February 22nd, 2012

children of dune - leto 1

i like wednesdays

For very irritating personal reasons that do not need to be explored at this juncture--or possibly ever--I ended my self-imposed ban on Supernatural and started where I left off in season four, which amounts to watching the entirety of season four and the beginning of season five in less than forty-eight hours. Even for my media consumption habits, that's like, a lot, and I feel as if I should like, be slouched in some kind of bean bag chair talking about the colors man. The colors.

I also didn't realize fanfic really understated a few things.

In other news, Child got the first of his three HPV shots and whined like he'd been beaten with sticks that his hip hurt while I stared into eyes that are exactly level with mine, because that shit only works when you aren't officially 5'9", except when seconds later you lose control of your limbs and fall over your feet, at which time fine, I shouldn't have laughed that hard.

My medication was adjusted again and I have an appointment in two months to check again, which may be a warning that Thyroid Bill (ie, my thyroid, new name!) may either not be long for this world or is at least going to embrace sloth as a lifestyle choice more and more.

That reminded me of the debate ongoing between using Temporarily Abled or Currently Abled for the able bodied that pops up every so often; sitting in the doctor's office after the last couple of months of slowly growing lethargy that took off like whoa a few weeks ago to the point where it would take hours to completely wake up even after I got up and went to work, constantly starving and constantly freezing and sixteen hours of sleep didn't ever seem to even touch the huge well of exhaustion made me think my stance on CAB as a working term. Hypothyroidism isn't disabling at all until it is, and even knowing the signs to look for, it still took me literal months to really believe this shit was happening again, that my body lost that little skirmish and I lost a tiny bit of functionality that seems so stupid because it's so small a thing, but it touches everything; how I sleep, how I eat, how I work, how I interact, how I feel, my ability to think. I really should have sat down and played sudoku a month ago; when my speed drops and I can't hold the numbers in my head, it's time to visit the doctor.

Links!

From comments in a recent sf_d post, The Itch, Its mysterious power may be a clue to a new theory about brains and bodies. - advisory for about half of paragraph of very mild squick on page two.

The account of perception that’s starting to emerge is what we might call the “brain’s best guess” theory of perception: perception is the brain’s best guess about what is happening in the outside world. The mind integrates scattered, weak, rudimentary signals from a variety of sensory channels, information from past experiences, and hard-wired processes, and produces a sensory experience full of brain-provided color, sound, texture, and meaning. We see a friendly yellow Labrador bounding behind a picket fence not because that is the transmission we receive but because this is the perception our weaver-brain assembles as its best hypothesis of what is out there from the slivers of information we get. Perception is inference.


I'd not sure how to summarize this; using several accounts, they put together an intriguing theory that may cover problems as diverse as phantom limbs and obsessive scratching as a problem not with nerves or a mental illness, but a misfire in interpretation of sensory data. I need to research this more.

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children of dune - leto 1

i'm at an apocalyptic crossroads

Person Who Will One Day Become Warlord-Ruler Of What Was Once Nebraska Born In Omaha Hospital

Okay, I'm torn; it's not like I want to spend my undead existence in a pink vat miles below sea level dreaming of my own voiceless screams of horror while Child fruitlessly tries to clone me in his skull-shaped Pacific Island headquarters surrounded by mindless minions (some of whom will have such colorful names as The Murder of Crows, The Albatross of Despair, The One Without a Cool Name, look, he's fifteen and plays Magic the Gathering after school; what do you expect?), nor am I entirely comfortable with his plans to create a hybrid human-reptile army (or a cockroach-human hybrid army for radiation survival purposes).

But. I am his mother, and he brings me coffee when I want it. Should I tell him about this Nebraska threat or not?

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