Chaos, Inc.

   A quick lesson on my family history. Dad had two older half-sisters (through his mother, Danine or "Dee" and Colleen or "Kitty") and one younger (I think) sister (Elizabeth or "Betty".) For whatever reason, we were never close to Aunt Kitty or her husband, Uncle Gary, but we did manage to visit Aunt Dee and Uncle Pete routinely and Aunt Betty and Uncle Glenn regularly. These were some of my favorite family members. Aunt Dee and Uncle Pete always had this way of showing you how much they really loved you. Aunt Betty in a lot of ways reminds me of my sister, Bex, and has always been the "fun aunt," quick with a joke and always keeping you laughing and guessing. Uncle Glenn was a very private man who we saw often but heard rarely.
    A few years ago, we lost Uncle Gary. It really didn't hit me that hard, but then again, we had never been that close. I saw him maybe twice that I can remember. Still, he was family and my sisters and I made the trek to Wisconsin for his funeral.
A few years after that, we lost Uncle Pete. That stung. My sisters and I rented a van and drove up to Wisconsin once again to attend the funeral. A year or two ago, we lost Aunt Dee. That really hurt. The womenfolk, Marcus, and I traveled up to Wisconsin once again and paid our respects by her graveside.
    Monday morning (2/2/09) we lost my Uncle Glenn. I hate to admit it, but I was never close to him. And as much as it tore me up to lose Aunt Dee and Uncle Pete, this one's hitting me even harder. Each death and each subsequent trip has taken more out of me. I want to be by Aunt Betty's side (it doesn't help that he died our their 39th Anniversary), but this time I just can't go. I don't have it left in me to say goodbye another time. It just hurts too much.
   It doesn't help that I'm down to 2 aunts and no uncles.  My mother had a half-brother and a half-sister (both through her mother: Uncle Don and Aunt "DeeDee" Diane), but Aunt DeeDee died when I was 3 or 4.  I don't remember her.  Uncle Don died about 20 years ago, and I haven't seen his widow or son since his funeral.
   Lisa and James can't realistically make the trip either, due to James suffering from an unknown degenerative auto-immune disorder akin to, but not, MS or NMO. Ben is unable to go, and doesn't want Bex to pile 6 kids into a vehicle to drive across 3 states (I have to agree with him.) Dad can't make the trip either, due to a long story that I am unwilling to share at this time. Unfortunately, our branch of the family will not be able to go. Even as I'm writing this, though, I have tears on my cheek.

Current Mood: depressed
Current Music: Gary Jules's version of "Mad World"

     With as analytical as my mind forces me to be, it should be no surprise to any of you that I have categorized my dreams into two categories.  The rules, laws of physics, and even contents of the dream are determined by which category it is.
     My "normal"  or "chaos" dreams would be just like real life, if real life were played in fast forward and were ruled only by the Lords of Chaos.  The dreams are frenetic, constantly changing environment (at times even from one second to the next), cast of characters, and even perspective (they will change between 1st and 3rd person at whim).  These dreams are beyond my control, often odd, and I've been having them my entire life.
     My "ephemeral" or "ghostly" dreams started when I moved out on my own, but have been growing steadily more dominant over the years.  They will always start with me alone in bed in some bizarre variation of "my room", and branch outwards from there.  In these dreams I can fly, am intangible, and have found a certain amount of control over the environment.  I cannot come into physical contact with anything else, but I can shape the dream as I go, passing through a wall, ceiling, or floor if I need to completely change the world I'm in.  I usually know that I am dreaming in these dreams, but I am the only individual ever to be in these dreams.

     As I was bone-weary today, to the point of being tired of life, I decided when I got home to lay down in the back bedroom and take a nap.  Right after I got home, I could hear the_geoffrey and Bitz come into the house, and soon thereafter I vaguely heard pixie_mu and Marcus get home.  I found myself laying in bed staring at the shadows on the wall of myself and my bed contemplating just getting back up and rejoining life when, due to a trick of the light, it appeared that my shadow sat up in bed and crossed its arms looking down at me.  I chuckled to myself that even my shadow thought that I should get up, so I rolled over to get out of bed.  This is when I found myself spinning around on the bed and flying towards the window.  "This isn't getting up, this is dreaming."  I went with in for a penny, in for a pound.
     The next while was utterly enjoyable, flying through fields lined with trees amidst the sunset, adding some nice clouds, throwing in steadily more rain, adding some lightning, running my hand through the water running along the sides of this little rock road I'm flying over (water is the only thing I can conjure in these dreams that gives me a physical sensation, so it's very worth it), and heading towards a confluence of elements of some kind.  Good fun for me.
    Right as I'm about to conjure up the confluence, I'm flying down some stairs underground leading into an apartment.  What?  Where am I?  What is this place?  As I fly in, I pass by a wall vent and touch down into a boiler room of some kind.  I am not alone in this place.  I'm very uneasy.  I go to fly further in, but find that I can't fly.  Weird.  As I go around the corner into a kitchenette of some kind, I try calling it, but minimal sounds are coming out (I was using my real vocal chords.  That never works for me in dreams.)  That's not an option.  At the back of the kitchen is a door, so I open it and go through into the hallway beyond.  There's a room off to the right with a whole line of people coming down the hallway from the other end to enter into this room.  Except that they are more like photo negatives of people.  This is unsettling me even more.  I decide to reach out to try to communicate with them, and no sooner do I start lifting my right hand than an old man grasps it very firmly.  I start to lift my left hand only for a lady to grasp it gently.  I've had enough.  I pour my energy into waking up.
     As soon as I start trying to wake up, the world goes black and the gentle touch to my left hand is gone, but my right hand is still firmly being gripped.  As I pour on the energy, I find myself in my bed (with the lights out still--even the shadow play on the wall was part of the dream, apparently), but my hand is still being firmly grasped with a tangible hand that I cannot see.  I twist it as if to escape a hold, and it's gone.  I roll out of bed just in time to say goodbye to the_geoffrey  and Bitz.

     It wasn't really a nightmare, but it was very unsettling to me.

Current Mood: disturbed
Current Music: "Learning to Fly" Pink Floyd

For those of you who did not receive word on the events leading up to New Year's Eve for us, meinga  was in an accident this past Tuesday.  meinga  was driving my son home on 270 at 370 when a car cut her off. As she was braking to reestablish space between the vehicles, the car in front of the one who cut her off hit the brakes. The car that had cut her off was able to brake in time, but she did not have the room, and rear-ended him. The taxicab behind her then rear-ended her.

For once, meinga  was wearing her seat-belt, and so was neither thrown from the car nor thrown into the dash; however, her seat did collapse backwards out from under her. Marcus was, as always, secure in a child seat, and the only injury he obtained was an "owie" head from the back of his head hitting the car seat. This injury had healed by the time the police arrived.

meinga called pixie_mu  before even calling the police, and pixie_mu  was able to show up shortly after the police arrived, but she was not actually in the vehicle during the collision.  meinga  was taken to the ER to be checked out due to a large amount of pain that was leaving her in hysterics at the scene. After CAT scans and X-rays, she was released, with the diagnosis being no worse than pulled or sore muscles. Tylenol-3 was prescribed, and she was given a release from work for Wednesday. With meinga  in pain, and the family being short a vehicle, we opted to ring in the New Year from home.

     As many of you are already aware, pesticide manufacturers have recently been releasing "green" lines of material.  These materials are lower impact to the environment and safer for use around humans and non-target animals.  Company R has been testing these on a large number of selected residential accounts for about half of a year now, and, as of a couple of months ago, made it policy that "low pressure" office buildings and schools are to be treated with the green materials.  That is to say, those accounts with a history of being pest free.  (I have specifically gotten approval to test them on a couple of higher pressure accounts, to see how they stack up under pressure.)  After a month's delay due to slow shipment on equipment parts, I have been using them for the past few work days.
     Last night I took care of one of these accounts.  I had been looking forward to telling one of the women who worked there (who we'll call Linda) that the switch had been made, as she had harassed me several times about not getting anywhere near her with the materials (by near I mean about a 40' radius.)  She even at one point let me know that I should not take it personally as she was crusading against the township where she lives to stop them from spraying for mosquitoes.  Unfortunately, she was not at work when I went through.  I was a bit disappointed, but not surprised as I go through after 5 pm and she is not always there.
     At the end of the appointment I was discussing the green materials with my contact there.  He made a point that I have made any number of times--that there is a balance to be kept when it comes to pest control.  While we do not wish to risk people's health through the usage of our pesticides, the answer is not as simple as not treating, as many of the pests we control offer their own health risks.  First he mentioned mosquitoes vectoring malaria, to which I added roaches vectoring salmonella as well as aggravating and occasionally causing asthma.  Then he blew me away.  He mentioned that Linda was currently out due to having contracted second stage West Nile virus from a mosquito bite.  Talk about mixed emotions.

Current Location: Celestial MAN
Current Mood: Mixed Emotions

No shit, there we were. It was the summer between my Junior and Senior year of High School (July 3, 1990), and Garath, Greg, and I had gone out to celebrate our Independence. It started with tickets to a sneak preview of Terminator 2, which got our 16/17 yr old bloods boiling. It had explosions, helicopters, and exploding helicopters. And we were just the right age to have it capture our imaginations and send us soaring. Being the night before Independence Day, we decided to celebrate it right--with fireworks.
Now, I don't know if this is a peculiarity of St. Charles County, or common nationwide, but while it is legal to purchase or set off fireworks within St. Charles County, and while it is legal to purchase fireworks within any township inside of St. Charles County, it is actually illegal to set off fireworks within any of said townships. Being the ever-so-bright and cunning teenagers that we were, we decided to purchase said implements of destruction in St. Peters, then drive back-county to set them off. And so we put our plan into action.
We eventually found a spot on either County Rte. B or C (I forget which, though I think it's C. Still, you get the picture.) that incorporated a beautiful field from which to ignite implements of explosion and sacred fire. We set off every bit of fireworks we purchased. With very little ado, other than a stray rocket threatening but failing to set my old '79 Chevy Monza aflame but failing to do so, we rather enjoyed the spectacle, but ended up deciding to head back to civilization and bed. This is where the fun, unbenownst to us, ensued.
Yes, it was my car, but I was not the driver. Realize that I had long since grown tired of both Garath and Greg bitching about my driving that I had relinquished the driver's seat. To boot, I was the only one who was skinny enough to fit in the back seat, as both Garath and Greg were larger-than-average sized mammals. Seeing as Greg had a car but no license, and Garath had a license but no car, Garath did the driving, which was probably fortuitous under the circumstances.
It was raining, but lightly, that night. Not heavy enough to interfere, but just enough to give an otherworldly feel to the drive home. On top of that, we were lost in conversation. So, when we came upon a 90-degree turn marked by a giant sign right where the road would be if the road continued straight, we all, as one, broke from our comradely reverie to glance down at the spedometer and realize that Garath was driving at about 75 mph.
Panic set in. Garath locked up the brakes, and we started hydroplaning. I can't explain the physics behind what happened next, but we suddenly changed course by about 45 degrees and headed straight down a 3 or 4 foot embankment into a corn field.  All we processed at the time was that there were now stalks taller than the car flying past us at an enormous rate of speed.
Panic set in further.  Garath dropped into an automatic driver mode where all that existed was himself, the car, and the driving conditions.  Greg started screaming like a little girl with a skinned knee, proclaiming that we were all going to die.  And me?  I had a little voice in the back of my head explaining to me that this was all a dream and that I had nothing to worry about.  "Luck Point!" I proclaimed, and we continued to veer through the stalks at an alarming rate of speed.
It turns out that Garath overcorrected.  We bisected the 90-degree corner and did a neat little field goal between the sign and the electric post that was just over a car's width away from the sign.  Then?  More corn, on the other side of the road.  Overcorrecting at this point was pretty much a moot point, so Garath readily brought us back to the highway.
As we began to breathe easier, we, of course, took stock of the situation.  Greg asked Garath when the heater and windshield wipers came on, to which Garath gave a very befuddled "I don't remember."  At which point Garath and Greg remembered something else that happened.  "Did you call for a luck point?" they both shot my way.  "Um . . . yes," I responded a bit nervously.  Greg dismissed it by stating that more than one Luck Point would've been necessary for that situation.
We made it back into Old Town and the engine stalled, for the second time in its life.  Seeing that, due to ancient injury, starting the car involved popping the hood open, we decided to clean the greenery from the car into the bag in which we had gotten the fireworks.  Greg kept the bag, and as of a decade afterwords, admitted that he still had the bag somewhere.

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Notes:
*  Whose response is saner?  We're all going to die?  Or to crack a joke?
*  I found out a couple of days later that it was the same weekend that hick0ry and Ingrassia drove Hick's parents' car straight off of an 8' embankment.  That's another story and not mine.  I'll give him the option of whether or not to share, but we all decided at that point that we had used up whatever luck the universe had given us, and that we should all lay low for a while.

Current Location: Celestial MAN
Current Mood: pensive

This is for when I'm feeling lazy. It's a picture of Lego in one of his classic poses. The picture captures the essentials of the pose, but maybe doesn't quite capture the complete lack of dignity this mutant cat of ours possesses. And yes, he's lazing about on the couch. Unlike Merlyn, he doesn't think he's a dog, he thinks he's an alphaspud, couch potato human. Oh, and if this appeals to you, feel free to grab it.

Current Location: Celestial MAN

For the record, I've been doing a lot better over the past couple of weeks. Hitting rock bottom did me some favors. Most importantly, it changed my perspective. I began realizing that there were some things I was blaming myself for that were not necessarily my doing or even under my control. I also realized that there were things that I was blaming a few others on matters that I bore at least partial responsibility. Go figure.

Furthermore, I began opening my ears more, especially to my customers. It turns out that there have been messages that I've been needing to hear that some of my contacts have been telling me. Odd.

. . . but instead, it made my day.

I got to rolling late today, and ended up working later into the evening because of it. After I finally hit the field this afternoon, things started clicking along for me. Yes, I was still playing a game of solitaire before each appointment, but only 1 (3 min) and then going in. I also wasn't blaming myself for it, and was feeling in fairly good spirits. My spirits rose drastically at the end of my 3rd call when I got a call from Supervisor.

Supervisor: How are you doing today?
Felax: Fairly well. What's up?
Supervisor: Have you had any problems today?
Felax: No. Not really. What's up?
Supervisor: Had any hitches? Anything go awry?
Felax: (Pause to keep myself from saying, "Cut the crap") What's going on?

It turns out that my first call of the day had called into the office to complain that I had been argumentative and rude. According to them, I had been asked to spray under some desks due to pests coming in from under the neighbor's wall. This, apparently was where I started bucking and arguing the point. They weren't upset with my service overall, and were still willing to continue having me go through as regular tech, but were a bit put off by my behavior.

Well, now . . . really.

My memory of the event:

Customer: Can you spray under my desk? I get some problems there from time to time.
Felax: Sure. (Bends down under the desk, checking the glueboard and dating it before spraying under the desk.)
Customer: Thank you. Can you also spray around the cabinet? (Moves the file folders from in front of it. Felax sprays around the cabinet.) I haven't seen problems there lately, but I've seen them in the past and don't like bugs. You sprayed it the last time, and I haven't seen anything since, but I'd like to keep it that way. Thank you ever so much.
Felax: Not a problem; that's what I'm here for.
(Conversation ends as Felax does the paperwork for the job.)

Maybe it was because it was so ludicrous an accusation, given my remembrance of it. Maybe it was the suggestion that I'm so far gone as to remember it so drastically different than what was reported. Maybe it was the way Supervisor danced on eggshells to be sure that he didn't set off a ticking time-bomb of rage that I'm just not. Or maybe, just maybe, it's because once upon a time, not so long ago, that account would have been pulled from me without a second thought, except to berate me for having endangered a customer's status. Finally . . . I've got some backing from Company R. Regardless, this made my day.

Current Location: home
Current Mood: amused
Current Music: machine hum

As some of you may already be aware, I'm going through a particularly rough time. At times, it isn't bad. At other times . . .

The worst part is that I cannot seem to put a finger on what's wrong. I've tried getting in touch with a Psychiatrist or a Psychologist to analyze me, as if I haven't done that to death myself, to see if there's outside help for me, but I've failed. For the most part, it's hitting me hardest at work. The psychic resistance that's always been there before going into any appointment has reached a peak, sometimes resulting in 15 - 30 minutes pause before going to work, and sometimes resulting in the same wait before determining it's simply time to go home.

Part of me screams that I just need to buck up, man up, and deal with it already. Most of the time, though, I'm searching for the root of the problem to, hypothetically, deal with it and get back to being happier.

I can't escape the feeling that I'm dying. Part of me screams that I'm just being melodramatic as always. Part of me screams that I'm just evading responsibility as always. And part of me repeats the same mantra: Please don't let me become Dauntain. Please don't let me become Dauntain.

Current Location: home
Current Mood: depressed
Current Music: none

I have been writing here and there. Unfortunately, it's been mostly snippets. The problem is the chronic problem I've always had: in order to write, I must be depressed enough to commit these concepts to a medium, but not so depressed as to strip me of the capacity of committing these concepts to a medium. I have come up with a solution, but a very problematic one: if I'm depressed, I can still recompense some capacity by merit of being drunk. The problem is that, once again, it is a careful balance: I must be drunk enough to compensate for my depression, but not drunk enough to incapacitate me completely.

All that having been said, I have made a decision on the writing. Seeing as how I have said for many years that my life was not lived in chronological order, which confuses the living hell out of meinga, I need not write it in chronological order. Truth be told, this isn't exactly a journal, anyways. The purpose is to capture the essence of my life, not the specifics. However, I've been writing snippets here, and snippets there, without any connection whatsoever yet. I started on what I believe will be the beginning, but time will tell, if I actually manage to finish this monstrosity.

Current Location: home, as always
Current Mood: depressed
Current Music: Machine Hum

I admit it. I've been reading online stories again. Ok, ok, mostly online erotica. But it's got me thinking foolish thoughts.

It's tempting me to write again. Even more so, it's tempting me to an ambitious project--combining two of my lifelong writing projects: "The Silktonian Chronicles" and "The Life of 'Lax". That's right. A journal of my life, as portrayed through a sword-and-sorcery fantasy story, with the character of Silktongue representing me.

Warnings (if I actually follow through with more than the short snippets I've written): This will be a fantasy story with all that that entails: nonhuman races (including the main character), magic, possibly or probably psionics, magic. This will be a journal, fraught with the illusions we foist upon ourselves. Fraught with failure and misunderstandings. Fraught with self-delusion, delusions of grandeur, and delusions of inadequacy. You may not be included: I only have so many characters, and a very limited imagination that can only translate so many people into my fantasy world.

Current Location: home
Current Mood: depressed
Current Music: none

Ok. Finally, the work update. 2007 has been a good year for me work-wise. Otherwise, it has just sucked. Too many friends and family lost forever.

April saw me as Employee of the month. For a company of 100 employees, not bad.

This has been the highest production year for me yet. Through the spring and summer I had managers and owners complimenting me, saying they had heard nothing but positive about me.

March was the first time I had to hand jobs off to finish the month on time. Every month since, I've had to repeat the performance. Even the low months.

I talked to my supervisor today (OK, yesterday, fine, it's WAY too late.) and approached him with a problem. Halfway through the month, and I've got 60+ calls done, and 100+ calls to go. He commented that this was a recurring problem. I agreed. I do NOT like to hand off work. After asking me for the solution (like he does EVERY FUCKING TIME I come to him with a problem), he insinuates that I'm just slacking--that I just need to buckle up and hit it harder.

Understand this: as a technician, we are expected to upsell other services to our clients (inspector work), we are expected to generate leads (inspector work), we are expected to get our clients to agree to a price increase (financial/management work), we are now expected to hand out overdue invoices to our clients (financial work). Add to this that every fucking time he has ridden with me, my supervisor has told me yet another thing I should be doing with the client. And he has the audacity to tell me that I am not getting enough calls in? He tells me that it's great that I've been picking up work, but that I still need to be able to cover all of my current jobs. Yet, I tried to hand him a squirrel job earlier this month that I thought was beyond me, and he handed it back to me, showing up to the job only to ask me how I thought it should be done. WTF? I don't think so.

Do not mistake me. I do not like to fight. This does not mean that I'm not a fighter. The gauntlet has been firmly cast, and I'm taking up the challenge. Up until today, I have backed him. I have defended him. I have explained his approach to all the coworkers who do not back him. No more. He is no longer friend; he is enemy.

I will give company R the pound of flesh and the quart of sweat. I will do whatever it takes to get the job done. I will do so by my rules. I will determine what a customer needs to get the job done. I will determine how long it should take (or how short). I will show them what I can do. Then, when I've worked enough to swing it, I will leave them and found company G. One man, one truck, my own set of rules, and minimal overhead. Company G will not outlive me and will never have more than one employee (with the possible exception of meinga.) The game is on.

I am sick to death of being treated like a dog or a 2-yr. old. I am sick to death of having every question being answered with "What's the solution?" while being told, "I'm only here to help you." I am sick to death of hearing contradictory instructions from my superiors. I am sick to death of having to ask for supplies 5 or 6 times, only to be shown on the last time that my requests have fallen on deaf ears.

They will get the work from me. The cost? My loyalty. So mote it be.

Current Location: chaosland
Current Mood: drunk as a skunk

This is much belated, but let's just say that (in case it's not BLEEDINGLY obvious) I've been having issues for a while with dealing with just about anyone online.

I'm going out of town starting tomorrow morning at 6 am. I will be at the U of Kentucky for a 3-day pest control symposium. I will be back late Wednesday night. Given that it's a symposium, I don't think my phones will be on me or on. Anyone needing to contact me on anything can do so through either my wife or pixie_mu.

This is going to be fun. It's going to entail a 6-hour drive each way with my supervisor, the branch manager for Wentzville, and a Residential tech that I don't know from Adam's left nut.

Current Location: chaosland
Current Mood: numb

Found out last night that I lost a friend due to a car accident. I'm still reeling from that one a bit. So I call up my sister, Lady Bex, to tell her and share the grief around a bit. She empathizes with me for a bit and then lets me know that she just found out that she's pregnant with a sixth child. Wow.

Current Location: chaosland
Current Mood: numb
Current Music: "And When I Die" --Blood, Sweat, and Tears

We just officially had the second smallest movie night we have had to date. That is to say, it was only the_geoffrey, lil_mischief, meinga, and myself. Still, it was good, primarily due to the movie. I decided on a whim to drag out Finding Neverland, and was reduced to absolute tears. I'm not sure that the film hits many people that hard, but it sure does a number on me. It got me to thinking, though.

Back in the day, sevenstars7 ran a fairly successful Changeling campaign. I think it was bradhicks who pointed out, during a peroid of OOC sharing of background info, that each of the characters had a fairly bleak background story. Silktongue, in this case, got off light in the razing with only being penniless and parentless and voluntarily out on the streets. (The stories got a lot bleaker from there.) My response of the time? Of course! I couldn't put into words, however, why I felt this was. I think I finally have.

Changelings are, if you boil down the concept far enough, children whose imaginations are so strong that they can carry others with them. What kind of child develops an imagination that strong? The ones that need to. The ones whose lives are so desolate and hopeless that the only option is to escape in any way they can. Certainly, most children faced with abuse, neglect, or death before they even have a taste of life are crushed under the wheel of it; but those whose wills are strong enough will leave behind this world and create into its void, its shadow, a world so breathtakingly beautiful and strong that others can only marvel at its intricacy. Why else do the melancholies always create the best works? Their vision releases and absolves their pain, and maybe, just maybe, gives them a brief respite.

This was why Changeling was so beautiful to me. These are the children whose lives are in utter ruin, and yet in spite of it, or maybe because of it, they are creating such grand illusions to capture the heart of those around them.

You are the one who makes us all laugh,
By doin' that you break down in tears.
Please don't be sad if was a straight life you had,
We wouldn't have known you all these years.

Current Location: home
Current Mood: pensive
Current Music: "Fool's Overture", Supertramp

Since I commented on stile99's LJ, I feel obliged to pass it on. Leave some sort of comment and...

1. I'll respond with something random I like about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I'll name something we should do together.
4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me (or just me).
5. I'll tell you my first/clearest memory of you.
6. I'll leave you a quote that is somehow appropriate to you.
7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.
8. If I do this for you, you should also post this on your journal so you can do the same for other people.

I'll do my best to be timely on it, if you'll do your best to be patient with me.

As taken from tonispncr and staceid . . .

Current Location: Home

I'm currently quite drunk, and for all the wrong reasons. Please, let me explain. 2 days ago, I found out that one of my most beloved aunts (the one that specialized in unconditional love) had a major stroke. Last night, I got more in-depth details. She walked into the ER under her own power, feeling the condition coming on. From there, the story goes downhill.

Aunt Dee walks into the ER, then becomes increasingly unresponsive. Fairly soon she's stripped down to communicating strictly through the fluttering of her left eyelash. Then . . . *Poof* . . . that's gone, too. She's completely unresponsive. Her brain's swollen to the point that even if she recovers, she will be gone mentally . . . a complete vegetable. The family (so as to sidestep the court order to disable it) has denied life support, feeding tube, or breathing tube. We're all waiting for her to die. Every one of us feels that we are dying inside.

Hail and farewell, Aunt Danine. I loved you deeply. I can never explain how much.

On the positive side, I'll have to make a trip soon. A trip to the one place that's always felt the most like home, even though I don't remember living there . . . Wisconsin. Hopefully, I'll have my full Family in tow, though I can't really hope for that.

Current Location: home
Current Mood: drunk as a skunk

Just finding it interesting to observe how the events of the past couple of months are shifting my elemental alignment from Air prominent, Fire secondary to Fire prominent, Air secondary. I'm not saying that I'm any less head-in-the-clouds, but my Elemental Fire has actually been outstripping even the level of my Elemental Air. I'm still not sure if this is good, bad, or indifferent.