, I rarely know what or who I will end up with. Today I drew a character I named Angelica Bonnet. Her wispy hair, long face, neck, and fine features would be beautiful if she didn't live in a society which appreciated the bold and straight line. Angelica has tried to live in this society and conform to it all her life; only a small inkling in the back of her mind wonders if she has been following the wrong path, an inkling she rarely pays attention to. She has fit into her society successfully, but she is not beautiful now.

I planned none of that.

Yes, many great works have come from pre-planned scenes and points, and occasionally I feel the need to create one of these myself. But I feel right now as though the greatest story I ever write will be a road which I will wander and discover new things while exploring.

Note for early readers: I condensed the last two blog entries for brevity. I don't pre-plan posts and sometimes the organizational structure that results from sporadic posting is not the best.

Title?

I can't get out of bed at the moment. The muscle relaxant gave me a hangover today, which means that I don't believe I will be taking it tomorrow. I just attempted to read in bed and the book would not stay still in my hands.
FYI, I honestly write about these things because they are what is happening to me, not because I'm asking for sympathy. Ok, a little sympathy is appreciated, but here is one of the reasons why I am actually lucky: I can afford treatment. Many people in the United States today would not be able to get the help they need because of our healthcare system. And that's just one reason I am fortunate. Also, I just realized that this is sort of my fault for not eating dinner last night, since medication taken on an empty stomach has a much more powerful effect.
So I was going to write an entry about scientific methods applied to literature and attempt to use my scant knowledge to perhaps come up with a brilliant conclusion, but instead I'm going back to sleep, because zzzzzzzzzz.........