Commitment

It’s more difficult than one might believe.

Millions of people enter into relationships every day.  But that’s not the type of commitment I’m referring to.  I’m talking about changing one’s lifelong habits for the better.

Things like eating healthy and taking on a daily exercise regiment are by no means easy.  Especially if you’ve been living the life of a couch potato who mindlessly consumes whilst binging on hours of brain rotting entertainment.  Oops.  Did I just say that?

Not all entertainment is brain rotting.  There are, after all, intellectually stimulating programs, like Bob Ross on Netflix, and How It’s Made.  I refuse to watch the latter.  I already sit enough.  And sitting is the new smoking, according to medical professionals.

I suppose if you watch your favorite programs whilst walking a treadmill wouldn’t be as damaging, but still, it’s good to read a book now and then.

That said, I’m looking for a good read that’ll really make me think, and/or completely blow my mind.  Something that will make me

A Mother’s Love

Isn’t that all any child ever wants?  Their parents’ love?

I just finished watching A.I. Artificial Intelligence, and my tear ducts are completely drained.

Years ago, I saw bits and pieces of the 2001 film, but never in its entirety.  I was never really interested at the time.  But yesterday, when my daughter told me about Sophie the robot …

… I recalled A.I. Artificial Intelligence, and just had to watch it.

Spoilers ahead:

At first, David (Haley Joel Osment) was mildly creepy.  His curiosity was a bit unsettling, and his ability to mimic even more so.  When a little competition presented itself, David became seemingly jealous and possessive of his human mother, which ultimately ended with his abandonment.

This film demonstrates how artificial intelligence can learn, grow, adapt, and ultimately survive in a very cruel human world.

But toward the end, proven is a child’s naïveté, which presents a problem with future A.I.  Can a child robot grow and learn things like the difference between fantasy and reality?

The end of this film killed me.  David, the child A.I., finally got the only thing he ever wanted – a mother’s love – even though she wasn’t really his mother.

And because my 20 year old daughter decided to watch the last hour with me, she was like “Are you okay Mom? You gonna live?”.

And now it’s time for some comedy, because I don’t do gut wrenching movies that often.  Time for a beverage…

 

Trapped

In the beginning
There was a joy
A love so pure
In the eyes of a boy

Parents proud
Their middle so smitten
Who would’ve guessed
A future unwritten

Early discipline
Hours of pain
Childhood denied
Again and again

What once was innocent
Soon became
Living vicariously
Through someone else’s fame

A hint of promise
And hope still lingered
In a big heart
Mainly the fingers

Spreading wings
A new sense of self
Replaced and repressed
A lifetime of hell

No longer soft
Close the book
Charm the masses
Leave them shook

Narcissism at its best
Without a regret
Soon to follow
A terrible threat

Now on alert
Under order
Things aren’t what they seem
To the supporter

What will the future
Hold for a soul
Broken and terrified
Never again whole

 

 

 

 

Prison Without Bars

The following dream sequence sucked.  It wasn’t nice, but something tells me my subconscious is trying to send me a miserable message.

I don’t remember a lot, except the fact that I was being taken to a ‘rest’ house – for the mentally stressed.  My best friend, her mom, and sister accompanied me, and sat with me through the admission and orientation process.

Sitting in stunned, tearful silence, I wondered what I had done to deserve being at this place.  It was full of seriously scary people who sat playing mental games with each other, aiming guns at each other, and puking in each other’s food.  What the hell is this place?!?!  TAKE ME HOME!

But nope.  I apparently needed a vacation from life.  This was not the vacation I asked for!

Instead, I was listening to the rules, and wondered how early I’d be released if I behaved.  Not that the current population would make it easy for me.  The adults were useless vegetables, and the kids practically had free reign.

This wasn’t funny anymore.  But my second family insisted I needed to be there, and promised they’d be back soon, when I was better.

After they left, the house nurse and warden went to bed for the evening, leaving me to take care of a bunch of rotten kids.  If the kids got out of line, it would mean more time for me.  Ugh, WHAT?!?!

But then, when the little monsters started their shit, I somehow found an escape route via a secret passageway in the kitchen.  Just outside the house was a train to take me back home.

Except home was a few days away, and this train was headed into New York City, where the president was about to land.  The scary part was seeing Air Force One flying low on the radar, alongside the train, and I could see the secret service glaring back at me from their window.

Just then, music started blaring across the train speakers.

I’m not going to say who POTUS was in my dream, but I really got excited, because he’s the President!

But I wasn’t going to have an opportunity to meet him because the train was suddenly underwater, and it was my turn to get off – in Canada.

And so, the long walk home through a weird ass desert began.

Boogle Boogle!

If you’re wondering whether or not I’m drunk, I’m not.  But the sudden heat is definitely affecting my slightly ill brain today.  I’ve got a mild head cold, and the current temperatures are mildly annoying.  Otherwise, sitting in front of a fan would normally ease my current discomfort.

As I was composing my most recent entry, I needed to Google something.  But lately, I’ve been making an unacceptable amount of typos lately, and I instead typed boogle.  And when that happened, the first thing that popped into my head was OOOGA BOOOGA.  And for those who don’t know what the hell that means, it’s a noise the bogeyman makes when he attacks.

Yes, I still believe in the bogeyman.  I always look under the bed and make sure my closet door is closed before I go to bed.

I’m 47, believe it or not.  But I’m finding as I get older, the more I regress into a childlike state.  Hey, I’ve earned it, without explanation.

And now it’s time for a beverage, as described in my main header.  Good afternoon.

 

Supercrappyfranticliciousleepyalladocious

I’m sure I spelled the last part incorrectly.  And you know what?  I don’t care.  Yep.  I’ve reached a point, and I’m going to bed – at 1:00 pm EST, or immediately after I click publish for this entry.  Whichever comes first.

Why?  Because I can, and because I’m running on a total of 13 hours of sleep in the past 72 hours.  And I’ve been awake since 5:15 this morning.  Between anticipation, anxiety, and finally disappointment, this day is about done.  Or, should I say, I’m about done with this day.

Given the glorious weather, I was hoping for so much more today.  Call it premature resignation, but after 5 solid hours of YouTube videos about Japan, with Skype on standby in the background …

….. and 5 large cups of coffee later, I’m feeling nothing short of dead and done.

So much for caffeine.  Time to whip out some ASMR.  See you on the flip side … ?

PS: I promise better shit soon.  My brain is just fried.  Time to recharge.  Just as soon as I take care of a rage case of heartburn.

 

 

Mr. Sandman

…do NOT bring me a dream…

At least not for a few days.  This sleep deprived mama’s brain needs a break from the terrible dreams.

This was supposed to be posted yesterday, but for some reason (my luck, maybe?), it never saved.  So I’m starting over.  It needs to be out there, especially since I removed my FB post about it.  Why?  Long story short, I repeatedly say the wrong things on social media.  More specifically FB.  And I’ll leave it at that.

The dream I had the night before last had me in such a terrible state, I almost called for an appointment.  I guess a professional might say I’m still grieving the loss of my parents – mom in 2011, and dad in 2014.  The latter was sudden, and very traumatic for me and my older brothers.

Since my dad’s passing, I’ve had frequent dreams about deceased loved ones.  But when they’re in my dreams, there are usually just one or two making separate appearances.

The most recent dream, however, left me such a mess, I’m still recovering.

I basically dreamed I was back in my parents’ house.  They were having a huge party.  Everyone was formally dressed, but it wasn’t a wedding or anything formal.  It was just a regular party.  But not only were my parents in the dream, so were my grandparents, 2 deceased uncles, a deceased aunt, and a deceased family friend.

To make matters worse, everyone was dressed in black, which led me to believe the party was a post funeral type of thing.  Nearby neighbors kept bringing food, and there was soft, unidentifiable music playing in the distance.

One of my aunts was at a table with my grandmother, reviewing some literature about a trip to Las Vegas.  My one uncle was at another table with my dad and grandfather, telling outrageous jokes.  My mom and another aunt were in the kitchen planning another party for the future – which makes me afraid to sleep.

I don’t want to dream about another one of these parties.  I can’t handle seeing so many deceased loved ones in the same dream at the same time.  It nearly broke me, and I’m pretty damn broken already.

Today, after three and a half hours of sleep, espresso will be my best friend, until my heart decides to say screw this, and sends me to the hospital.  If I go back to bed, I might miss out on something I’ve been desperately waiting for in the past few months.

Leggy Boi

This is not about Dan Howell, or the meme – even though Dan Howell is a living meme.  I wish it were about him.  But now that winter is finally over…

Instead, my daughter was so kind to inform me that there was something in the bathtub.  She thought it was a centipede. And of course my husband wasn’t about to kill it, because he was already in bed.  So of course I’m the designated leggy boi assassin.

As if my fear of spiders aren’t enough, my fear of centipedes are even worse.  I never used to fear them, until I accidentally touched one in my kitchen sink about 6 years ago.

After that, I would rather kill a spider ….. except for the 2 inch wolfie that scattered from me yesterday.  It was on my porch steps, and when I almost levitated into the house after helping my daughter carry food into the house from her truck, she promptly got back in the truck, and slammed the door.

“I’m not coming inside!”

But once I convinced her that the mutant arachnid was long gone, she scurried into the house as fast as she could, and swore she was never going to step foot outside again.

Once I figured out that her bathtub leggy boi wasn’t actually a centipede, she relaxed.  But I’m NOT relaxed, because even though it was just a tiny little silverfish, it wouldn’t f*cking die.  The little a-hole scurried under the bathmat, making me strain my back as I ripped suction cupped rubber away from the tub.

I absolutely hate silverfish.  They usually seek moisture, and live in bathrooms.  But years ago, for some reason, they found refuge in the cubbie-hole crawlspaces in my room!  I don’t know what they were after, but my room was about as dry as the Sahara Desert.  There’s nothing worse than waking to one of those mofos in bed with you.

Now, tonight’s silverfish is down the sewer for its trouble.  And I’m not taking another shower until Kevin makes good on his promise to clean the bathroom – which will be Saturday after he gets out of work.

And finally, I’m definitely taking something for sleep tonight.  If I don’t, the heebie jeebies will most definitely keep me awake.

And three consecutive nights of awake is not an option for me.

Goodnight.