Cold. Fractured. Disassociated. Sad.

A few days ago I was battling an intense amount of anger, a sense of betrayal, hurt ... all the bad things.  I was not selected for my own job ... and was, simply, devastated, at 8 in the morning, when I was handed the usual bullshit as to why I wasn’t selected.  The minute that happened, both the manager and director came racing back from an offsite event – after I thought I could process the rejection alone, as everyone in the office was in the same event – with a disaster, and I spent the next 12 hours fixing it along with them.  Tried to remain unemotional through the whole thing, and I don’t think either one of them noticed a change in my demeanor, but it was a god-awful struggle.  They were both in extremely bad moods – not AT me, the disaster was not of my doing – but I had to battle their bad moods as well.  I got home at 8:30 at night, exhausted, near tears and utterly depressed.  Every thought I had all the way home was not productive; the best I could manage was convincing myself not to do anything stupid until I was more rational.

Rick Levine’s Daily Horoscope for the following day (a day off, actually):

You may have complicated issues at home to handle that end up getting in the way of more ambitious plans. Perhaps you thought that others would support your ideas, but something doesn't go as expected today. Nevertheless, don't worry too much about your previous strategy, for it can be changed in a moment's notice by someone's surprising reaction. Instead, willingly leap into the great unknown. Dancing with uncertainty now keeps you humble and on your toes.

Humble, huh?  No, I’m pretty much pissed off, not “humble” about it. 

Yesterday’s (when the incident occurred) is even more off-base:

The weight on your shoulders is lighter today because of the progress you are making on more enjoyable aspects of your life. It's finally time to reap the benefits of your recent hard work and take some well-deserved time off. There's no reason to justify your actions; pursuing pleasure is your reward for a job well done.

Think maybe he miscalculated?

I decided I wouldn’t make a definite decision on a path forward, but I had ordered several suits to deliver the training I thought I would be delivering – both of them needed to be shortened, so I found a local tailor.  No matter what I decide, at least I’ll have some semi-attractive business suits to be interviewed in, should my rational decision be to look for work elsewhere.  The local tailor/alterations place doesn’t open until 10 a.m., so I’m waiting for 10:00 to roll around to call for directions. 

I also looked up several seminars I will attend, if I’m still at the same place early next year.  THEY will make me qualified to go anywhere I choose to go.  A few co-workers whispered, “Do what you have to do.” – meaning, I don’t want you to leave, but I’ll understand if you do.  At least I had their support, for which I was grateful.

I had just purchased and received Michelle Belanger’s Watcher Angel tarot and used it on this.  My favorite deck has always been the Crowley-Harris Thoth deck, but I also liked this one, given my affinity for the Grigori, for obvious reasons.  I also like it for not perpetuating the judeo-christian obsession with vengeful and hate-filled deities condemning anyone for loving people they don’t approve of – women like me, in this case.  That’s judaism, islam and christianity’s world – a dark and evil place where men actually believe they’re superior to everything else and women prop up the straw effigies with pitiful and thin-lipped determination even if it kills them.  Well, no one ever said women had an ounce of brain matter or emotional stability, either, so there you go.

But back to my job.  The cards basically confirmed what I already knew – I’m in a very dark place at the moment.  Mr. Signpost had taken a selfie of himself:  cold.  fractured.  disassociated.  sad.  I said it made my heart hurt, but I knew it was because mine did, and I saw myself instead of him in that photo.

I know I’m probably going to have to leave, but don’t know where to ... or when ... or whether I should stick to this industry at all.  I spent so much money going back to Michigan, just so that I COULD advance in this field, and here we are again ... unwanted.  I don’t know where else to go.

I’ll be battling this for a while.

Good Vibrations

Okay, I finally found something else that made me vibrate.

If you’ll recall, I was wondering ... okay, more like agonizing ... over the problem I was having with the voice of l’uno e solo making me vibrate.  I’d never physically felt anything like that before, and felt bothered, bewitched and bewildered by the whole experience.  Another synchronicity – because I have been looking around for the emerald merkaba ring I was given during my initiation, I came across the cd “Merkaba of Sound” by Jonathan Goldman.  Stuck it in the cd player and ... you guessed it!  Vibrations galore!  The effect was sort of mesmerizing.  That alone was so unsettling, I decided not to listen to it until I was actually meditating – if it did what it is supposed to do – I probably needed to be actually in a position where I could learn something from the experience.  More on that in a minute.

Now, I have a few unsettling issues with Goldman himself:  reading the booklet, he credited Drumvalo Melchizedek with teaching him about the phi-oriented counter-rotating star tetrahedron being synonymous with the term merkaba.  I’ve read about Melchizidek.  Not at all sure I trust the guy, or maybe that’s just me – too many distasteful and unpleasant complaints cropping up about him.  But just trying to learn about phi (The Golden Ratio) (as opposed to pi) was something of a challenge for the mathematics-challenged.

Source:  http://www.sacred-art.org/product/blue-merkaba/

Here’s my next question I’ll probably never know the answer to:  why did Piero’s voice cause the same vibrations as the “Merkaba of Sound”?  According to this description, Goldman uses “resonance of the divine name as well as an intoned sound as well as incorporating phi as a sonic ratio to create a new experience in sacred vibrations.”  (And no, I have no idea what means, really.  Just that it made me vibrate, just as Piero’s voice did, the first time I heard it.)  Sooo – Piero’s voice also incorporates phi as a sonic ratio??  And his brother has an ouroboros tattoo?  Interesting brothers, those Barone boys.

While looking “merkaba” up, I ran across the world’s weirdest website, “Human Angels”, full of people announcing they were human angels – the traditional concept of “angels” being the sort whom one would assume were relatively intelligent beings – in unintelligible sentences chock full of misspellings and other idiocy.  Can’t find that website again, as I closed it with an expression of utter disgust on my face, but found another example of merkaba-related lunacy:

“Dear children of light, we come to you yet again with another upgrade for the heart center of your being. We ask you allow the emerald green energies to enter you hear center ...”

Source:  http://sacredascensionmerkaba.wordpress.com/2013/07/17/next-72-hours-3-days-emerald-green-heart-code-upgrade-716-719-1000-p-m-us-est-1001-p-m-us-est-pleiades-high-council/

Yeah, you read that right.  Upgrade?  “Enter you hear center”?  What the heck is a “hear center”?  Is that my ear?  I’m supposed to allow “emerald green energies” to slide down my ear canal?  After that, I’m thinking that maybe they should forget sliding down my ear canal (all together now:  “Ewwww ...”) and instead open an elementary school for self-proclaimed “Human Angels” who never made it out of third grade.  You’re telling me this woman is supposedly channeling higher beings – who never heard of “spell check” or “dictionaries” – or even proof-reading?

And you know me:  the minute you hit me with the smarmy, “Dear children ...” of anything – light or otherwise – I’m outa there.  Legitimate deities know me better than that.  Neither Sekhmet or Thoth said anything even remotely like that.  In fact – now that I think about it – neither one of them said anything at all – they communicated with actions, which were unmistakable, and thoughts.

Another one:  Merkaba.org.  Here’s their pitch:

“We are now teaching our ancient wisdom and techniques in a new way using modern words and examples in a series of downloadable recordings and CDs. Our wisdom and techniques when fully taught in the proper way, 5,000 years ago, required 14 years of daily classes for graduation.”

Uh huh.  Their ancient wisdom.  Raises the point:  if they’re channeling anything – which is highly unlikely already – it would simply be “wisdom” – present tense – not “ancient” wisdom.  Isn’t time an artificial construct?  “Ancient” already presupposes a distance in time, and a separation based on that distance.  The beings supposedly being channeled are distant from themselves?

As for the “14 years of daily classes 5000 years ago”, since there are no papyri or hieroglyphics actually covering any such teaching, we’re supposed to buy their knowledge of a “proper way of teaching” from 5,000 years ago?  I don’t think so.  Especially when they’re charging $105.00 for one cd.

Source:  http://www.merkaba.org/basicadvancednew.html

I dunno – here’s my alternative:  try contacting Thoth yourself – he’s infinitely more knowledgeable, he actually WAS as present 5000 years ago as he is today, and he isn’t holding out his hand for your credit card.  My initiation was awesome, life-changing – and oh yes, while I paid for the classes, the initiation was free of charge.

Clarification:  I have no issue with legitimate teachers charging for their time and experience.  But using  the classes I’m attending as an example, if they hadn’t produced tangible results for me, I would certainly not consider giving them a dime for the second year.  And not once did the instructor make a ridiculous claim like that or I would have looked at her in disbelief with both eyebrows raised up to my hairline.

So while I did find a few useful things about the merkaba (and believe me when I tell you THAT website I cited wasn’t one of them), I wasn’t able to find a replica of the ring I was given during my initiation – although I would imagine it would be enormously expensive if I did.  I also  looked up the properties of emeralds:  “a stone of inspiration and infinite patience”, “the stone of successful love”, “eliminates negativity”, “can heal negative emotions” – I can see why they gave me the ring!  The emerald was surrounded by diamonds - one of the diamond properties: “protection against cell phones”!!!  Quick – give me more diamonds!!
 
Meanwhile, Mr. Signpost tweeted, apropos of I don’t know what exactly,  “You are going places you never imagined. Time to get excited about the future.”  Well, actually, HE was in my future, and as for excited ... truthfully, stomach-churning was more like it.  But before showing up in class with mascara running down my face from another crying jag, I thought I’d get the trip down first, and took a practice run to Salem and back.

Utter nightmare.  Route 114 was having construction done and provided a completely unmarked detour; I was in a fury at the abysmally-run State of Massachusetts again before I even got there.

Salem, Massachusetts has to be the most claustrophobic place on earth ... street signs are erratic, street names don’t match maps and their appallingly miniscule streets are one-way and the width of a sidewalk.  In short, an utter nightmare getting there, locating the place where the class was to be held, and getting back out again.  Coming home I suffered through the unmarked detour again and then sat in traffic on Route 1 because the town of Topsfield had decided to have a fair that backed up one of the most heavily trafficked roads in the country for miles – and then some guy driving a mail truck had decided to have an accident at the same spot.  Nearly four hours for a trip that should have taken me 40 minutes.

Thank goodness Mr. Signpost cancelled – I was seriously thinking of doing the same thing after that experience.

On top of everything else, I’m coming down with a cold – and many thanks to the woman on the Newburyport line who coughed all over me last week.

Not that I’m all that concerned about either one, but there are two killer viruses racing around the globe right now, killing people, and we still have women going to work, taking trains, taking subways, all the while toxic as hell, spewing germs all over the place.  The coughers, sneezers, saliva-spewing narcissistic cows wandering around in public killing people are ALWAYS women, I have no idea why.  When they’re not microwaving you with their psychological and emotional addiction to their cell phones, they’re spewing killer viruses all over you.  Reason for the next mass extinction of a species on the planet earth?  WOMEN!!!  (You heard it here first, folks.  And just because I am one doesn’t mean I don’t fully appreciate the utter narcissistic lunacy of my own gender.)


Interestingly enough:  it was a woman exiting her car in the Market Basket parking lot in Seabrook who was wearing a flimsy hospital mask over her mouth and nose, as though she expected to get infected by the Ebola virus in Seabrook, New Hampshire.  I just stared at her in astonishment.

Lastly, I’ve been reading Aleister Crowley’s The Book of Thoth.  Amazing book.  And the first time I’ve had a question answered about the Kabbalah, to wit:  if the concept predates Abraham, which it sounds like it does, why are Hebrew letters involved in the discussion at all?  Shouldn’t we be discussing Phoenician, Sumerian or Egyptian hieroglyphics instead of Hebrew letters?  Crowley had something of the same issue – although you can’t really count up the numerical value of hieroglyphics, can you?  My personal issue on the subject is that something in me objected to employing a letter-counting analysis of a thoroughly distasteful monotheistic and patriarchal suppressive belief system that generated the two awful others:  christianity and islam to be specific.  Crowley’s discussion of the tarot deck he and Freda Harris created is so dense and instructive I’ve been making it through only a page or two a day, but it’s utterly fascinating.

Initiation

Been silent for a while, while I studied for a final exam and then processed an initiation.  The first time I’ve ever been initiated into anything, so had nothing to compare it to.  I thought at the time that this was what an initiate of the Eleusinian Mysteries must have felt like.  I can’t even find words for it.  I also don’t think I knew how difficult this was going to be, emotionally, personally ... like going through a ... I don’t know – being melted, re-formed, facing parts of me I hadn’t particularly expected (or wanted) to face, mixed with an uncontrollable urge (now that I faced them) to get rid of them.  And then I also feel that, as difficult as parts of this year were, they were nothing.  The real work starts now.  Ordered the next year’s textbook.

Note to self:  was given a ring to wear ... well, I should preface that by saying that this was in the first part of the initiation, during a – I forgot already what she called it – a journey precipitated by shamanic drumming.  Emerald, a merkaba, surrounded by diamonds – it was beautiful.  Was given something to drink.  Was covered with a ... something? ... I could still see through it, but it was blurry ... and gently turned to face all directions.  Was greeted one by one by a circle of beings.  Sekhmet roared and I felt a blast of heat from her fiery breath. 

It was extraordinarily difficult to return from that trance state – in fact, I found myself slightly irritated, by being asked to leave it.  I had nothing to write this down with – not that I could have at the time, I just wish I would have recorded this immediately, rather than later.  So while I try to process THAT experience ...

... Mr. Signpost did it again – reminded me to get back to work on things I had let drift after chaos erupted – this is one of the sigils he made.  I liked the idea of gluing it onto leather on a stained board – looks so artistic!  Mine looks like a 3-year old drew it with her Crayola crayon set – which I basically did...!!  (And no, I’m not going to post a photo of THAT effort – it’s downright pitiful.)

Recently we had a series of thunderstorms pass through; one hit around 3:30 or 4 on a Saturday afternoon.  There was one bolt of lightening that had to have hit the house or a tree just west of me.  A brilliant flash and a sonic boom simultaneously – I’ve never heard anything that loud during a thunderstorm in a long, long time.  Almost dove under the bed – something of a skull crushing problem when one owns a platform bed – but I’m amazed we didn’t lose power when that happened.

The few times when I’ve had no errands, I’ve been spending 2 hours on the nearly deserted, gloriously sunny beach.  So THIS is what it’s like when the “Summer People” disappear after Labor Day.  It was heavenly,  I could see myself doing this all year, even in a winter coat – just loving the sunshine, and the sound of the waves crashing on the shoreline.

Damiana Tea, Round Two

Ahhh ... back to the Damiana Tea.  As you’ll recall (or perhaps not) I had started an experiment with the Damiana Tea (and not the Damiana steeped in liquor); Peanut died the next day and that was the end of the experimenting for a while.  I decided to try again last night.

Let’s see: this morning, my car refused to start, I missed a meeting I’m supposed to be leading, the AAA guys was late so I missed the third train, when he arrived the car started without difficulty (WTF??!!??), I misread the train schedule and missed the fourth train, the refrigerator light just went out, and my affirmations so far are a complete disaster.  Why is it that all hell breaks loose after I field test the Damiana Tea?

Example:  I’m driving out of the apartment complex to the train station and reach the intersection of roads where school busses pick up passengers.  A bunch of mothers are “supervising” their kids, and by “supervising” I mean standing in the middle of the road babbling with each other, ignoring the spawn altogether and setting an excellent example for the kiddies on how to stay out of the path of oncoming cars.  I’m not the only driver thoroughly pissed off at this gaggle of idiot mothers; I am (probably) the only driver who decided to start doing positive affirmations that morning:

The other drivers are honking, yelling out of their car windows at the women and in general being really annoyed at them.  I’m affirming:  “I react to challenging and stressful situations with peaceful tranquility.  I react to challenging and stressful situations with peaceful tranquility.  I react to challenging and stressful situations with peaceful tranquility.  I react to ... GET THE &*^& OUT OF THE ROAD, YOU IDIOT, NARCISSISTIC C*NT!  WHAT ARE YOU, STUPID??  GREAT EXAMPLE FOR THE KIDDIES, COW!”

Yeah, I’m doing great.  That doesn’t excuse the Idiot Mothers of Royal Crest Estates, North Andover, Massachusetts – all of whom should be herded into “Responsible Parenting Remedial Re-Education School” and taught stern lessons in how to act like responsible parents ... as it’s obvious none of them know how to do that.

Meanwhile, Mr. Signpost made me feel even smaller and more useless with his post:  “The last bigotry of the open-minded is their bigotry against those they see as closed-minded.”  OK, FINE.  Guilty as charged.  Actually, I suspect I have even more “bigotries” than that (see above), but I’m having a hell of a time breaking those.

But none of this tells you how the Damiana Tea worked.  Awesomely.  And I have two weeks minus one day to go with the field testing, which makes me suspect that by the end of the two weeks I’ll be ... I don’t know – in bad shape?  In good shape?  Wide-eyed and sleepless?  Jittery and jumpy?  Rubbing against trees?  Who knows?  But I basically had the same issue I had last time:  one hour later, I found myself fantasizing about you know who and why and suddenly catching myself doing it.  Looking at the clock.  Bursting into laughter.  Stuff is great.  I wish I know where Enchantments got it from, so I could give someone the Recipe-credit.

Damien Echols Booksigning in Peabody

Back to magick.

I’d forgotten that Damien was book signing in Peabody until he tweeted it, an hour ahead of time. I vaguely remember, when I first heard about it, looking up the store online and thinking, “Can I stand on line that long?” Then I ended up figuring that might be problematic and had decided that I couldn’t.

Spent the morning doing other exhausting things I needed to do: a car inspection, grocery shopping, and then the fun of having to lug heavy bags of groceries, one by one, into the apartment. Then collapsing in pain and exhaustion.

But then, when he tweeted about needing to prepare for the Peabody appearance, I took off without even thinking about it – it was merely an irresistible urge to go. If I wanted to paint myself as a logical thinker, I might have said that I wasn’t sure I’d have the chance again. No way in hell you’d catch me in Salem (don’t ask me to explain why again!), so Peabody had to be it. But no, I didn’t even give it that much thought. It was just a sudden sense of urgency ... “GO”. And off I went. Didn’t even get dressed up for the occasion, just gimped out the door. I must have looked like hell, but didn’t care.

He’s, what, 10 miles away from me, at this appearance? A straight ten miles up Route 114! – and again, I got lost, by being caught on a “right turn only” lane in heavy traffic, and couldn’t move left – I have no idea where Lowell Road went to (I know it goes to Lowell! Besides Lowell, although I have no idea where that was, in relation to 114, or which direction it was headed) , but I was on it, couldn’t get turned back around and became hopelessly, hopelessly lost. As usual. I ended up banging on the steering wheel with both fists and screaming my utter hatred for the State of Massachusetts and everyone in it at the top of my lungs, crying uncontrollably, screaming curses at the State’s refusal to take good tax money and buy street and directional signs with it, instead of forcing us all to hear tale after tale of Massachusetts politicians snorting it up their utterly corrupt noses. See? Even heading in the direction of Salem was hell!

Finally had to ask for directions back to 114, after half an hour of trying to get turned around, but getting more and more lost. When I finally made it back to 114, I was stuck in pre-Christmas traffic. Then I thought the Barnes and Noble was IN the North Shore Mall but it wasn’t. Of course, I wouldn’t learn that until I’d managed to hunt down a space to park and limp my way into the huge complex. One week before Christmas – took another 30 minutes just to find a parking space. Then another 20 minutes trying to find one of their mall maps screaming (“You Are Here!”) – which the mall had stuck in out-of-the-way places. What they DID have easily accessible were pamphlets with print so small no one could read them. The pamphlet locations are easy to find: just search for clusters of squinting people asking each other, “Can you read what this says?”

And of course, the Barnes & Noble was not only not IN the mall, but it was on the other side of this huge complex, and there was NO WAY I’d find another parking space. I limped from one end of that awful place to the other in a heavy winter coat, dragging my bum knee behind me. Took me at least 45 minutes to gimp through that awful place being run down and bumped and pushed by teenage shoppers. Took me another 20 minutes to gimp through three parking lots, dodging killer women in cars, cell-phone chatting and texting as they sped through parking lots and pedestrian crossings, to the Barnes & Noble, wiping tears of pain and frustration from my eyes. I was so late and in so much pain I was sure he was gone by then, but somehow, by some miracle ... thank you Sekhmet ... he wasn’t.

I found myself at the very end of a dwindling line. The advantage to it was that I was able to manage standing (sort of, as long as there was a wall to brace my back against, or a shelf I could lean on), because I was so late that the worst of the line had already come and gone. It didn’t take that long. Coincidentally enough, they had put him under a sign that said “Learning”. I saw that sign and started to smile. How absolutely perfect was that!

I don’t want to repeat everything I told him, although I did say he didn’t have to sign the book if he was getting hand cramps, because I only wanted to say something brief. He responded with something sweet about if I could stand on line for him that long, how could he not sign the book?, and I remember thinking, “He’s so nice ...” – in fact, he was so nice, I didn’t want to confess the truth about the hell I’d gone through to get there – really! It took hours to go 10 miles! – and that I hadn’t stood on line all that long; just gimped through a killer mall. Which might have amounted to the same thing, but was nothing compared to what he went through, so I wasn’t even ABOUT to complain about it.

Anyway ... it was nice. I was able to tell him SOME of what I needed to tell him and that was all I wanted. And I have an autographed book. Oh yes, and I did make him chuckle mentioning that I could retire on what I could sell his first book for. He’s very easy to talk to. And what a soothing aura. Here’s what his aura reminds me of: the ability that Jackson Rathbone’s character has in the Twilight series: the ability to calm people into a peaceful state of acceptance just by looking at them. I wonder if Damien knows he has that ability. I relaxed so quickly just talking to him that a lot of the back stiffness I’d gimped in there with went away. And THAT was nice too.

So here was my badge of courage: the Sky Sadist had twisted my face with Bell’s Palsy and I had still worked up the courage to travel to New York to see Il Volo. Now the Sky Sadist had hairline-fractured my left kneecap (yeah, I haven’t mentioned that yet – sorry) so badly I could barely move, but I ignored it, listened to Sekhmet instead and went to Peabody to meet Damien – Mr. Signpost – even though I was afraid of looking like a deformed old crone. Fuck the Sky Sadist! And as I said, thank you Sekhmet. It did, it felt like I had earned the silver Badge of Courage, afterwards. It would have definitely been easier to stay home and hide.

Continuing with the Fallen Angels list:

4. Kokabiel, also spelled Kפkabמךl, Kפkhabמךl, Kakabel, Kochbiel, Kokbiel, Kabaiel, or Kochab, considered the 'angel of the stars,' is a fallen angel, the fourth mentioned of the 20 Watcher leaders of the 200 fallen angels in the Book of Enoch. His name is generally translated as "star of God," which is fitting since it has been said that Kokabiel taught astrology to his associates. According to The Book of The Angel Raziel, Kokabiel is a holy angel; in other apocryphal lore, however, he is generally considered to be fallen. Kokabiel is said to command an army of 365,000 spirits.

[An army of 365,000 spirits? For what?]

5. Tamiel, also spelled Tâmîêl, is a fallen angel, the fifth mentioned of the 20 Watcher leaders of the 200 fallen angels in the Book of Enoch. His name is generally translated as "perfection of God" (the combination of tamiym and El-God) but Tamiel is also called Kasdeja or Kasyade (meaning "observer of the hands") in the Book of Enoch, Chapter 69. Michael Knibb lists the translation of Tamiel as "God is Perfect" or "Perfection of God." Tamiel taught "the children of men all of the wicked strikes of spirits, [the strikes of] demons, and the strikes of the embryo in the womb so that it may pass away (abortion), and [the strikes of the soul], the bites of the serpent, and the strikes which befall through the noontide heat, [which is called] the son of the serpent named Taba'et (meaning male)" during the days of Noah, not the days of Jared.

6. Râmîêl is a fallen Watcher in the apocryphal Book of Enoch, one of 20 leaders, mentioned sixth. Ramiel means "thunder of God" from the Hebrew elements ra'am and El, "God". Remiel is one of the archangels of the Christian and Islamic traditions, the Hebrew name meaning "Mercy of God" or "Compassion of God" [wow, talk about your irony, eh?] (see Jerahmeel). He is often confused with Azazel who is also called Râmêêl ("arrogant towards God" or "evening of God") although they are not the same angel. Remiel is the angel of hope, and he is credited with two tasks: he is responsible for divine visions, and he guides the souls of the faithful into Heaven. He is called Jeremiel or Uriel in various translations of IV Esdras, and is described as "one of the holy angels whom God has set over those who rise" from the dead, in effect the angel that watches over those that are to resurrect. He is said to have been the archangel responsible for the destruction of the armies of Sennacherib, as well as being the bearer of the instructions of the seven archangels. He is mentioned also in 2 Baruch where he presides over true visions (55:3).

So obviously, none of the judeo-christian scholars can decide if he’s good or fallen ... which doesn’t say all that much for the judeo-christian scholars, does it?

Sanity Spells

Getting sloshed again and wondering why.  I can go an entire year without any alcohol and over the last week or so, I’ve been drinking consistently.  End result of it:  I go to sleep.  Thinking:  another escape route, and it probably is.  At the moment, I don’t have the self-discipline to stop.  Correct that:  I don’t WANT to stop.

The obsession tore apart like a bubble – pop! – which is a good thing, but I’m wishing I had something more reasonable to replace it.  I’m basically floundering at the moment.  I managed to set aside my headphones and can now absorb the silence without screaming.  I still blame myself, but am so used to the self-accusatory silence it doesn’t bother me now.  I’m a narcissistic, self-centered, brother-murdering, evil bitch.  Sue me, kill me, I don’t care.

I was sewing that shirt together – something of a distraction, I guess – so of course the sewing machine started acting up, and I had to stop until I could figure out how to raise the Singer feed dogs – Singer, naturally, failed to include an index in their manual (in 4 languages, and if you don’t think THAT’s annoying, think again), so I’m having to search the manual minus the benefit of an index or Table of Contents.

Am not quite sure how to heal myself.  Fine, Sekhmet joined forces with Mr. Signpost and killed the obsession, but haven’t yet managed to undo the self-loathing.  I almost wish they’d done it in reverse:  kill the self-loathing and then let me work on the obsession.  Instead, it feels like they dynamited the bridge over the chasm and then watched dispassionately while I fell through the only safety net I had.  I’m still falling.  Scream.  Flail.  Oh, save me.  Save me.  Yeah, even I don’t buy it.  I live.  I die.  Who gives a shit?

So last night, I woke up around 1:00 am, and was trying to fall back asleep while watching a curious light - about 4-5 feet off the floor - wander around the corner of the bedroom.  Thought at first it was a car headlight through the blinds, but when a car actually drove past and their headlights did flicker briefly on the wall I realized I wasn't looking at headlights.  Someone with a flashlight?  Nope.  And the light wasn't the same as a flashlight's light anyway, more of a self-generated light.  It was moving, so I wasn't looking at a streetlight.  Finally said, "Well, whoever you are, I'm going back to sleep.  Have fun."

I know Dixie has been here and about – once I was sitting in the study and saw her zip into the bedroom. Didn’t think anything of it until I remembered she was dead.  Followed her.  Casper was sound asleep in the living room, Peanut sound asleep on the bed.  So I said, “Hey, Dix!”  So I suspected the light wasn’t Dixie, even though it could have been.  Not sure what that was.

Moonphase:  Waxing Crescent.  What do I want to increase?  My sanity?  How do you cast a spell for that?  Plus, it’s raining and cloudy.

“Whatever deity brings the rain, help me now to heal my brain”?  I like it.  Wave wand.  “So be it!”

I feel like going to sleep now.