Still alive, and rolling my eyes at the psychosomatic fireworks going on inside me. Ever since this nervous breakdown triggered in the spring my ailments have all turned into blooming drama queens. My illnesses have become incredibly intense and exaggerated, pushing the definition of "sub-clinical" to its limit. Suffice to say that the current round of seeing how far complications from the flu can really mess up your period has left me with plenty of source material to write gory first person body horror in the incredibly unlikely event that I should get a yen to write such a thing.
It would be a hypochondriac's wet dream, but since I'm not a hypochondriac it's just incredibly irritating. All the recently uncovered pain and trauma of my childhood is seeping up, out, and looking for ways to manifest.
"All?" Well, I hope so. Of course it's quite likely to be just "most" or even "some". I can hope it's "all" at any rate.
Anyway, blogging will resume when my guts calm down a bit.
I've been writing a lot on my adoption blog. It's been wrenching, which isn't to everyone's taste. But if you're interested, here's the links:
On Searching, Anger, and Closure
Two Generations of Adoptions, Two Generations of Secrets
Paul Sunderland Lectures on the Neurological Effects of Adoption Trauma
Goodbye Ground, Hello Freefall
My Adoption Story Part 1
Wrestling With Searching
My Adoption Story Part 2: Cindy
When I Grow Up I Want to Be an Angry Adoptee
Purchased: Bought, Sold, and Treated Like Toxic Waste
And don't belittle irony by calling her "ironic" Irony is detached. Desperation is engaged.
King Ted has been given a mission. His mission is to bring about "The End Time Transfer of Wealth", i.e., to wage war on all us people who don't belong to that church, steal our money and bring "the spoils of war to the priests" of that church.
Here's video of King Ted's Daddy laying out the plan before the congregation:
And another video where he goes on about how King Ted is going to "take Dominion" over all of us:
And here's the actual anointing of King Ted as Lord and Master over all us heathens:
Really. Read it for yourself.
Honestly, Cruz. SNL gave up satirizing you over Green Eggs & Ham, and here you go pulling this one on them. Will someone think of the poor comedians?
(I'm laughing to keep from throwing up.)
I have no doubt you have admired her workmanship.
In the early 1960s Maxine Powell was hired by an up and coming record company called Motown to run their in-house finishing school. She took raw, young street musicians and taught them how to move like princes and princesses. The graceful, sophisticated sensuality of Martha Reeves, Diana Ross, Marvin Gaye, and Smoky Robinson is her doing. She taught them how to perform for the White House and Buckinham Palace while looking sexy as Hell the whole time.
She even taught them how to twerk with style when she found the Supremes practicing the shake:
I couldnt' help remembering Miley Cyrus. Her recent actions have been defended as simply the way she chooses to play a game that is heavily weighted against women. Cyrus has chosen a particular way to game the system, but it is far from the only choice available. There are many women who choose to play without appealing to the lowest common denominator of the most puerile members of society.
Male Senators Begrudgingly Admit Women Are Important
Signal boost, please. People need to know so they can remember in November.
Whose Face Stares Out My Mirror
I'll post links to it from time to time. So far I've talked about hydraulics, and the Doctor's Companions.