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Hordes of Revenants

I fixed the drier last night. It was just a question of replacing the cord, what had melted off from its previous six straight hours of use. Perky has refused to own up to her responsibility in the cord-melting-off. Which, honestly, is pretty epic because it means I get to poke fun at her about it when she least expects it.

Got a new shift at work making tofu. My sleep schedule is all fucked up. Night terrors + one graveyard shift a week = all fucked up ZG. I even started smoking cancersticks again, which I should stop, and soon, and how. Otherwise things have been pretty quiet on the home front. Gearing up for NaNoWriMo, starting to feel emotionally stable without relying on booze.
 
Where should I put eet? >>;

Cause seriously every year I fail miserably and I think it's because my Muse gets stuck and has no one to bump ideas with xDD; let alone have people read xD.
 
That too. She has vast tracts of land so she has some other nicknames among my more crass friends.

I totally PR'd at CrossFit this morning. I front squatted 175 pounds. It was eight reps of front squats and I went 115 - 135 - 145 - 155 - 165 - 175 - 175 (fell over) - 155. This means I can front squat my BFF. So here's what I'm gonna do: I'mma tie him to a board in his sleep and then front squat him with one of our roommates taking a picture. To give you an idea, the BFF is like 6'3" and 162 pounds.

Also, I love this song and this song. I love glitch hop so bad. So bad.

And I totally have bruises on my shoulders from where the bar was resting. It's awesome.
 
Last night I got very, very drunk. One of my roommates had taken her LSAT exam earlier in the day and was having a small gathering because of it. I am glad that she took her exam because, well, she spent six hours a day studying since we moved in together about two months ago. Probably before that, too. I get the feeling it was an all summer situation.

Anyways, we ended up hanging out on the front porch with her boyfriend and two of her friends--one of whom I had to once physically restrain from kicking the crap out of She Hulk's husband, which at this juncture I kinda regret--talking about spirituality. My roommate, not spiritual. Her boyfriend, spiritual. Shaw, not spiritual. Henry, regular old hippie pseudo Deist spirituality about life force. Me, not spiritual. Anyways the point is we start talking about spirituality and Henry's all like every religion has a slice of the pie, a part of some universal truth. We're just all looking at it from a bunch of different perspectives and can't see the whole thing.

My response, which kinda surprised me, was that spirituality comes from a feeling of powerlessness. Humans are powerless in a whole lot of situations which is terrifying. Can't control the weather, can't control what other people do, can't control illness, can't control the spread of a wildfire, can't control meteors, can't control solar flares. All these different things. Sure some of that has changed to degrees since humans first walked upright but it's not like we have any truly greater degree of control. I think that by being able to reach out and create an abstract personification that gives what happens to us intent and meaning then that feeling of helplessness becomes easier to deal with.

Seriously, what do a lot of Christians do when shit sucks? "It's all in God's plan," so it can't be that bad 'cause we understand that God has intent and there's a reason why or they pray*. That, really, is where I think the efficacy of having an abstract higher intelligence belief is. If even just in a small way it gives you the feeling of control. That because you have accepted whatever you can have a small amount of sway.

* not to say Christians don't try to solve their own problems, blanket statements are bad

ADDENDUM: in the middle of front squatting the BFF I stopped because he screamed like a small child who's just seen Big Bird shot in the head.
 
I am not by any stretch of the imagination a particularly great guy. I am misanthropic, occasionally moody, deeply cynical, cuttingly sarcastic, unabashedly liberal, sometimes selfish, intermittently drunkenly violent when harassed, mildly narcissistic, a heckler and generally enjoy shitting on people's parades to a degree I have begun to fear is pathological. However I have done nothing to deserve the last thirty-eight days.

It's like I'm being punished for something I haven't done yet. It's getting to the point where I am so incredibly frustrated that my robotic level headedness is beginning to erode. Yes, I get it, I am being shit on for no particular reason because nothing happens to anybody for any reason and people need to just get the fuck over it. At this point I think I would like to believe in god so I could smugly say, "It's all in god's plan," or "The lord's ways are ineffable," or some other equally asinine bullshit.

Here's the deal: I have not had a solid night's sleep in thirty-eight days.

I quit smoking pot two months eight days ago, I'm feeling better clarity wise; I quit binge drinking one year eight months two days ago; quit doing hard drugs three years two months eleven days ago, feeling good about who I am. But I would gladly smoke, binge, snort, shoot, pop or sublingually imbibe whatever the fuck plant, liquid, powder, crystal, pill, tab it takes to sleep for four hours in a row. Just four. All I want is four. Four. Four is not too much to ask.

I have meditated. I have gotten massages. I have lifted so much I thought my arms would fall off. I have run twenty miles in a day. I have stayed up for a couple days just so I could crash. Nothing is working. I am on the verge of buying klonipin from a chick I know just to get one good fucking night's sleep. Just one. One. One eight hour rest. One. Not two. Not three. One.

One night's rest.

I will settle for one. I have decided to settle for one. I will gladly sacrifice a goat for one. Hell, at this point I'm thinking that if sacrificing the cat is what it takes, well, she's had a good run. Fuck. I couldn't even be funny today. That's pretty much my thing. If nothing else, I can banter.

I am just really fucking tired. And done. Mostly both.

I even just started Muay Thai. Couldn't go today because I felt like I was going to fall apart at the seams. I've even been roller pinning my shins and whacking my forearms against the tree out back behind the chicken coop. I'd go and hit stuff but I'm too tired and unmotivated and fucking bleh.
 
In a complete emotional 180 brought on by endorphins I have decided that I love my fucking fixie. Well, I knew that anyways. Basically I made her out of a variety of found parts, excepting the wheels, and she is a fucking delight. Heavy, though, and a wee bit too tall for me. Perfect for someone who's, say, six foot three. I'm five foot ten so some turns are interesting. Also! Takes ten yards to stop.

All good fun though.

Anyways I was in bed hating life this morning when I realized that I should have been up and about twenty minutes prior to that. Then I couldn't find my shorts so I basically ran around my house waving my arms around saying, "Fuckity fuckity fuckity fuckity fuckity fuck." By "basically" I mean "made a loop." In my boxers. Classy, right? Anyways. I found my shorts, grabbed my water bottle, threw it in my messenger bag (read as: unisex man purse) hopped on my hoary bitch of a bicycle shrieking like a drunken banshee. What was I shrieking you ask, oh intrepid reader? What could possibly have been falling from my lips at 6:06 AM?

I was belting out the lyrics to this classy ass motherfucker. Does it make sense in any reference to me? Fuck no. I've got a crew cut, I don't smoke weed, I don't have a dog, I don't think Jesus walked on the waters, I'm not at all country. But I sure do like that song; my want to sing it in public festers like rapid unregulated cell division somewhere around my superior frontal gyrus.

It's about 6.2 miles from my place to CrossFit according to Google maps. I made it there in eighteen minutes. I went an average of 20 miles an hour on the way there. Admittedly I was peddling my ass off but I made it without busting a sweat. I was impressed with myself. I was impressed with the fixie I had cobbled together out of found parts for giggles. Didn't think it would go that fast. And not fall apart, which is really the impressive part. Everything was smooth, nothing was stripped, none of the ball bearings popped out of the peddles.

In the interest of boredom I am going to share my lifting playlist -

Lupe Fiasco - I Gotcha [Kraddy Remix]
Dr. Dre & Snoop Dogg - The Next Episode [Kraddy Remix]
Pendulum - Tarantula
Feestylers ft. Pendulum - Painkiller
The Prodigy - Invaders Must Die
65daysofstatic- The Fall of Math
65daysofstatic - Dance Parties (Distant)
Boreta - Bubblin' In The Cut
Calvin Harris - Acceptable in the 80s
Chemical Brothers ft. K-OS - Get Yourself High
Bassnectar ft. Nibu - Ridiculous Wobble
Bassnectar ft. Persia - Bomb the Blocks

I really like weight lifting. Those are mostly pretty bass heavy songs. It goes together pretty well.
 
See, my friends have always wondered some of my Music...uh. Things in my library (Ke$ha, Britney Spears, List of oddish dance/trance/pop songs >.>;) and it's because the beat has a pattern. I usually use it to play a playlist that helps me go through the motions when I drive when I"m so dirt tired that I could pass out in the car. I drive a manual sooo you go through the motions after awhile you still can forget when shit gets that dead xD;

It's also catchy enough to keep me awake the 20-30 minute drive home ._. But it's seriously all about the beat. For me the catchier the beat the easier it is so do things because I'll enjoy doing them. I.E - Housework xD
 
Sounds shitty that you haven't really been sleeping well.

I wake up constantly during the night- which is pretty normal- and I maybe get to sleep 2-3 hours straight and then have constantly messed with sleep. But again, i'm used to it. It must suck to not be used to it and have constantly interrupted sleep.
 
Last night I was at the gym where I study Muay Thai and me and four other guys--one whom is named Geert Wilders, which is some wild shit--were practicing our kick. Go fucking figure. Anyways, I stepped outside shortly after that to stretch and rub liniment on my shins. Tried to check my messages.

My phone's been disconnected.

This made no sense. This is 0 = 1. This is why: I transfer fifty dollars every month into my friend's account since we're on a Verizon family plan. My friend's husband pays, they have a joint account. So I got home later in the evening, too tired and sore to really be anything more than confused, and use Google Voice to call my friend. Here is a rough transcription of the conversation.

"Hi dude, how're you doin'?"

"I'm okay, ZG. I just started making a cake that's going to be shaped like the TARDIS. I'm mixing the frosting right now."

"That's cool. Do you have a moment to talk?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"Well, you must have noticed I'm calling from a number that isn't mine."

"Yeah."

"Could you guess why that is?"

"You're on a friend's phone?"

"No. I'm using Google Voice. Can you guess why I'm using Google Voice?"

"You're being held hostage by Chechnyan terrorists and this is your one call?"

"No. Guess again."

"The cake monsters have stolen your phone."

"Fucking cake monsters. No, it wasn't those fuckers."

"I don't know."

"My phone's been disconnected."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that."

"Wait--what? You didn't think to tell me? When did my phone get disconnected?"

"On Monday. I thought <husband> was going to tell you."

"<sound of teeth grinding>"

"I guess he forgot."

"I guess. Sooo... Can I have my money back?"

"Oh, no, that was for the cancellation fee."

"<friend>, you're really killing me here."

"Sorry."

"Okay. Well... Okay. We're gonna talk about this later. And then... I don't know. But we're gonna talk about this later."

Anywho I got a vaguely apologetic message on FB from the husband in question--who's pretty much been on my shit list for the last five months--and I could care less. This pretty much means I'm fucked sideways for the moment. Have to wait for probably a month and a half before I can pick up a new plan since apparently my phone is so old that they no longer carry plans with it. It's lasted forever (read as: seven years) and does everything I need it to. Although smart phones are ever so pretty.

Gah!

I wish I still had my job fucking business owners with a rake. Made good money doing that. As opposed to making tofu. Fuck's sake. I want to headbutt somebody really badly now. I know, antisocial, but I still want to. I haven't even gotten to hit people doing Muay Thai yet, which is pretty much why I signed up. I mean, martial arts are cool and all, but I really just want a venue where it's acceptable for me to kick someone in the ribs or elbow them in the cheekbone.

Also! Found out that I have to eat about a milligram of protein for every pound that I weigh since I'm doing CrossFit. Which is about three and a half times as much as most men my size need. To survive.
 
Why is it so important to take in THAT much protein? Can't that be harmful in itself?

Why did they cut off your phone?

And... do you have a record with crack addicts that would lead someone to believe you could get it for them? >.>
 
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