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Summer
bella pilar 2
velouria

Now it's June. Today is pleasant. It's a clear, breezy Saturday, so I have the windows open. I'm watching the kitties stretch out in the sun patch in front of the window as the sheer curtains blow across them. I am grateful to have some time to recharge from work.

This month there is Father's Day, a Full Strawberrry Moon, and then of course, Summer Solstice - the longest, lightest day of the year.

I'm going to try to look at the positive attributes of summer this year instead of just waiting for Autumn. At least I do not have to wear socks or sleeves for a few months.

Sarah wants us to go to Disneyland in October. She has some sort of Costco deal for it, but obviously I would have to put away some money, and I'm not adept at that. I'm not adept at even getting through the month with the money I do have.

It seems to me that most well-rounded people have been to a Disney Land or World at least once, so possibly that is what is wrong with me. I could be healed upon arrival. Maybe all it takes is a guy in a Jack Skellington costume to do the trick.

I have been reading a psychiatrist's book about her experience with hypnosis, and she subscribes to the theory that demons and ghosts get all up in your shit and make you more miserable than you might be normally. She says they account for many mental illnesses and less than stellar behaviors. She doesn't believe in yelling 'The power of Christ compells you!' and flinging holy water at them, but in transmuting their energy into that of God's and sending them back to Him.

I gotta say, I take umbrage at the thought of any person, place or thing encroaching upon my personal space. Basically, every being ever, anywhere, is to stay at least 3 feet away from me whether they are disembodied or not. This applies to the humanoids behind me in line at Target, and also any dead jerks who want to get their ya-yas out via me drinking Fireball whiskey or buying another BH eyeshadow pallet from Ulta.

Party is over, folks. Move along or I call Ghostbusters.


That Sunday, That Summer.
velouria

This weekend started out poorly, but improved considerably. I started Thursday evening out eating Oreos and wanting to pull out my hair (literally), and ended up back on the MyFitnessPal app and sore from Yoga class today.

My hair is intact and I already feel less bloated and massive from restricting my food intake the last couple of days.

In part I credit my Mom, who told me to think of these urges as a force outside of me, and my dad for coming over today and helping me to understand that it is human nature to indugle in the interest of numbing. My brother has also tried to help me realize that is a marathon, not a race. I think he gets exasperated with me, though.

Just now, I asked myself what I could do to alleviate boredom besides eat, and two things came to mind: I could write, which I have chosen. Or I could sit and feel it, which is next on my list. Supposedly, if you allow yourself to experience the feelings that you obliterate with food or drugs or alcohol or gambling or spending, you will be able to make it through them safely in that moment, and in the future.

I also feel motivated by the changing moons. Although it rained all weekend (which I enjoyed) there was a full moon in Scorpio last night. Scorpio is my moon sign, I've learned, and probably responsible for all the wild emotion to my more rigid Virgo sun sign. Scorpio is a fluid water sign (Virgo is solid Earth), and this last moon is about putting into practice what you have been contemplating and dreaming of previously.

These are illustrations from an artist and intuitive I love on IG (@moonandcactus):



Confessions of an Addict
dance-macabre.deviantart
velouria

Lately I've discovered my hands wandering up into my hair. That's the way it starts. Next thing I know, I'm bald.

I've worked so hard and suffered so mightily through growing it back the last 9 months. The last four years, I've been falling short of my one-year anniversary of pulling every time. I can just undo and ruin it all in minutes. I'm so fucking terrified of disfiguring myself again. What goes on in my mind is so overpowering, I end up with no control over my own body parts.

I was buying oreos and pink & white animal circus cookies today at the corner market, and couldn't understand why. Why, other than that my own brain in my own skull would torment me until I bought sugar and consumed it.

I don't drink alcohol because I don't have to drink it at all. I'm so disgusted with how it affected me, I just don't touch it. How do I get to that point with food? I have to have food, but do I have to have circus animal cookies? Why can't I turn away from them?

I have a vision of dying around age 40 to 45 from my diet and sedentary lifestyle. I'm not particularly adverse to that because I hate my diet and sedentary lifestyle so much, and I hate that I have no motivation to change it. I sometimes make a tiny bit of progress and unravel it almost immediately.

I recognize that our culture prizes physical beauty over spiritual, and that dropping weight won't necessarily make me content. But it doesn't excuse me destroying my body.

I have to try harder than I am.


I Been Tired.
bajema.com
velouria

I want to write something, but I'm tired and uninspired. Laying on my couch listening to new TR/ST wishing I had never pulled all my hair out 1, or 2, cut it short when it was growing back. I can't stand the feeling of the wirey black hairs digging into the back of my neck. Or what passes for a neck.

I was bitching about being fat to another fat girl at work, and I think she took offense because she said she liked being "fluffy" and walked off.

Well, if I thought I was just "fluffy" and not "dying of heart disease" I might not mind either, but I don't think that's the case. 

Today Sis and I went to Evangeline's downtown, and I thought I was going to keel over and expire on the stairs that lead to the chamber of doom or whatever they call the 2nd floor where they keep the goth shit. Of course it wouldn't have been as simple as just croaking, but also taking out my sister and multiple other Evangeline's customers on the way back down the stairs. That's probably "manslaughter." We took the creepy elevator back to the ground.

I love TR/ST so (pictured below).  I think I could marry that dude too, and split my time between Canada and Miami with Trevor Something. I mean I would physically crush both of them, but they might be into that? They could write songs about it on their Moogs or Applebooks or whatever the fudge.



Springtime for Hitler and Germany
side skell
velouria

Found myself in Fair Oaks Village the other day, so went to the little metaphysical store there, 'Blossoming Path.' A beautiful longhaired shoppe cat with one icey blue eye and one golden eye greeted me. I hope it's deaf, though, because the rest of the inhabitants there are insufferable.

Was trying to purchase a little book ('Goddess in Your Pocket') while a woman named Tenderheart (also a Carebear) shreiked and carried on with the cashier who was not cashiering but rather, conversing with Tenderheart for so long that I almost hurled the book at Tenderheart's nose.

I figured that wasn't a very Goddessy thing to do though, so stood patiently by while Tenderheart told Funshine about why they didn't have a public restroom because some disabled could sue for it not being ADA-compliant and "letting someone pee isn't worth shelling out ten grand."

How dare you sully the names of Carebears? I thought to myself fantasizing about grabing Funshine by her gray braid and slamming her head into the table of rose quartz.

I will probably stick with 'Planet Earth Rising' in Folsom even though the staff there follow you around like you're stuffing lotus candles and sage in your pants and bolting for the door.

The best of the best is 'Garden of Enchantment' in Old Sac, but I rarely get there because of the abundance of motorcylce gang rallies and also cobblestones that hurt my fillings and dislodge my uterus when I drive over them while looking for parking that you have to pay for. By the time I've found a space and walked the 2 miles back over the cobblestones to the Garden of Enchantment, I am missing too many reproductive organs and too much dentalwork to be interested in oracle cards and fairy figurines any longer.


Happy St. Patrick's.
bajema.com
velouria

This holiday, oy. On my way to get something for dinner at Boston Market, a drunk guy hanging out of the moon roof of a Subaru wearing a green feather boa scream-slurred something at me. His driver leaned on the horn continuously all the way down Fair Oaks Boulevard. Not sure exactly what moon roof guy was scream-slurring, maybe something about his presumed Irish heritage, although he looked like The Situation on Jersey Shore.


Speaking of heritage, I did that 23&Me thing. It came back today and it's not very shocking, says I'm a pastey-ass white person from the UK (Scotland). I knew that already. Should have kept my hundred bucks.


Ugh the cobbler I had for dessert tasted like a ground up Special K granola bar. Anyway.


On April 4th, it will be six years that I've been alcohol-free. It's weird but lately I have OCD thoughts about drinking the way I have them about breaking my diet whenever I try to diet. Next thing I know I'm Door-Dashing Spaghetti Factory to my house and I don't want to be doing that with booze. I mean, Spaghetti Factory is probably killing me just the same as booze would have given me Cirrhosis, but at least I'm not going to get in my Corolla and run over someone after consuming Sicilian cheese bread. I don't think.


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Heal
bajema.com
velouria

Hello. Happy March. As promised, it's 'in like a lion." Still storming off and on. Last week I was home sick from work with Bronchitis (a winter-long affliction, it seems) and had time to watch the rain and through the screen with Yoda. 

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No Cars Go
bajema.com
velouria

Whilst sitting on the backed-up onramp to 5o East this morning from Tulare and Tehachapi back to my Mom's to pick up Yoda, Maxence Cyrin's No Cars Go cover came up on my Spotify.

The sun was out in my hometown after apparent days of storming and streaming down through my windshield onto my face. I leaned forward and gazed at the BMW in front of me.

The song was so gorgeous, it was hard to feel anything but appreciation for life or notice anything but the beauty of the day around me. Very seldom do I ever feel that way, so I wanted to express it.

Here it is in case it makes you feel similar:

https://youtu.be/MxKLyzLj4QQ


The Snow Moon
karin coma
velouria

Tehachapi was prettier and less dismal than I expected, but it was colder than a well-digger's butt (a late Grandma-ism) and raining. I know of no better weather to stand next to a prison sludge pond in. As a result of these harsh conditions, my sign-in sheet got smeared and now there is really no proof that I was ever even there. I do have a Tehachapian Del Taco receipt from earlier that morning though that I can produce if necessary. 🌮

Going back home tomorrow morning. I miss my cat who is currently terrorizing my mom. She managed to clip his claws somehow, which is good news for the fluff in my bedsprings that he pulls out with them nightly. A video I once accidentally managed to sit through on Youtube says that to be closer to God or the core of the Earth or I can't remember what, you should sleep on your floor. Pfffft! I will be there after a couple more of Yoda's fluff-removal sessions anyway. 🐱

Super full moon this Tuesday. I ordered a sick-ass moon coven box (watch https://lucidlivingco.com for the next one in March) and I'm psyched to do a moon dot with Yoda that eve. Even though my Pusheen moon intentions journal is falling apart which I don't appreciate, Hot Topic, we can still do the ritual. 🌕

Blessings to you, reader. Speaking of which, reader, I made it so that sexbots can no longer continue their reign of terror in the comments sections of my entries from 2007. So if you want to say something in response to me, you will have to have a valid, non-sexbot account.

PS. If you're a like the replicant sort of robot from Blade Runner and are capable of falling in love with Harrison Ford or Sean Young, it's okay to post on my entries. You'll just have to make a Livejournal account.


Pink Plague
lips
velouria

I am ill at home. Not that I'm ever *anywhere* but work or home, but now I'm ill at home exclusively. It's probably not cool that I'm self-medicating with Super Stuft Oreos and Orange Crush.

I have to go to buttfucking Tehachapi on Valentine's Day for a romantic stroll through prison for a purchase I'm overseeing. Today whilst resting, my manager's manager called my cell to say that her manager said I was asking for too much money in mileage on my travel expense claim? I'm not sure if I remember the convo correctly because I was delirious with fatigue and the plauge, but I think that was the gist of it.

I need to work for a department that A1) doesn't require me to go to prison on Valentine's Day, and B2) well fuck it, A1 is enough logic and reasoning. What's next, Guantanamo Bay on Easter? The more I think that phone call, the more outraged I get at my manager's manager's manager as I sit here all snotty and holding my Himalayan salt healing crystals mentally preparing for my journey into Hell next week.

But that isn't going to help me recover. Positive mental attitude, right?