palmerpink

So I've been playing a lot of Dead Cells, and while it's been crazy fun, it's also been crazy frustrating. Dead Cells  is a roguelike or rogue-lite metroidvania from Motion Twin... Basically, you explore and battle through this ever-changing, randomly generated castle, and when you die you start over. But it's never the same twice, and you improve as you go—new weapons, new tricks, and so on. I know part of the problem is I lack or am at least weak in some of the basic skills necessary, such as timing and strategy and such. I keep forgetting to dodge or get hit by stupid attacks and all that, and it gets really frustrating. Re my thread on #DeadCells : I do love it, but I am also struggling. I suspect weak eye-hand coordination and forgetfulness make most action games difficult for me; I tend to rush in swinging blindly, and I'm having to unlearn that here. But maybe this game can help? 🤔 — Tophie Palmer (@palmerpink) June 25, 2019 Frustration asid...

Right now, I feel like I'm running around trying to do all kindsa things I think I want to do and think I need to do, while unsure what I actually want or need. It ends up a noncommital mess of half-assery instead of any of the useful things I'd wanted in the first place. Of course, I'm exaggerating, somewhat. In reality, the bulk of it is confined to looking for jobs, considering school, and weighing moving out. And it's the how's and when's, as well as the which and which nots. Do I really want to saddle up the responsibility of going back to school right after starting a a new job? Is moving out of my parents' basement with its marginal rent and into a real place with real rent at the same time as incurring more student loan debt really that good of a plan? But these are things that, if artificially, would move my life forward. And it's felt ungratifyingly stuck in one place for much too long--my patience is running out, which is probably the worst f...

Asking for help can be tough, but sometimes tougher still is figuring out what to ask for. I'm sitting outside my therapist's office before my appointment. And I keep wondering--what am I going to talk about? It's more a "where do I start...?" than a "what is there to say...?" situation, but either way it comes down to needing helping and wanting help but not being totally sure how to ask for it. There is some major (or at least majorly frustrating) dysfunction in my brain; of this much I'm certain. I'm not sure, though, where it's tripping me up or how it manages to trick me every time. So how do I ask for help? What am I asking for? It's rather a tricky trouble. I suppose I could focus on specific frustrations of the week, then talk with him of ways of approaching them differently, etc. But it isn't just with him I need to work on asking for help. I have other resources I don't (adequately, responsibly) take advantage of. Fr...

Well, that's an exaggeration, but it's in the name of...um...a mildly ironic play on words necessitated by a lack of anything cleverer. Totally. So I got asked on a really lovely date for last night. Nothing too crazy. Just grabbing gelato in Chinatown and walking the National Mall. Kinda sweet, really; certainly a lovely way to meet and get to know someone, yeah? But I'd lost my wallet. Of course, I'm too proud/unsmart to think to ask someone to lend me cash (like, 3 different people all said they would've), and of course I look everywhere. So I got to look kind like a lameass. I mean the guy seems to be pretty understanding but...still. I feel  like a jerk all the same. What sucked was I couldn't even buy myself a pizza to console myself! How unfair is that!? You know, in a totally it-was-prolly-for-the-best-you-didn't-you-fat-asshole kinda way. But then I found it. I found my damn wallet. In my gymbag. In the pocket I normally would have put it...

Lord knows I really want to rant right now; I've been angrier, sure, and I've felt more hurt, but the temptation is there to tear into this guy. But I'm supposed to be a grown up. He's supposed to be my friend--and I do care about that. I'm not supposed to even be taking these things so seriously anymore. So why the fuck am I? So I was dating a guy recently; we had four dates. I thought we were really starting to click. I'll admit it--I'd even begun to like the guy. Not quite like-like him, but there was a definite fondness growing. As I was learning more about him, I was liking what I learned more and more. We seemed to have chemistry, too. It was pretty nice how I could talk about smart stuff with him without either a) feeling like I was supposed to be talking down to him or b) feeling like he had to challenge me to a contest of who was the smartest fuck in the room. It was natural, intelligent, fun conversation. And that was really cool. I was defin...

(Is that even the plural...? Oh well, too late; it's already written, and I've decided my ear thinks it's pretty.) I could write reams about how I feel when I see a hot guy. In fact, I know I have; there are embarrassing notebooks overly versifying the subject already--embarrassing not so much for raciness as, more often than not, lameness. Anyway, besides the more directly libidinal thrust a hot guy can put into normal daily rhythms, there's also those deeper effects and reflections. Prolly merely my usual overthinking, but sometimes it can't be helped. Today, there were two guys that got me off kilter like that. Damn them--for being hot and being frustrating! The first was some kinda nurse or doctor or dentist--he was in scrubs, let's leave it at that. He had blonde hair and sunlit eyes and a glorious smile. He came in looking for some cologne though wasn't too sure what as he hardly wears any. For all I knew he was 35 but damn if he wasn't th...

I had a real long talk with my manager yesterday. It was good--overdue but grown up. It left me feeling the need to change how I act and treat myself. Shit's gonna get serious, bitches. Or so I hope. So, after the conversation, I was kinda pissed at myself. Possibly--hopefully--a good kinda pissed. And I think I came away having learned some important shit. I hope I can keep these lessons present in mind as they're as relevant as they are significant.

So I've been working this parttime gig at Macy's. Visual merchandising--from 8 to 1, which means I have to get up pretty goddamn early. I did pretty well today; I'm just about used to this sleep schedule. I was outta bed around 6:30, maaan....nuts. The rest of the week was a bit mixed: some days I ran late (only hadda get a ride from mom once) other days roughly on time. Today I was running early and so that was heartening. I really like working here so far--and not entirely because I'm getting paid more and have a moderately substantial number of hours. the work is good, even paced, and I feel appreciated. I do really well with that. I like getting some positive feedback overall; it doesn't need to be fawning or worshipful. Like my manager has tested me sayingthey things like "thank you for the hard work" or "you did well on the garlands, im grateful for your help". But we can discuss why I like that so much later. Right now I'm almost...

My store had its holiday floorset this past weekend; the last 2 nights/days were a hellish, chaotic mass of stress and physical exertion. It was probably my 10th floorset, at least, but this time I couldn't help getting extremely frustrated and surly towards the end. I love my store and can't deny having contemplated some kinda management role from the very beginning. I like coordinating people, and recently I've wanted to hold people accountable for things like tasking pace. But as exciting as that could be, I'm not so sure it's what I want anymore. Naturally, it can be a long process to become a manager, but I'm aiming to get the seasonal shift lead position at my store this holiday season. Essentially it's a temporary key holder position meant to help with the extended hours and rise in traffic. It can also lead to further management positions. While this is a perfectly exciting possibility, it will be stressful. Hopefully I can figure out how to k...

See, I feel really compelled to do some somethings. I'm just not sure what, or how, or even if I actually "can". Part of me wants to do creative things like work on some long ignored projects or conceive some new ones. Part of me wants to/knows I should do some responsible things like some paperwork and make some calls. On the one hand, there are such doubts swimming about my little mind and, on the other, such guilt for not working on these things. So while some things seem difficult or unmanageable, others feel all the more obligating for every bit I consider doing something else instead of them. And of course mixed in there is general confusion and particular uncertainties. Like, I just don't know what to do, and I don't feel certain about anything one thing I start setting my mind on. Too much I could choose to do and too much worry about whatever I choose not to. The other day, I noted that perhaps my greatest curse is a failure at prioritization. ...

It's a wondrous thing. Also, evil. It never flows quite right, it seems. It always plays tricks on me. I've read that the perception of (the passage of) time can be heavily affected by ADD. It's distorted by everything from the moment to moment inattentiveness to excitement. This means I often tend not to realize how long things take or will take--that is, how long I took doing something or how long I'll need to do something. I've learned to cope with it (mostly); other people think I'm crazy sometimes, othertimes they think I'm just bullshitting them. But there's a reason, a method to my madness. Or unmadness. Either way. For example: Because of a scheduling snafu--or as I like to call them, a clerical error*--I was scheduled to potentially work today when I was already supposed to be at an appointment. My manager said it was ok if I came in later on (if they end up needing me at all). Naturally he asked when I expected I could get to the sto...

I was literally on my way to work when I wrote most of this post: I don't much like my post from the other day. It's in that whole category of rambly, unnecessary, even tedious posts. Surely redundant, too. But beside that (and the high school esque tone of its platitudes) it was a good effort overall, I suppose. I've caused myself a lot of frustration at work recently, and it's good I'm trying to do something about it--and something generally responsible at that. And what's also great is I feel I have been making progress at work. I think I'm getting my game back; my general effort and performance particularly has improved. Out of 8 transactions the other night I got 2 people to apply for credit cards. That shit ain't easy. It helps that I'm praying again. I almost hadn't noticed i'd lapsed, but it feels nice to get back into it. They're still modest little prayers, and I'm still praying to Walt (Whitman), but it helps some, I th...

It's all become a blur since I lost my twitter account. I don't know how to carry myself anymore or how to handle ordinary situations. I'm just a mess. A softly weeping, crooning mess cradling my android with loving pity and confusion. It's not all that bad but I am kinda thrown by all this. As I mentioned in the video below, it's as much that old feeling of having "lost some part of me" as it is the losing the ability to complain to all my friends about it, too. At this point I'm considering making a "jail" account to use until (when? if?) my old one is reinstated. Hilariously, my biggest problem isn't whether to make it but what to name it. Ahaha. Ha. Yeah, I'm a little frustrated. Frustrated that it's taking them so long to check out an obvious mistake. Like, I emailed them giving them my best guess/explanation about what might have happened, even apologized, including most everything they'd need to scope it out. And s...

Yeah, in case you hadn't already known, I'm a Muse fan. I stole this post's title from their hit "Hysteria". Seemed relevant--maybe because of its (ludicrously gorgeous) video. See, today I woke up with (yet another?) musing on obsession. And this video screams, to me, OBSESSION. Exaggerated, of course, but it's there. There's also the breakdown and the rage. I was thinking how much obsession can hurt, immediately begging the question "So, why obsess at all?" The answer may be self-evident, but still important and relevant to other hurty things that plague my life.

I haven't even re-read my last post . It was an attempt to resolve or explain the resolutions I'd arrived at about the post before it . Of course I decide to write such an important, meaningful post when I'm literally falling asleep at the keyboard. Like, nodding off, sitting up, hands hitting random keys. Good timing, Chris. Well, I wanna (briefly) restate the good progress I was trying to convey in case, you know, that post turned incoherent or misleading in any way. From both posts, you can probably infer I was having some boy troubles. One crush in particular had caused me some serious heartache and frustration. It really sucked. What really sucked about it was how much it resembles all my other troubles with boys, just made more poignant by how long and how badly I've liked & respected this guy. I get to fantasizing, and not just sexually mind you, and I get so attached to those fantasies and hopes. I start reading into any sign they might be true--that w...

Bless the little dear, but she can be  such  a pain. See, Parker and I live down in the basement, and, not unwillingly, take care of my family's cats who pretty much reside down here too. There's Marcel, who is basically super cat/my feline boyfriend; he's an orange cat (aka "marmalade" mmm), who's affectionate but not insistent--loving without the pushiness some cats possess. There is also Cali, a gorgeous little calico; she's the "Little Girl" of the house and the princess in residence. Marcel, of course, is perfect and only brings us joy and amusement. Cali, on the other hand, can be a raging bitch. Of course, she's on the counter. Goddamnit. Cali has had, and will likely continue to have, problems with hairballs. That was the start of this trouble. Puking. Lots of puking. We dubbed her "The Puke-Monster" and would say she was "full of puke". She's had these hairball issues for a long while, years off ...

Ugh. Two days without my ADHD med and I'm flipping balls, man. Like, as usual, that first day was full of sleep. I literally slept all day. But by about the second day (today), that part of the withdrawal has waned and what I'm left with is a brain on crack. Ironic, since it's just lacking its speed. Point is I want to do things. Not a lot of things or anything terribly important, I suppose. But like, I wanna write this serious-ish blog that I've had kinda in mind since Saturday, or like workout, or stuff like that. But my brain just  won't . It's like. Oo, that's a song! Oo, my hat fits funny--off with hat!! Oo, kitty! Oo, there are tabs in my webbrowser! Oo, WTF, my slipper's on the wrong foot--or is it?! Let's find out! Oo, I miss my hat--put it back on, backwardsways! Sigh. Thankfully I'll have my meds again by the time I start work. So I'll be mostly normal again. Still. Goddamnit. Goddamned ADHD.

Everyone's been bitching about the "new" Zodiac in the last day or so, and it's really making my skin crawl. I'll be frank--I've always viewed astrology as a harmless, amusing pasttime and with idle curiosity. I've nothing against it nor the people who eagerly look up their horoscope every day. But it's this shit people are whining about that's got me grinding my teeth. " The old zodiac was fine--why did they have to change it!?! ", " I was born a Pisces--and I'll die a Pisces! ", " Fucking astronomers... ", and so on. Learn some fucking science. Or, if that's too much, how about learning some facts, at least. It'll put the whole thing into a much clearer perspective. I'll link to this blog post again because between the main post and the author's updates, it covers pretty much everything. These astronomers did nothing to the zodiac. Nature & physics have  been doing this for the...

My high school hag used to say that--"Green means 'Go!'!"--and now I say it when I'm on my bike at intersections. It's sort of a declaration to the cosmos that I have some kind of invisible right of way. I also just realized it couldn't get much greener than biking--my carbon footprint is, like, nil or stuff. All this biking has been a new experience for me. Being able to go farther for freer and timelier too is kinda amazing. My legs and ass have never been finer, either. I'm also losing the pudge I put on over the summer. Naturally, though, as a second hand bike, there have been a few hitches here and there. It's a lot like sex (but what isn't?): overall fuckin' great but there's always a thing or two--something the other guy does, some habit or oversight, or maybe it's your bad afterall--that just nags at your ability to quite give over. Kinda cuts into the kinky good times, you know? Especially over time; you thought it...

In other news, I ignored all the warnings and omens and actually watched  Disaster Movie the other night. When can I have my sight back? I've taken to watching a lot of bad movies recently--always enjoyed them since I grew up on MST3k--and I thought I was prepared. I thought I could handle any bad movie. I thought I could have fun with it. I was wrong. Very very wrong.