The Return of Pandemonic

I can hardly believe it has been three years since I posted as Pandemonic. However, lest you think I have been lazy, incarcerated, or perhaps both, my real life person has been busy writing novels. Also busy working in the Real Life business, but that’s boring.

So far, I have completed three novels, self-published one, and am in the process of editing the other two. Also working on finishing a fourth. So I have been very busy. I’ve also been blogging in my real name.

So why would I come back to the Pandemonic blog?

In a word, anonymity. I love that while here, I am a nameless, faceless pandemonic person. My other blog features my real name. There I feel as though I can’t quite cut loose as myself. You always have to worry about stepping on someone’s toes. If you can say one thing about the modern man, most of us are too sensitive to take a joke, and too closed minded to look at things from varying perspectives.

This is why Pandemonic’s Time and Space was started: as a way to vent and bitch and moan and be politically incorrect without suffering the slings of Internet trolls. Been there, done that, and I can tell you, it’s no fun.

I nearly forgot the password and the email address I had used to launch this area of WordPress. But…obviously not. Perhaps I am not getting as old as I thought I was.

Anywhooo…I will be changing around the look of the blog. I feel a bigger need for anonymity.

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A Pain in the Neck

I have a referral for the physical therapist, because I have a pain in my neck.

Said pain developed after going to the writers’ conference. For three days, I schlepped my bag around, which contained a computer, business cards, phone, credit card, pens and plenty of synopsis (synopses?) of my book. My bag weighed about 15 pounds.

I have a recurring neck problem, and I’m not supposed to carry anything bigger than a small wallet. This was hard to do when first ordered by my doctor. In the good old days of good necks (and other younger things), I used to carry a purse the size of a small suitcase. My cell phone was one of those enormous monster flip phones, and I had to have snacks, ready change, napkins, sunglasses, etc. My kids were younger, so it doubled as a diaper bag. This way I would only have one bag and not two.

My current choice for purse is one of those small organizer things that looks like a wallet with a long shoulder strap. I have a closet full of those. For most days, I just need a license, a credit card, my checkbook and a pen. Oh, and my cell phone, but I’ve taken to putting that in my pocket, now that I don’t have a Blackberry.

I came back from the conference a month ago, but I’ve been putting off the doctor visit until this week. That’s because 1. I don’t like going and 2. our insurance sucks. But on Friday, I had to make an appointment. That’s because I couldn’t turn my head to the right. Being so crippled makes it difficult to drive. It’s also painful.

So now I have to go to the physical therapist, because massive doses of drugs and muscle relaxers aren’t doing anything. Oh, and the heating pad makes it feel better, but not for long.

I knew a psychologist who explained that when people complain of aches and pains, it related directly to their life and may not be so much to their body.  If your shoulders ache, it may be because you feel like you have the world’s problems on your shoulders. Therefore a “pain in the neck” really means that something in my life is figuratively a pain in the neck.

I can think of a thousand things that are “paining” me in the neck right now, but I doubt the physical therapist will help me with that.

Laziness Squared and Other Stuff

I do not know why, but this last week, I have felt incredibly lazy. I feel like the entire world has passed me by completely.

Could it be writing jet lag from NaNoing last month? Accomplishing the goal was rather impressive, if I do say so myself. Could it be that with the onslaught of winter, I am doing some mental hibernating? I don’t know… I just feel like doing absolutely nothing.

This does not mean that I feel sleepy. No, I’m not sleepy. In fact, I find it very hard to get a good night’s sleep, because Mr. Demonic keeps the furnace set at 68, which means in our room (farthest from the furnace) it is a bone-chilling 57 degrees. He also hogs the cat, which is my major heat source. (Grace is not allowed to sleep with us, which is fine. I don’t need a fight on the bed. The two critters are already jealous of each other.)

In trying to break from the laziness, last night we went to the symphony, where we were treated to a new, very illustrious conductor, recently snagged from a Washington. (I’m not saying which one, to make it hard for some people to figure it out who it was.) Mr. D usually sleeps through part of the performance, which is embarrassing because we have box seats right next to the stage. Everyone and their second cousin can see us. Last night was no different. During the performance of Carmina Burana, instead of being situated on the stage (which was jam packed), the tenor sang from the box next to ours. Doing so meant that all eyes were on the man, and therefore many saw my husband being roused out of sleep by a thunderous voice. (I literally could have touched the vocalist.)

I would like to think my husband’s constant slumber was due to laziness. He likes to think he is concentrating intently.

The other thing we finally did this week was to talk to an attorney about our estate. The last time that was done was ten years ago. We have been procrastinating this chore for at least three years. Our children are now grown and life is more complicated. The pot is also smaller, but that is due to our recent economic woes. Our former executors and trustees are now deceased. It was time. Dragging the old guy (Mr. D.) to the attorney’s office was like getting him to go to the dentist or the optometrist — it’s murder, man!

Restructuring the trust meant I also had to renew the life insurance policy on my husband. Every time I mention the word “life insurance,” Mr. D has a conniption. He thinks I am looking to off him like some of the black widows on Forensics Files, when in actuality, he is worth more to me alive than dead. Besides, when I found out how much we owe in total on our various mortgages, my breath was sucked from my lungs. This policy isn’t even going to pay the bank.

My New Year’s resolution is to end my laziness. I don’t know how I’m going to do that, but perhaps if I keep looking behind my shoulder, I will at last find a reason to do so.

My Pledge is in the Mail

Mr. Random Name is hosting a  Scheharazade Pledge for cyber world’s famous David Rochester. So far, an unofficial poll of pledges finds that the people are embracing the David Rochester situation with open arms.

I’m a good guy, and I like to donate to just causes whenever possible. That is why, after cooking the books and going over my expenses, I have decided to jump on the Pledge bandwagon. David, my contribution is in today’s mail. To prove it, I have included photographic evidence.

I know that it’s Sunday, but you should be receiving this envelope by Wednesday at the latest. I have used a business envelop (being cheap) so Mr. R, please don’t think that this is junk mail and throw it away. As you can see, this is a tidy sum. I’m hoping that it will at least keep you in kitty litter for a couple of months. Or cat food. Or your favorite coffee. Or, God forbid, if someone should happen to catch your eye and you decide to take her to a movie (please choose the matinee so you have some money leftover for popcorn).

Now, on the off chance that Mr. Rochester really doesn’t want to accept my “pledge” because maybe he has a problem with actually being a charity, I will offer this alternative. Mr. R can edit my novel, at least offer $25 worth of editing. Is that fair? Otherwise, consider this a gift.

I am proud to be part of the Scheharazade Pledge. I only wish I could give you more.

A Disturbing Dream

Last night, I had a rather disturbing dream.

I dreamt I was pregnant.

Not just a little pregnant, I was about six months along and as big as a house. The weird thing about the dream is that I had been hiding my pregnancy from Mr. Demonic. He had just started to notice me getting a bit pudgy around the middle.

It was such a disturbing dream that I immediately woke up in a cold sweat.

**A late disclaimer: Mr. D had his plumbing snipped about ten years ago, and I’m (*YEAH! YEAH!*) just a pinky length beyond menopause. This woman is not birthin’ any babies.

New Guilty Pleasure (Hobby)

Something happened to me a month ago.

I picked up some beads, and after that my entire world changed.

Some people have crack habits, others smoke cigarettes or drink. Me, I go to Michael’s and my eyes glaze over in the bead section.

Last weekend, I went to another bead show. It was that fiendish bead show at the beginning of September that caused all the problems for me. If you’ve never been to an auditorium filled with colorful rocks from all over the globe, I’m warning you now. Don’t go. You’ll be sucked into the vortex like a hapless space traveler.

Last weekend’s show concentrated on actual beadwork. You know, beaded handbags and such. I’m still in the jewelry making mode, and the intricate designs looked daunting. There were charming handmade clay beads, and cha cha bracelets that looked too fun. I was actually looking for sterling silver and semi-precious stones like tiger eye and turquoise, but somehow found myself buying hearts of many types. (My designs tend to gravitate towards hearts and crosses right now.)

During NaNoWriMo (in November, not far off), I plan on putting my Pandemonic blog on the back burner. I think I’ll be putting my beads back there too, along with house cleaning, Christmas shopping, learning Japanese and playing Scramble on Facebook. When I’m able, I’ll just post photos of my beads.

So if you don’t hear from me, I’ll be in one of two places. Hopefully, not in Michael’s again…

Two Very Interesting But Time Wasting Applications on Facebook

OK, I admit I am old. I can remember when there were no answering machines, much less cell phones with voice mail, and when only rich people had color TV. I remember when my dad brought the first microwave oven home back in the early 1970s, and when you could easily buy a damned good car for $160. (That’s what I spent on my first one.) If I stretch my memory, I could probably tell you about when dinosaurs roamed the Earth. That was back when it was flat.

But, I’m not that old. One “with-it” thing I did in the last couple of years was to get on Facebook, once they cleared a path through the coeds and college guys. But, no, I didn’t join on my own. I don’t think I could have figured it out.

My son invited me, okay?

At first it was just to keep up with him and his buds at school. Then my daughter joined, and of course I had to spy on her, too. Well, those of you who know me well, know that she got herself into quite a mess over on MySpace when she was 15. I’d rather not delve into the grisly details, but let’s just say she was a bit precocious for her age. A-hem…

Then, of course, some of my online pals joined and it was a party of sorts. A party where I would swoop in but only occasionally and chit chat as I was checking in on the kidlets.

It wasn’t long before MIB (my internet boyfriend) began to invite me to partake of some Facebook games. He’s big into the Knighthood thing, and he spends a lot of time on it as himself and his alter ego. (I’m not sure how that works. I tried having an alter once, but it got to be too confusing for me. Every once in a while, I’ll slip into that personality, but I there is no way I can be both at once.) One of our other mutual friends hangs out there a lot as well.

I couldn’t get Knighthood, but I kick ass at Scrabble. Facebook had a “Scrabulous” game, very much like Scrabble. In fact, they ripped it off so well, that Hasbro had a fit and commenced to sue. Facebook unceremoniously dismantled Scrabulous, without a so much as a head’s up. I was right in the middle of a great game, beating my son, soundly I might add.

In wake of the demise of Scrabulous, I was turned onto a couple of other games. It was slow go at first, but now I can see that if I don’t stop myself soon, I’ll be ready for an intervention, rehab and a 12-step program.

One of the games is PathWords, which is Scrabble on Adderall. I was terrible at it at first, because successful playing requires good peripheral eyesight and a fast draw on the mouse. My eyesight is, well, failing. I have two sets of bifocals, one for reading and the other for computer work/violin. It took a while before I could get used to seeing the entire board instead of concentrating on one word or area. As for the fast draw, I’m pretty quick with a traditional mouse, but slow down with the laptop. I also play (sometimes) while working, and have had to minimize the screen when taking important phone calls. I’m still in the game when I do that, but my score suffers.

The other game is one my son turned me onto. It’s called Kanji Box. For people who know me, they know I am learning Japanese. Sort of. Kanji Box is helpful with the characters, but it has no sounds, which makes relating one symbol to a word rather difficult. Sure you can print out the Kanjis for study, but I find I learn better in the altogether. Kanji Box is a quick drill of assorted Kanji symbols. You have to get 40% to move up. I started at the Grasshopper stage and at 30% I’m still there. Last night, I vowed to get 40%, so I sat online for two hours trying to achieve that. No such luck. The Kanjis are so difficult (like righteous and parliament), I’m wondering if native Japanese even know the terms.

Just think. I used to be addicted to Bejeweled.

Those were the good old days.