Movietime is Painless

Spaceballs: The Animated Series! ...Fear. (I e-mailed Darkside with immediacy, letting him know. He's not always the most up-to-date on current events in the geek world.)

Oooo, hairsticks. If anyone's looking to spoil me, this would probably be how to do that.

WTF. The passport that I had as a kid is long since expired. I've never been out of the country. I really have little need for a passport in my daily life. $85 is at least two weeks' worth of groceries.

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The old huge machine I rescued has a motherboard, two hard drives, a CD drive, a floppy, a working power supply, no USB ports at all and only one ps/2 port, and Red Hat stickers all over the case. I'm going to need a PS/2 keyboard.

hcolleen made me watch M*A*S*H. The movie. It was decent. I couldn't help but think that if Mrs. Moon (high school Health teacher -- I miss you!) had needed to teach a unit on harassment and workplace misconduct, she would have broken out this video. (She taught the mental health unit using What About Bob?)

I will probably need to see the series at some point. But the small screen is not the place for it. (I was watching it on hcolleen's portable DVD player, and it was far too dark to come out properly.) If Darkside, or Darkside's old man, should want to sit me down and show it to me, I would have no objections...

Me vs. the Movies

I went to go watch M*A*S*H tonight and encountered a resistance. I'm bad about watching movies and things. I'll go out and see movies in the theatres. I'll buy DVDs. I'll watch movies with friends. I just don't sit down and watch a movie by myself.

Tonight I realized what this was.

Back in 1998, during my first (failed) attempt at college, I had a nasty little depressive episode. It was the sort where I was up all night because I couldn't sleep, and then asleep all day because I was up all night, sleeping for nearly twelve hours a day, feeling generally disoriented, and completely unable to recover myself from the nasty little emotional shock that had set it off.

I don't like to dwell on it. The past is always the past, but some of my past is an open book, and some is a closed book. That part of the past is not only closed, but locked as tightly as I can bear to keep it. There are some parts that were good, but the rest -- I describe it as "a black cloud" when I look back on the depressions. It's like walking through ice-fog in the dark, with no streetlamps to make it glow and provide illumination, just a darkness with occasional flashes of illumination. (I could probably have used this book then; I was certainly flailing about ever more wildly in my knowledge that I hurt enough to want to die but I didn't actually want to die die, just wanted the hurting to stop.)

I did have some emergency measures. When I knew I was on the edge of seriously falling apart, I had a temporary measure that would fix me up good as new and get me through the night unless something worse happened. I would take .75 liters of Jolt (I got it in the liter bottles from the little dorm store, and one time I wanted to know exactly how much it did take to get me out of the dangerous frame of mind) to artificially elevate my mood to the point where I could be made to laugh, and apply a comedy. Any comedy. It didn't matter which one, so long as it would make me laugh. Laughing would get me the rest of the way out of danger for the night, and I'd be decently all right. So I'd sit by myself in my room and watch a movie. Company would have been better, but bad company was more dangerous than no company at all.

150 mg of caffeine + 1 comedy = the ability to live until morning.

Needless to say, I don't ever want to go there again. And something small inside me still doesn't feel quite safe watching a movie by myself unless absolutely necessary to save what's left of sanity in order to save our life.

This entry cannot be found.

 

Mosquitoes, geeks, and the mourning of dreams.

Mosquitoes. Death. Yay! (Though there's always the ecological concerns.)

Leaked video = no premiere. Via Slashdot.

There's an e-mail I need to send someone. Sometimes dreams tell you about the things you can't afford to lose, not ever. And -- in this dream, I had lost that. Or maybe it's for talking about, not writing about. Either way, I need to say this. And I don't feel right talking about that dream in public until I've said that. So I had this nightmare last night. The ghost train part was interesting. It was still a nightmare, though.

Oblivion wears no pants.

Propz to that hilarious icon of grifyn's for the subject. I adore that icon.

My Headphones of Oblivion are doing their job nicely, I think. I have Pandora on. Firehose’s “Locked In” sounds like R.E.M. from their early years.

I crunch on ice because it has negative calories and fits the bill for a crunchy snack. Don'’t look at me that way. It’'s soft ice. Just as loud as chips, and better for me.

What am I doing, finding crap in here? All this should already be completely troubleshot. I should not have to go through and find these things. Just not on. OK Go’'s "“A Good Idea At The Time"” is my high school years, I think. I have a new favorite-listed band.

I might have logtime nailed. Then, I might not. I've been writing things between queries. The note about the nightmare drew out tears, which means it was right on. I had to write out quite a lot before I got anything coherent.

It's nice having dinner. It worked really well with the frozen chicken-and-rice. I should do that more often. That'll mean cooking every now and then, but that's a very simple recipe that works like crazy-good, and freezes well.

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