Writing a little early today to increase the chances that I will be bored enough to do something useful later on tonight.

Hey, it could work!

Plus, I have a fair bit of Diet Coke in me right now, so I probably could not sleep even if I wanted to sleep right about now.

Later on… who knows?

Anyhow, hi folks. Today, I did the therapy thing. I still can’t quite seems to get around to talking to my therapist about my feeling that I have been holding back all my life. Last week I sort of talked about it, but I was too tired to really get into it. This week, I tried to launch into it, but somehow ended up talking about how “suppressed” I have been.

Maybe it is for the best. Talking about my potentially huge ego over how bright I am is a sure way to make enemies of people, even therapists who should be above all that.

But therapists are people too, and in general they are educated intellectuals, and that means they are likely to have substantial ego investment in their own intellectual prowess.

So going around saying you might be the smartest person you have ever met is not going to go over well. It is bound to make your therapist defensive and after that, nothing useful will be accomplished between you, at least for that session.

And that just goes to show that there are some thing you can’t talk about with anybody, not even your very own personal shrink. In a perfect world, you could talk to your therapist about anything in the world, even how fucking smart you are, and they would just accept it like anything else you have told them and everything would be peachy.

But nope. Not to sound Ayn Rand or anything. but I am beginning to feel like I have been limited by other people’s inability to handle me, megawatt brain and terawatt personality and general wackiness and all.

I think I tried being the Full On Me when I was young, and it kept not “working”, so to speak, and so I shut away most of my personality and become a tiny shell of my potential self.

But enough of that shit. I realized today, while sitting at the bus stop, that I need to be more present in the world. That you cannot withdraw deep into your shell and then wonder why everyone seems so far away, and blame them for not crossing the miles of frozen trackless tundra you have put between you and them. You cannot make yourself unreachable then decry a world that cannot reach you.

You have to be there. And not just physically. You have to be mentally and emotionally present, not just peering at the world through your telescope from far, far away.

This is something I intend to work towards. And the fact that in early February, I will be going down another 5 mg in Paxil dose should only help.

The time for freezing my emotions in order to disable the anxiety is over. I need to get my emotions back, and deal with them, so I can move on.

Oh right, White Spot. I am getting there, I swear.

Well, after therapy, I had an appointment with my GP. I needed a refill on my insulin, and I needed to consult him about diabetes stuff. He has recommended that I break up my dose into two shots twelve hours apart, rather than one dose a day. The type of insulin I am using is long-lasting, but exactly how long that is varies from person to person.

So I will test and inject twice a day, and see if that is more effective. It is a lot more complicated than once a day for each, but what the hell.

After the GP, I went to White Spot, which is quite nearby, for lunch. And I really wish I had not bothered at all. So not worth it.

First of all, it was around noon, so the place was super busy. That meant both that I had to wait ten minutes for a table and that it was pretty loud in there.

And then the only table for me was a little two person table stuck in amongst four people tables, and I got stuck sitting too close (for my comfort) to this table of four fucking yuppies talking about their firms’ investment strategies and sharing bad jokes and fake laughs and I just wanted to stand up, look them right in the eye, and say “YOU ARE WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS WORLD.” and then leave.

Of course, I am way too polite to ever do something like that. They are probably fine human beings who are good to their families and who pet small animals and give regularly to charity.

But it was very grating being subjected to their conversation. And I could not avoid it, because I was only about a foot away from being at the same damned table as them.

So I felt kind of trapped in a small space as well as trapped listening to their insipid conversation.

And to compound tragedy with folly, I then stupidly ordered more fries after I was done my Carnitas Burger (sadly, not real carnitas but pulled pork), thus both ensuring I would feel floated and ill from eating too damn many fries AND sticking me with more of their stupid conversation for my audio pleasure.

After that, I caught the bus home. I had to stand part of the way, but not all, and that was good. It is amazing what I end up thinking when I am forced to ride the bus standing.

Things like “Where can all these people be GOING?!” and “Surely some of you live at this stop, right?” and “I wonder if this person would get off a stop early for a twoonie.”.

We fatties hate to stand at the best of times.

Throw in a moving bus, and it’s through tha ROOF.

See you tomorrow, people!

You know how you never see a toilet on the Starship Enterprise, or any other Starfleet vessel? Many possible answers have been posited for this, but I have always figured that they don’t need toilets because they have a system where bodily wastes are just teleported right out of your body.

I call it the Tele-port-a-potty.

And from there, it is just turned back into warp energy just like their dirty plates or other garbage. (This is TNG-era or later, obviously. Dunno where Kirk poops ended up. )

And I picture this as something that happens all the time, so nobody ever even feels the urge to go. The masses involved are so low that there is not even any noise or light from the constant teleportation.

So in a sense, everyone on a Starfleet vessel is going to the bathroom…. all the time.

Of course, this does not explain why, on extended away missions, they don’t all start cramping up. And then it would take them a while to remember what that means, and then going to the bathroom the normal way (for us) would seem incredibly disgusting and degrading.

Imagine how a modern person feels about using an outhouse, times a million.

Of course, some of them would be turned on by that…. hmmmm….

Anyhow, hi folks. Just another day of exposing all you people to my brain drippings. Thought today I would keep it loose and just lay down whatever I have around.

I am kind of curious about this notion that keeping a particular plant with two unpleasant names in your bedroom window would improve air quality.

The plant is either called a snake plant (yikes) or Mother In Law’s Tongue (YIKES), and its salient properties are that it absorbs a number of the airborne toxins that are the inevitable byproduct of our modern way of life, and it apparently gives off oxygen at night rather than taking it in.

Here is the rundown from the article :

Meattle says Mother-in-Law’s Tongue is known as “the bedroom plant.” While most plants take away oxygen at night, this one gives off oxygen at night. The plant also filters formaldehyde, trichloroethylene, xylene, toluene, and benzene from the air. Meattle recommends 6-8 waist-high plants per person for optimal output from this oxygen factory.

(Yes, the expert in the aritcle’s name is Meattle. No doubt she pronounces it to rhyme with ‘beetle’ but in my mind, it rhymes with “Seattle”)

I am always looking for things that make things fresher and nicer, so I am intrigued by this idea. Plus, I like plants. I like green things. They make a place cheerier.

But a plant would have to be pretty low maintenance to survive my absentmindedness, and so I have never gotten any for my living spaces. I figure I should not subject an innocent living creature to my inevitable accidental negligence.

Plus, I am not quite sure that we all could do with extra oxygen, let alone how much a plant produces. It sounds like the sort of thing that would work mostly by the placebo effect.

I could be wrong.

I am going to be going to my GP tomorrow, after my therapist. I am going primarily because I am out of insulin, and so I figure this is the time I am supposed to come back and check in with him about how that whole insulin thing is going.

And how is it going? Slowly. My average daily fasting (ish) blood sugar does go down as the amount of insulin I am taking goes up, but in a frustratingly slow way.

I really figured that I would never reach 40 units, but I have. I am beginning to think one shot a day is not enough, and that like others I know, I will end up having to test and inject after every meal.

Which is not that big a deal. It is a lot more hassle, and I will need to keep a lot more insulin. When I got my initial five tubes, that seemed like so much. But then, I started off at only ten units a day. I am on four times that now.

I am not too worried about missing one day’s worth of insulin. To my shame, it has happened before, by accident (just plum forgot to take it) and nothing catastrophic seemed to happen.

It will be weird to have nothing to do come 11:30 though. How quickly new things become old habits! Maybe I will inject myself with saline just to keep the habit up.

Just kidding folks… relax.

Lastly, the peerless Felicity has introduced me to the works of Jon and Al Kaplan, who have way too much fun producing musical summaries of famous movies.

To give you a taste, here is their version of John Carpenter’s The Thing (fave horror movie EVER).

It is from the point of view of the titular character. (Hee hee… titular.)

You get the idea. They are highly creative and clearly know their way around musicals as a genre. And of course, they are quite funny.

And they love, love, love Arnie. Witness Conan : The Musical…

And my current fave, Batman and Robin : The Musical, based on the excremental Joel Schumacher film.

That is a chorus that just sticks with you. “Bayitmayan.. you son of a biyich!”. Just you wait, you will be singing that in the shower soon.

I am incredibly impressed that whichever one of them does Arnie can sing on key in that accent. Especially the inarticulate Arnie noises.

I will not even think about trying to construct an onomatopoeia for those. I know when I’m licked.

Anything else? Hmmm. Guess I felt all right today. No big depression and I slept a normal amount. I am thinking maybe I should just plain eliminate caffeine from my life and see what happens.

I sm sure going to miss that sweet, sweet cola though.

See, when you start to crave something, that’s when you know it is time to stop because you are becoming addicted. And I have craved cola lately.

I suppose the other solution would be to drink cola all the time.

That strikes me as inferior, though.