Busy.

Busy being in love.

Busy geeking out.

Busy relaxing.

Summer is good. Live long and prosper.

As unixfan reminded me that I didn’t make a blog post.
I did tweet, however.
So no, I didn’t forget/not know about this magical moment. I just didn’t bother blogging about it until now.
So yes, happy late 1234567890 unix epoch woohoo!

My old installation of Wordpress had extremely weird issues with embedding Youtube videos, so we’re going to try embedding one now.

A talking cat.

I finally upgraded Wordpress to whatever version is latest, thanks to this plugin.

If anything seems to not be working properly, let me know.

Aren’t you happy? I’m starting to blog again!
Celebrations aside, I’ve got some stuff on the brain I feel like blogging about. I’m sure none of you are too interested, but I enjoy writing, so bear with me.

You may or may not know that throughout my life I’ve been a mild insomniac. Ever since I was a baby, I’ve never slept “normally”. I’m not trying to fetch attention, and I’m certainly not whining/bragging. It’s not too big of a problem. It’s not something I’m proud of. It’s just how it is.
Why blog about my sleeping habits, you ask? Because maybe I can get some feedback. I’m not looking for help, just some feedback.
I don’t have trouble staying asleep. I’ll wake up in the middle of the night, yes, but I can usually get back to sleep easily. My problem is getting to sleep in the first place. I’ve since discovered my reason why - I think too much!
To me, a surefire method of falling asleep is a simple one: stop thinking. I believe that’s how most people fall asleep. They lose control of their thoughts, which eventually become dreamlike and take over their consciousness. I suppose for most people, it’s simple enough. For me, however, it’s near impossible. I’ve spent many nights laying in bed, awake as can be, for hours with no success. I think the longest I’ve gone trying to sleep unsuccessfully is 5 hours, but I may be mistaken.

So, my problem is that I can’t stop voluntary thought, that I find it incredibly hard to “let go” of your mind and let it guide itself. What can make me stop thinking? Well, an obvious answer is drugs. I’ve tried a variety of substances to help me sleep, but I’ll only be talking about one today.
I’ve had some of the most success with lorazepam, or Ativan, a schedule IV (prescription only, sorry) benzodiazepine. I will not disclose my source, so do not ask me.

What’s a benzodiazepine, you ask? “I am too lazy to click your provided link!” you say? Benzodiazepines, or “benzos”, work on GABA receptors (think ethyl alcohol/booze), in this case effectively depressing the central nervous system. I suppose that, in essence, lorazepam can get one “drunk”. The feeling is similar. Benzos are commonly prescribed for anxiety and sedation. Surely you’ve heard of Ambien (Zolpidem) - that’s a benzo. I’m hoping by now that you’ve got the gist of what these drugs are used for by now.

My experiences with lorazepam are limited, but successful. (Please take note that I have never taken lorazepam for recreation. It is not a drug one could get “high” from.) It puts me to sleep within a couple of hours, so I take it at least an hour before I plan on sleeping. However, while it works very well, I experience some strange side effects, and the purpose of me going on about this drug is because I want to know if anybody else has similar feelings with this drug, or a similar benzo.

About two hours after taking it, I get what I can only describe as a “flow” of words. Some sort of creative sector in my brain is unlocked, a barrier is broken somewhere, because with that drug I find that writing becomes extremely easy. It’s almost as if the drug improves my writing skill. It’s incredibly weird, I have googled to no avail, and have found nothing of the sort. In fact, I’ve found that the drug may cause “trouble with language”! A paradoxical effect, maybe? As difficult as it becomes to physically function properly, as slowed as my thoughts become (thus being able to sleep), why in the world would it make me write well? I should clarify that it doesn’t “stop” my thoughts, but instead it makes it easier for me to stop them. It gives me a temporary “off” switch.

Another interesting effect (but I’ve heard a few more accounts of it) is that it makes me hallucinate. Not strongly, and I don’t see things that aren’t there. Instead, things that are already there are distorted. My wallpaper will “reach out” to me, particles will “swim” around. They aren’t bad hallucinations. There are no feelings of terror. They’re amusing, if anything. Would this be another paradoxical effect?

I think my favorite thing about lorazepam is that in the morning, I feel great. It doesn’t make me feel like shit in the morning (as doxylamine does), and it doesn’t give me disturbing dreams (see melatonin). I do understand that benzos are addictive, but my supply (and consequently, experience) is very limited, so I don’t think that will be a problem.

So, any readers here have anything to share? As far as the “insanity” goes in my post title, there’s no real purpose. I suppose it just fits.

tl;dr version: LOLS SLEEPY DRUGZ MAEKS ME WRIET GUD AND SEE THANGS!!!

I should have a separate blog, where I only write my strangest dreams.

I’ll call this one Spooks.

My memories in the dream told me that I was a very high-ranked shaman of some sort, belonging to a sacred religion/cult, which was kept alive by a small underground tribe. I remember that I had killed many men, by either strangulating them, slitting their throats, or using magic. I briefly felt guilty, but realized that I had done it for the greater good.
There was an opposing cult. I remember not what they were called in my dream, but we’ll call them “Purists” as they remind me of fundamentalist Christians.
The main figure of the Purists was a woman, who looked middle-aged, and was very devout. She didn’t agree with our “dark ways”, claiming that we were blind to the truth, believing that her cult was ultimately stronger than mine. “You will know the truth eventually,” she kept yelling at me, “we will thrive deeper underground, the truth being known to only us, as you refuse to accept it!”
My people lived mostly underground, in tunnels and trenches covered with grass, tree branches, and various other vegetation. But she planned to go even further under the earth. I think depth underground had some sort of social statement associated with it.
I went back to my home (which was above ground, for some reason), and slept. Sleeping would give me Spooks. Spooks (Spoox?) was a magical spice, which the Purist cult was highly against, calling it evil magic, some not even believing in its ability at all. But I knew it was real. I had killed many men with it.
I woke up, with a huge supply of my magic spice. The Purist woman noticed, yelling out “She has Spooks!”
I quickly got out of bed, running outside to face the Purist cult that awaited me. They were surrounding the entrances to my underground cities, threatening to cave them all in. I had to take action! I threw tiny amounts of the spice at them, a type of Spooks that would knock a foe unconscious immediately. Purists left and right started falling down traps my tribe had constructed, falling deep underground to be further dealt with by more shamans like myself.
All that was left was the fundamentalist woman, who soon got scared and clumsy, tripping into trenches and scurrying out.

Sadly, as usual, my dream ends near the best part. I did ask my mother, who was watching thriller movies at the time, if she watched anything that sounded remotely like my dream. She says no.
So, I suppose it was just my crazy imagination that generated this.

First of all, no, I did not have to kill my dog.

I had a dream last night, a dream I was killing a dog. A mercy killing. I don’t recall why the dog needed to die, but I kept shooting it with a handgun to no avail. It wouldn’t die, instead its eyes would just become dislocated, hanging from its face. Yet it seemed to show no pain, only wanting affection.
It truly breaks my heart thinking about it.

On a lighter note, my friend Aaron had a dream he took my (now infamous) flying jar of mayonnaise for a walk.

Christmas in England was nice, to say the least. I know you hate me going into details, so I’ll only once again point you in the direction of my photos.
I’ll just have you know that England is not cold. Wales is cold. Freeze-your-balls-off cold. The temperature is somewhat tolerable, but the bitter wind is not. I like Wales, though. Cardiff is neat.

I’m 17 now, wow. I had Staci come down to AZ for my birthday, which was barrels of fun, especially the time when she got annihilated by alcohol, so drunk that she locked herself in the closet, completely unable to fathom escaping. So, we (Phillip and myself) shot her with my air-soft gun and an upside-down can of Dust-Off. The good news is that she puked mostly on herself, and not on my floor.
It was also Staci’s first time experiencing a hangover. Phillip and myself were fine, as we have brains, and we frequently reminded her of our well-being. Hint: eat lots of absorbent food, such as bread, and drink lots and lots of water. Knowing the mechanisms of hangovers helps a lot in avoiding them. Maybe geeks are more responsible drinkers due to our desire to know everything. Geeks also tend to drink a lot, I wonder why that is? But I digress.
Staci seemed to enjoy Arizona, which surprises the hell out of me. Probably was the weather.
She got a tattoo at our local parlor, of the AIR flag (some Nine Inch Nails thing, google it). It looks pretty good, so check it out.

All in all, her stay was a nice one. It’s good to have finally met a friend of almost 4 years.

Happy Birthday to me! I’m 17 now. Here are some photos from England!

I’m tired as all piss, so I’ll write a post possibly about my English adventures and also possibly about how the infamous Staci and I have finally met in person.

Back in sunny shitty Arizona.
More to come when I’m adjusted to AZ time.