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Well, I suppose, given all that happened at work yesterday, that it is not so odd that I shouldn't begin my journal entry right around the time when I am usually getting bored and pondering whether I want to write or accomplish something purposeful. (Not that writing isn't purposeful, but...oh, I don't know what the hell I mean!)
Before I really get into things, I should mention that Pallando is fine. I talked to him on the phone this morning. He needed stitches in his hand and has a hairline fracture in his ankle. Right now, Johnny is interviewing Alatar as a witness; it is has been pretty chaotic in here today. It's so sad seeing Alatar without Pallando; it's like a piece of the universe in its rightful state is missing.
Other than that, it's been one of those days where I'm not sure what I've been doing exactly. I mean, I typed up some forms for Johnny, I ran a warrant, filed a detainer, and I've been on the phone a lot but how does all that add up to more than six hours? Iluvatar in Ea....
Maybe the absence of time to mull stupid things equates to a lack of inspiration because I am so thoroughly unable to write right now.
I did want to mention the other day that I was watching Taboo, which is without a doubt one of my favorite television programs. (Out of the what, two that I watch? Taboo and Hollow Men?) Only this episode was unbelievably gross! Well, most episodes of Taboo are gross, but this one actually made me physically ill. I have a blood-injury phobia, which is common enough. It is set apart from other specific phobias by the reaction it provokes, which is less one of anxiety, of avoidance at all costs, and more one of extraordinary discomfort. I get lightheaded, mildly queasy, and start to black out when confronted with blood. Even thinking about it makes me feel funny. Well, this episode of Taboo was about body cutting. The first guy on there was having his legs "scarred" in an elaborate design, meaning that someone was actually cutting lines in his flesh. Oh, it was awful. I watched the whole thing through a finger-crack, just enough to see when the blood was gone. The "artist" actually draped his legs in a cloth when it was done and took an imprint in blood. Ai!
Worse, these people do this stuff without anesthetic, so even the idea of it bothers me. I have to stop writing about this now because I shifted my head ever-so-slightly and the whole world tilted. I can see myself now, joining poor Pallando with a work injury caused by passing out at my desk for writing about an episode of a National Geographic television program.
Yet I can write about blood in fiction. What's up with that? I've written plenty of gory scenes. Once I reach the point where Maedhros goes to Angband in my story, I have a feeling I will really be testing myself. I love horror movies and am rarely revolted by the bloody scenes. I can think on fictional gore all I want; it is when it turns real that I have a problem with it. I probably could have thought plenty about the whole "scarification" thing until I knew it was bona fide. Now...ick!
Okay, I need to start a new topic. That's the thing with me too: I seek out these topics that make me uncomfortable. I watch programs (like Taboo) that I know will bother me. I despise being one of the many women with an "anxiety disorder," in this case, a "phobia," which is even worse. (At least it's not to rats, snakes, or spiders.) And, given my background in clinical psychology, I know enough about phobia treatment to know that I don't want to do it! The most successful therapies are "immersion therapies:" Basically, I'd be required to watch those scenes from Taboo outside my finger-crack. No, no, I don't think so!
I have skating practice tonight. The exhibition is only a week away! What?! I remember like it was just yesterday, Miss Jackie telling us her idea for the exhibition. So when did it become real? Then, after the exhibition, skating is over until the fall. What will I do with my Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights? (Well, I know I'll sleep through the former. As for the latter, I will probably take a cake decorating class, for my yet-unborn ice cream store.) I know that I will miss skating immensely. This is the first time in so many years that I have really remembered why I fell in love with skating to begin with. I feel as though I have learned something in the last few months. I have probably made the most progress in the last ten months as I have since I started, excepting the first year, when I went from nothing to something in a fairly short time. But then, too, I was practicing in my garage for at least an hour a day. (I soon outgrew that!) Bobby and I can go to public skating sessions, but I dislike tripping over all the little kids, the music usually sucks, and I know that I will rarely want to drive a half-hour to the rink for it. Luckily, motor memory doesn't go away, and so I don't have to worry about "forgetting" what I've learned this year. (Hence the fact that no one can forget to ride a bike, unless they have a brain trauma that harms the place where the "memory" is stored. Even amnesiacs--who can remember nothing of their identity or the people they love--can perform flawlessly the tasks from their prior "life" that required motor memory.)
Well, it seems there was something to write after all! All it took was a trigger. As for now, who knows what I will be doing for the next two hours, until I can go home. I would love to be sent home early enough for a nap, but that's unlikely.
Wearily yours,
Medium Dawn Felagund of the Fountain
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Before I really get into things, I should mention that Pallando is fine. I talked to him on the phone this morning. He needed stitches in his hand and has a hairline fracture in his ankle. Right now, Johnny is interviewing Alatar as a witness; it is has been pretty chaotic in here today. It's so sad seeing Alatar without Pallando; it's like a piece of the universe in its rightful state is missing.
Other than that, it's been one of those days where I'm not sure what I've been doing exactly. I mean, I typed up some forms for Johnny, I ran a warrant, filed a detainer, and I've been on the phone a lot but how does all that add up to more than six hours? Iluvatar in Ea....
Maybe the absence of time to mull stupid things equates to a lack of inspiration because I am so thoroughly unable to write right now.
I did want to mention the other day that I was watching Taboo, which is without a doubt one of my favorite television programs. (Out of the what, two that I watch? Taboo and Hollow Men?) Only this episode was unbelievably gross! Well, most episodes of Taboo are gross, but this one actually made me physically ill. I have a blood-injury phobia, which is common enough. It is set apart from other specific phobias by the reaction it provokes, which is less one of anxiety, of avoidance at all costs, and more one of extraordinary discomfort. I get lightheaded, mildly queasy, and start to black out when confronted with blood. Even thinking about it makes me feel funny. Well, this episode of Taboo was about body cutting. The first guy on there was having his legs "scarred" in an elaborate design, meaning that someone was actually cutting lines in his flesh. Oh, it was awful. I watched the whole thing through a finger-crack, just enough to see when the blood was gone. The "artist" actually draped his legs in a cloth when it was done and took an imprint in blood. Ai!
Worse, these people do this stuff without anesthetic, so even the idea of it bothers me. I have to stop writing about this now because I shifted my head ever-so-slightly and the whole world tilted. I can see myself now, joining poor Pallando with a work injury caused by passing out at my desk for writing about an episode of a National Geographic television program.
Yet I can write about blood in fiction. What's up with that? I've written plenty of gory scenes. Once I reach the point where Maedhros goes to Angband in my story, I have a feeling I will really be testing myself. I love horror movies and am rarely revolted by the bloody scenes. I can think on fictional gore all I want; it is when it turns real that I have a problem with it. I probably could have thought plenty about the whole "scarification" thing until I knew it was bona fide. Now...ick!
Okay, I need to start a new topic. That's the thing with me too: I seek out these topics that make me uncomfortable. I watch programs (like Taboo) that I know will bother me. I despise being one of the many women with an "anxiety disorder," in this case, a "phobia," which is even worse. (At least it's not to rats, snakes, or spiders.) And, given my background in clinical psychology, I know enough about phobia treatment to know that I don't want to do it! The most successful therapies are "immersion therapies:" Basically, I'd be required to watch those scenes from Taboo outside my finger-crack. No, no, I don't think so!
I have skating practice tonight. The exhibition is only a week away! What?! I remember like it was just yesterday, Miss Jackie telling us her idea for the exhibition. So when did it become real? Then, after the exhibition, skating is over until the fall. What will I do with my Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights? (Well, I know I'll sleep through the former. As for the latter, I will probably take a cake decorating class, for my yet-unborn ice cream store.) I know that I will miss skating immensely. This is the first time in so many years that I have really remembered why I fell in love with skating to begin with. I feel as though I have learned something in the last few months. I have probably made the most progress in the last ten months as I have since I started, excepting the first year, when I went from nothing to something in a fairly short time. But then, too, I was practicing in my garage for at least an hour a day. (I soon outgrew that!) Bobby and I can go to public skating sessions, but I dislike tripping over all the little kids, the music usually sucks, and I know that I will rarely want to drive a half-hour to the rink for it. Luckily, motor memory doesn't go away, and so I don't have to worry about "forgetting" what I've learned this year. (Hence the fact that no one can forget to ride a bike, unless they have a brain trauma that harms the place where the "memory" is stored. Even amnesiacs--who can remember nothing of their identity or the people they love--can perform flawlessly the tasks from their prior "life" that required motor memory.)
Well, it seems there was something to write after all! All it took was a trigger. As for now, who knows what I will be doing for the next two hours, until I can go home. I would love to be sent home early enough for a nap, but that's unlikely.
Wearily yours,
Medium Dawn Felagund of the Fountain
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