(no subject)
The Fool
Just using this journal for a dream again. I inadvertently reminded myself that I hadn't in a while because I lost my dream journal... and the spiral notebook I sometimes use in lieu of a notebook. Oh, well. I can't remember much of this one anyway.

I was in a large castle with friends. The castle was crowded with other people. Suddenly, my friends decided that I needed to have a birthday party, despite the fact that my birthday is in April which was a long ways off even in the dream. They informed me that I'd have to buy entertainment for the guests. They took me to bleachers full of stand up comedians  that were in the dining area of the castle. The comedians asked if I liked Halo. I said I dislike Halo, but enjoyed Red vs Blue. And that was about it. They told jokes that weren't particularly funny, and if there was any more to the dream, I can't recall it.

(no subject)
The Fool
Just here to dump last night's dream.

I was playing Portal 2... I'm noticing a trend here >_>.

Anyway, in my dream, Portal 2 played a lot like a Bioware game. I was having trouble customizing my character and ended up starting the game three different times. The game's prologue ended with the MC making out with GlaDos via a QTE. Only GlaDos looks like a woman or a man, depending on what sex you were playing as.

And, really, that's all there was to it. I can't really explain this one in words. There were little things; like my ability to decide whether my character was "good" or "evil" in character creation and putting tiny patterned hearts around my male main character's eyes.

(no subject)
I can't seem to find my dream journal, so I'm going to leave last night's dream here:

I was attending a school for psychics. It wasn't a happy, Hogwarts-type school. More a scary, government-funded super-secret school. All the rooms were open. We sat at desks facing the wall with monitors. I became fast friends with two boys. One was a little younger than me and would glow blue with psychic energy. Thinking back on it, I'm not sure if he ever did anything other than glow blue... Everyone seemed very impressed though. >_>

Anyway, the other boy could teleport. I was him for most of the dream, which was awesome. He attacked our guards. He could teleport in the traditional, disappear/reappear sense, but most of the time he was pulling this trippy portal shit. I would let myself fall at the floor, phase through the floor and appear somewhere else with the same momentum. It was awesome.

Anyway, after attacking the guards he/I had to go into hiding. But not before having celebratory bunk sex with glowing blue boy. He then moved up to the rafters where he/I lived for a while plotting everyone's escape. Half the time we weren't even there though, we were living in some fantasy astral world that looked a lot like a WoW game. There, I learned the ability to become invisible at will... and decided I could use it to steal a very nice laptop and computer games to play in the rafters while not busy plotting.

In the astral world, I went into a haunted  house/rpg dungeon . I went through the foyer and the hallway and found two doors. I picked the one on the let and it led to a stairway. The stairway was obviously the way I wanted to go, because I wanted to get to the top. I was afraid I was going to miss out on some nice loot not going into the door on the right though. So, despite being terrified of the dark haunted house, I backtracked to the room and tentatively opened all the doors, even the closet.

It was there that I briefly became lucid... but got way too excited about it and woke myself up.

excuse me while I briefly wax paranoid...
Axe Cop
I miss living in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere on a tree farm. People didn't knock on the door at 5AM there.... Or start inexplicably singing at 1AM... Or park outside at dusk for ten long, confusing minutes,

still not a Christian... but my mother /might/ be Satan.
Axe Cop
Today my phone played "Masters of the Universe" by Queen.

I've come to fear this song. It's my default ring-tone. I either don't know this person or don't like them enough to give them their own ringtone. No good can come of it.

I missed the call because  the phone was charging in another room. I checked my missed calls and... Fuck... Mom. Well, I'd hoped to get some cleaning done today, but nope. It's a fun-filled evening of phone-tag for me!

Well, less of a phone-tag. More phone-red rover. Except, I haven't called anyone over. They're just singling me out and running at me, hoping to crit for maximum damage.

I have a rule, a rule that my mother either keeps forgetting or is incapable of understanding: I DO NOT CALL HER TO CHAT. She's a miserable, monstrosity of a woman. After everything she's done to me, I'm not comfortable calling her up like we have a loving mother/daughter relationship. I wish we did. We don't. We sooooo don't.

So most of her calls generally begin with an angry, "I wish you cared enough to call me." When I don't apologize, she invariably hangs up on me.

I get a call 30mins - 2hours later where she either, A) Apologizes B) Claims her phone went dead. C) Starts bitching again. Tonight it was a rare mix of B and C, and... I really need a flow chart for this routine of hers.

Long story short: What followed was a series of hanging up and calling back that ended in her screaming that she would never call me ever again. This has happened before.  And, sure, it pisses me off. And, sure, I wish she'd get her own shit together. And sure it depresses me that this person who abused me most of my life and still wants to drag me down with her is the only relative outside of an uncle, an aunt, and a few cousins that I have left... Buuuut, at the the same time it makes me a little happy, a little proud, and incredibly relieved that, a couple of years ago, when she told me to get out of her house - I did.

And while I'm still bummed that it probably cost me a college education - I'm a writer. I can turn past traumas into witty analogies. Cower before me all you unimportant people with your fancy laptops and and your expensive text books! I have life experience, and the exchange rate shall be epic.

mini-crisis Almost averted?
The Fool
sudden storm came/construction stopped

boxes arrived

raspberry sherbet in freezer for later

Thank you, Universe. We're on speaking terms again.

Also, I was quoted here, apparently. This makes me kind of :D too... and then suddenly kind of D: when I realize that according to legend,  a unicorn would probably have just cause to gore me now.

Construction Work: a sure sign that there is no God?
The Fool
Every couple of months, it seems like I'm due one big dramatic religious crisis. And by religious crisis, I mean I mope around the house teary eyed while that little voice in my head (The little voice of  "You failed the fuck out that test you're waiting for results on." and "By 'good', he really meant 'You look fat in those jeans'." fame) will suddenly declare, "You're an atheist now!"

Notice how it likes to bypass agnostic entirely.

I arrive at such a state when something completely. unrelated is at fault. For instance, I'm moving back to GA in a couple of weeks. My boyfriend has moved down already to start work. That leaves me here alone to pack this place up for the move. Boyfriend wants it done in two weeks, but fails to properly grasp completely that I cannot pack without boxes. And, seeing as I very suddenly have no transportation to venture out into the world and forage for said boxes... you can see my dilemma.

Or maybe your can't see my dilemma. Maybe there's this obvious solution that I'm missing because there's construction going on right outside my bedroom window. Construction that begins at the-birds-aren't-even-up-asshole AM and ends whenever they feel like wandering off.. There's no discernible pattern to the construction other than the probability that it can and will begin when I'm asleep and wake me up so suddenly I can't recall the tiniest detail of dreaming for my bedside dream journal.

Now, I don't know how long my mind has been doing this, but it likes to blame Paganism for the root of all my problems. I think it's because I've always been vaguely ashamed of being Pagan. I grew up in the  Bible Belt.. Spiritually, that area is divided into two groups; God-fearing Christians and atheists bitter at religion... and by religion, I mean Christianity, because that's the only religion that exists in the Bible Belt because when you tell someone you're a Pagan you can't easily define that because people already think you're nuts because you call yourself and witch and because you're somehow working quantum physics into the conversation and now they're either handing you a pamphlet or backing away slowly.

I'm sorry. Where was I going with this? Construction woke me up. Dog started barked. I sat up in bed, weepy and declaring there was no God. I wandered over to the computer. Started typing.... Oh well.

I imagine I'll be a pseudo atheist until the construction ends and I fix myself a bowl of sherbet... or until I acquire my boxes... and a bowl of sherbet.


Worst. Pagan. Ever.
The Fool
I'm not a big fan of nature.

Well, that's unfair. I don't dislike nature. (Thunderstorms, for instance, I heartily approve of..) I just don't want to be out in nature for very long. Certainly not if the sun is up and about.

And while I'm up "blogging" at 4 in the morning; when can we stop using the phrase carbon footprint? It sounds like a personal challenge. Like I could create the next grand canyon single-handedly.

"And on your left you can see the world's largest carbon footprint."

I don't have a dishwasher. I tried washing dishes by hand for a few months but, sorry nature, Styrofoam is easier.

Lots of tears, 1 study session, and 1 WTF dream?

I cried a lot yesterday; for several decent reasons, for several silly reasons, and, at least once, just for the hell of it.

I hate crying. I don't cry - can't cry, normally. It messes with that whole, strong female archetype I strive for.

But, let's face it, I'm only strong behind written words. I can't speak. My thoughts get jumbled, my words get mumbled, and and I'm left standing their looking like a moron and feeling frustrated.

In that respect, getting myself a therapist may have been a bad idea. Not to mention, a lot of my metaphysical areas of study (channeling, spirit communication, ect) all come off as very serious neurological conditions when explained to a medical professional.

"Why, yes, Mr. Therapist. I have a spirit guide I speak with on a semi-regular basis. She talks back. Sometimes, she makes things happen." 

No, I think I'll gloss over these areas of my life.


So, after one very frustrating therapy session, I went home. I cried some while I drove. Got home, angsted over the medical leave paperwork my doctor filled out for that job of mine that I hate. There are so many issues there that I don't want to take the time out to list them here. Even though I should. I really need to sort my shit out in the money-making department. But working out all those kinks makes my head feel like it's going to explode.

I don't like that feeling.

I think I'll procrastinate... Except procrastinating makes me anxious... ARGH! It's a vicious cycle.

I dealt with this last night by starting real work on my rosary. I screwed up and am, of course, missing several tools I need to complete work on it. See? I did have a prophetic vision. I will be taking another trip to Hobby Lobby.

When rosary-making failed me, I yanked out some books and got to metaphysical studying. On a whim, I pulled out my Tarot decks and removed the Fool card. (Which, incidentally, is my very favorite of all the tarot cards. Don't tell them I said that.) I pulled out one of my journals and got to writing a short narrative personifying the card.

It went rather well, actually. I think I'll start doing one a night for each of the cards. I might even transfer the drabbles here since, as I've stated before, I am fated to lose this journal of mine.


And now onto the main event. The WTF bit. My dream last night.

I've been having some pretty messed up, pretty cinematic dreams lately. They started when I left work. (Perhaps the physical stress was knocking my out like a log for the night so I wasn't remembering my dreams?) I had forgotten just how fucked up and detailed my dreams can be.

I was visiting New Orleans with my father.

Go figure on that one. I haven't seen the guy since I was 14. I don't think I was even very happy to be paired with him in the dream.

At any rate, we were wandering through a tourist district. Everything seemed to revolve around food there. We wandered into several bars which I steered him right out of seeing as, during our life together, he was an alcoholic. We ended up in a confectionery store. I tasted several display items I wasn't supposed to, puttered around for a little while, then got bored. This was New Orleans. This was a tourist district. Surely, we could, at the very least, find some gimicky Voodoo shop to wander into.

My father seemed to know where to go. I suspect, and even in the dream suspected, this was because he went to New Orleans several times when I was a kid and would bring me back souvenir Voodoo dolls. They were kind of kitschy, but they had been from my father and I had loved them.

At any rate, this shop we found seemed to, at the very least, try and take itself a bit more seriously. It was a large building, with a sign on the door that read something to the effect of, "Crackers, don't touch things you don't intend to buy."

A rather impatient black lady in her mid to late thirties ran the store. Her merchandise was mostly cheap or overpriced; most of it marked with very specific instructions. I most vividly recall looking over her collection of ceremonial weapons and athames. I do, in fact, need a new athame.

I was looking for something traditional and simple. Small. Sturdy. Black handle. I found one such athame marked explicitly, "Only for neutral or dark magicks." I remember sort of scoffing at the label, but passed up the athame anyway and began perusing the overpriced deity statuettes. It was here that I overheard a very embarrassing conversation between my father and the shop owner.

My father had always been something of a bigot. I won't go into too much detail, suffice it to say that my first real crush was in elementary school, on a boy who was smart and sweet and, to my father's chagrin, black. I actually remember being lectured and punished for this crush - though, ironically, the same boy's sister was a coworker of mine many years later. It led to a brief, awkward, but very pleasant reunion with the boy, now all grown up. But, I digress...

My father was making some uneducated small talk with the woman. Talking about his opinions on feminism and religion and inducing much eye-rolling from the proprietress. I was embarrassed and when the woman went to help me on the sales floor, she immediately assumed I was much like my father. Despite my assurances, I'm not entirely sure I was able to convince her otherwise.

The proprietress showed me some athames. None of which I wished to purchase. A mortar and pestle, which I already own. And the statures of deities, which were on sale, but still overpriced. She was closing soon and wanted to hurry me into a sale. There was nothing I wanted, so she ushered me out and locked up.

I detached from my dream body then. Went into third person, camera mode as the story with my father dropped off and I instead began to watch the proprietress. A small, circular piece of her floor rose up passing through a vague, spectral body several times. The body was having difficulty materializing, which seemed to disappoint but not surprise the proprietress.

I was confused by this, so I traveled back in time to see where this spectral body had come from.

A housewife had moved to the area recently. She was beautiful; long brown hair, dark brown eyes, a willowy build. She wore skirts and loose tops and had a young son with a husband who was slovenly and balding and, though he was a kind and very sweet man, the housewife was not attracted to him.

And this is where the dream gets fucked up. If you'll just stay with me here...

The housewife was an asari in human disguise. Yes, an asari. Yes, that blue-skinned, tentacle-haired race from Mass Effect.

At this point, you're either going, "Huh?" or "OMFG, you nerd." And, yes, I am a nerd. I'm looking forward to Mass Effect 2 like nobody's business. I'm not incredibly surprised that it's worked its way into my dreams.

Anyway, the asari housewife works her way into the occult shop one day. The shop is empty. She's leaning over a display and manages to cut her arm on the corner of a glass counter-top. The proprietress hurries over, masking her concern with somewhat rude remarks about clumsy white tourists.

But the cut on the housewife's arm has peeled back her human disguise somewhat. The proprietress pauses in her rush to mop up the blood and is, clearly taken aback. The housewife realizes that the proprietress has recognized her for something otherworldly and remarks, sardonically, that she's not a clumsy white tourist after-all.

The proprietress softens. She doesn't ask any questions. She tends to the housewife's arm. She's really too stunned to speak, but the housewife doesn't mind. This is the first human to ever discover her true identity. She had expected disaster should she ever be found out. This woman hasn't backed away into a corner with a barrage of questions, much less called the Feds.

The housewife is touched. Overwhelmed, she kisses the proprietress on the cheek.

The proprietress misreads this. She's pretty overwhelmed herself. She's run an occult shop for years, and this is her first contact with something so unique. For the proprietress, it's love at first sight. She's in love with the idea of the asari. The idea that something so unusual should happen to her. She kisses the housewife full on the mouth.

Time out for you non-nerds, so you can have some asari-mythos. Asari are androgynous yet compatible with any other species, regardless of gender. I.E. They can have a kid with anything organic.... There was some talk in the dream about why the housewife's son didn't look like an asari. Even the housewife didn't know. I'm a little impressed with my dream being such a stickler for continuity... Also, they do this freaky Vulcan mind-meld trick, which is what, in the heat of the moment, the housewife ends up doing with the proprietress.

So the housewife and the proprietress begin something of an affair. The housewife's husband is surprisingly fine with this. He's rather optimistic about meeting someone through internet dating. (Going so far as to put up a rather amusing video of himself on a match-up site.) There's no talk of divorce yet, just a mutual understanding to allow each spouse a free fling.

The housewife meets the proprietress at her house several times. It's large and surprisingly luxurious for a single shop owner. There's even hired help. The housewife has often spoken fondly of wishing to go swimming. She adored swimming on her home planet, but has been afraid to here seeing as there's always the off-chance her disguise could come off.

Just so happens, the proprietress has a rather large underground swimming pool in her backyard. She sends the hired help to the other end of the house and changes into her swimsuit. Poolside, the asari has stripped down to her own swimsuit. It's almost embarrassingly old-fashioned; red and covered with frills and covering most of her body.

This was really the only part of the dream that felt symbolic for me... though it certainly sounds a little erotic.

The proprietress laughed at the housewife. She was still hiding who she really was. The proprietress wanted to see all of the housewife, literally all of her.

The housewife laughed while the proprietress peeled off the bathing suit, no long embarrassed. And then, via sudden dream POV change, I was the asari housewife.

I watched the proprietress dive into the deep end off the pool. I watched her and wished I could do the same, but I was nervous. The water looked murky. I tested the water with one foot, screwed up my courage and let myself freefall in as well.

It was beautiful. The water was clear beneath the surface. My human disguise peeled off as I just let myself drift. I opened my eyes and saw the proprietress swimming above me. We swam together and laughed together and loved each other and then I woke up and I was pretty pissed about it, seeing as the dream never did go full circle, back to the point where I'd traveled back in time.

Ah, well.

There's always tonight.

Almost a Prophet

Sometimes I have prophetic dreams.

I mean, statistically, we're all due at least one of those every once in a while.

I dreamed that my significant other had a grocery cart collision with a policeman in Wal-Mart. It amounted to an $85 fine, but I phoned city hall and talked them down to $35.

Sometimes I have prophetic dreams... I don't think this was one of them.


Went shopping for rosary supplies today. It's easier (financially, practically) to stay in the broom closet for now. Since my move deeper South, I've made the decision to wear my pentagram beneath my shirt.

Beneath-the-shirt pentagram is not satisfying my girlish, witchy need for Pagan jewelry. So I'm making an above-the-shirt rosary to pair with beneath-the-shirt pentagram - which would be a marvelous idea if I knew what the hell I was doing.
So far I have:
  • 1 how-to book from my local library
  • 2 spools of the wrong kind of stringing material
  • 1 spool of the right kind of stringing material
  • 1 cheapo storage container for beads and such
  • $10-15 worth of misc. silver, glass, and wooden beads
  • $20-30 worth of beads made of specific gemstones
  • Approx 5 slips of notebook paper labels so I don't forget which gemstone is which. Because I can, and I would.
I anticipate trying to mesh this all together in the near future. I anticipate designing something passably pretty and symbolically sound. I anticipating one of my cats tromping through my work area or losing one of those damnably tiny beads.

I feel a prophetic vision coming on.

I see yet another trip to Hobby Lobby in my near future.


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