I want, someday, when I can be financially and geographically stable, to take a group of young girls, maybe in the capacity of a Girl Scout leader or something, and mold them into women of the world. I would teach them how to dance, how to be intellectually curious, how to make a damn good pot of tea, how to be an independent human while being at the same time feminine. Women that are not concerned with image, who don't need the approval of a man or of other females to feel vindicated, who figure out their own shit. And I don't mean the feminist propaganda "We're a sisterhood, we can do this!" kind of mentality, I wish to give them a refuge to actually grow a fucking soul. Plus I like pitching tents, and I totally miss camping.

I kind of feel like Swiss cheese. Actually, it's more like provolone. Yeah, definitely provolone.
The monkeys have been hosting tea parties with my boyfriend while I'm asleep. Not fair.
I had a strange dream where I was working for the modern day equivalent of the Von Trapps, and their creepy uncle kept following me around.
Sometimes when I take a short nap while I'm curled up with a novel, I don't really sleep, I just rest and let the last line I read repeat itself in my brain like it's some sort of literary mantra.
There is a huge difference between doing things in a childlike fashion, like blowing bubbles or liking My Little Pony, and immaturity. Actually, the most immature humans are the ones trying too hard to prove that they're grownups.
I am having far too much fun with these postit notes.
Extremely loaded statement, when used in the right context: "All Together Now!"
If you leave pancake batter sitting long enough, something happens to the water. I have no idea what, though. It just goes away and the batter thickens up, but all you have to do is just add more water, for some reason.
I've been having cravings for licorice lately. Don't know why.

Now for the science (from http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2009/03/090325162626.htm)
Brain Activity Associated With Phantom Limbs, Study Shows
ScienceDaily (Mar. 27, 2009) — Phantom limbs, often described after amputation, are also experienced as an extra limb in patients who are paralyzed on one side following a stroke. Referred to as supernumerary phantom limb (SPL), patients can usually perceive these limbs as a vivid somatosensory presence of an extra limb, but generally cannot see or intentionally move them. In some unusual cases, however, patients have reported seeing their phantom limb or feeling objects or body parts with it, which indicates that multiple areas of the brain may be involved in SPLs.
A new study on a patient who experienced an SPL which she could feel, see and intentionally move is published in Annals of Neurology, the official journal of the American Neurological Association and the Child Neurology Society. It is one of the very few studies to investigate brain activity connected to SPLs.
The study involved a 64-year-old woman who suffered a stroke and was subsequently paralyzed on her left side. A few days after the stroke, she experienced an SPL starting from the elbow of her paralyzed left arm, which she described as “pale,” “milk-white” and “transparent.” She claimed she could move, see and even use the SPL to touch parts of her body such as her head and right shoulder, but that she experienced it only when she decided to “trigger” it intentionally. She even claimed to be able to use it to scratch an itch on her head, with an actual sense of relief. She also reported that the phantom limb could not penetrate solid objects.
Led by Asaid Khateb of Geneva University Hospitals, researchers conducted functional magnetic resonance imaging scans to analyze the patient’s brain activity during actual and imagined movements of her healthy right hand, imagined movements of her paralyzed left hand and movements of the SPL.
The real movements of the right hand were associated the dominant activation of left areas of the brain associated with movement, perception of stimuli and visual processing, as expected. Similar but less extensive activations were seen with imaginary movements of the right hand. In contrast, imaginary movements of the paralyzed left hand showed dominant activation in areas associated with movement in right side of the brain. When asked to scratch her cheek with the SPL, areas of the brain associated with movement and vision were activated, which confirmed her report that she could see and move her SPL. In addition, a measurable sensory response was also detected when she scratched her left cheek with the SPL.
The authors note that there are probably different types of SPLs that differ in how they are manifested, the extent of motor control, the sensitivity to sensory feedback and patients’ mental framework and that it is unlikely that a single explanation will suffice for such clinically complex and diverse conditions. The current study is the first to demonstrate the neural correlates of the multimodal SPL, particularly the visual and somesthesic activation that accompanied the intentional SPL movements.
“Existing evidence from stroke-elicited SPLs convincingly implicates the mismatch between the subject’s well-established sensorimotor representations and a suddenly aberrant pattern of communication between the brain and the paralyzed limb,” the authors state, adding that the current case may represent a missing link between classical phantom limbs and autoscopic phenomena such as out of body experiences.
“Ultimately, however,” they conclude, “these conditions might offer a unique way to understand how the brain constructs a normal experience of bodily awareness and the self.”

And, Now the bananas!
  

Cutting Velvet into a specific shape = Pain in my ass.
I've been having a lot of weird dreams lately. And for some reason I like to give Micah an account of them right when we get up. Last night was something about an old hippie playing guitar in an airport, and then another one of stopping these kids from following a woman into a room because she looked like their old Chemistry teacher. And then yet another one starred some stalker coming into my grandmother's house and spraypainting violent riddles about me on her kitchen wall. The hell is going on with my brain?
Making a reputable webcomic has just recently gone on my list of "things to do before I turn 30". And I think I could accomplish it. Somehow.
Something I don't understand: people who only have about seven or eight interesting things to declare in any socialization. They're actually very common around the 20-something crowd. It's almost creepy.

In the Past 24 hours, I:
Made Green Tea Pancakes.
Met a cat with with equilibrium problems.
Saw more of Barrack Obama than I would want to see in a week.
Was asked to play makeshift matchmaker.
Figured out some really awesome ways to do costume eyeliner.
Bought Art Supplies
Cringed at a lot of lame music references.
Ate nothing but pizza.
Planned how to easily disguise aforementioned pizza place as a discotheque by night while watching Fox News.
Lamented the forgetting of my Kroger card in the cereal aisle.
Taught a guy's guy about the wonderful healing properties of Milano® cookies.
Proved that woman will always triumph over machine in the heart (and pants) of nerdy man.
Kissed in the rain.
Danced happily for no reason.
Listened to Queen from a tiny speaker.
Was generally awesome.

Last night Micah called me for two hours, texted me, sat on my balcony waiting, and freaked out when I didn't answer. Why? Because I was in a deep sleep with my phone in another room, and could not physically answer. I am not used to this. Caring. Having to answer to someone just so they know I'm okay. When I went back and read the text that said "Babe just letting you know im at your apt i hope your ok ill wait a while", I cried. Cried. What the hell? When did I get so close to another human being? I pride myself on being a loner, being an individual, taking others as they are but keeping them at arms length. When did I start setting out plates of sandwiches by twos? I think I'm in kind of deep, it's scary as fuck, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

I figure that if I can type this out before tomorrow, along with the choreography, maybe I can remember the damned thing.

Strophe 1 (Cassie's Group, we stand at Greek attention and watch)
"The Delphic stone of prophecies
(The Delphic stone of prophecies)
Remembers ancient regicide
(Remembers ancient regicide)
And a still bloody hand.
The killer's hour of flight has come.
He must be stronger than riderless
Coursers of untiring wind,
For the son of Zeus armed with his father's thunder (Thunder!)
Leaps in Lightning (Lightning!) after him;
And the Furies follow him, the sad Furies.

Antistrophe 1 (Us, Lined up Dallas, Keshia, Me, Ayaka, and Lisha, Dallas speaks, the rest of us are turned left side to the audience, looking down at the floor)
"Holy Parnassos' peak of snow
(Dallas gestures with both arms, causing Keshia to left arm fall, arabesque, turn body to right, and step into place. The rest of us follow in ripple.)
Flashes and blinds that secret man
(The four of us step right towards Dallas, right arm up, speaking this line in unison after Lisha finishes her arabesque)
That all shall hunt him down
(Dallas turns and marches stage left, we take a step backwards with our left feet as he passes us)
Though he may roam the forest shade
(Dallas turns to us, sweeps his right arm out on the word "roam", and we scatter, looking scared)
Like a bull gone wild from pasture
To rage through glooms of stone
(Dallas starts trilling like Sean Connery, getting very loud and impassioned. On the word "Stone", Keshia, I, Ayaka, and Lisha step towards him, one after the other, saying the word "stone" loudly.)
Doom comes down on him, flight will not avail him;
(On the word "flight", Dallas crouches down slightly, the four of us touch his back and walk backwards with him, as if dragging him with su.)
For the world's heart calls him desolate,
And the immortal Furies follow, for ever follow.
(Dallas, Ayaka, Lisha, and I are still in position, Keshia steps out towards the audience and finishes these two lines)

Strophe 2 (Cassies group again)
But now a wilder thing is heard
From the old man skilled at hearing Fate in the wingbeat of a bird.
Bewildered as a blown bird, my soul hovers and can not find
Foothold in this debate, or any reason or rest of mind.
But no man ever brought - none can bring
Proof of strife between Thebe's royal house,
Labdakos' line, and the son of Polybos;
And never until now has any man brought word
Of Laios' dark death staining Oedipus the King.

Antistrophe 2 (We are all still in the same position)
Divine Zeus and Apollo hold
(Keshia turns stage left, looks up, and raises her left hand in turn. We repeat her words and actions)
Perfect intelligence alone of all tales ever told;
(The four of us walk forward, towards Keshia, chanting this line in unison)
And well though this diviner works, he works in his own night;
(I step forward, turn my head stage left, sweep my left arm out from the elbow, and gesture towards Ayaka)
No man can judge tha rough unknown or trust in second sight,
(Dallas steps forward, grabs my arm, pushes it down, I step back, and the girls get in a semi-circle)
For wisdom changes hands among the wise.
(The four girls raise the pitch of our voices to creepy girlwitch tones, put our right hand in the center follow through up and behind, our gazes following our hands)
Shall I believe my great lord criminal
(Lisha crouches down under Dallas's left elbow)
At a raging word that a blind old man let fall?
(Keshia steps forward)
I saw him, when the carrion woman faced him of old,
(Dallas, Ayaka, and I look up, raise our right arms in the direction of our gaze)
Prove his heroic mind! These evil words are lies.
(Dallas goes Sean Connery on us again, Keshia, Lisha, Ayaka, and I gather back into the semicircle, and chant "evil words are lies" three times, each time dipping a bit lower at the middle until we are in ragdoll pose at the end of the third chant)

Things only I and a couple of other people would understand:
 - I have an envelope with a naked woman inside. And it's not dirty, not dirty at all...
 - There is a huge difference in being a sexual woman and being a reader of Cosmo.
 - Jim Henson's Storyteller is quite possibly so badass a show that George Lucas's CGIing face still hurts twenty years later.
 - Motorboat = 2 boobs, Trolleyboat = 1 boob
 - And, last but not least: "I want dead baby in my hair". This one I will probably have to explain before I get a hundred enraged pro-lifers on my case. We were talking about how placenta is put in some shampoos. There. Now it's not so horrible.

I went to a slam poetry event, and you know what I got out of it? I want to learn how to make perrogies. That's it. That's all.
Something my burnedoutedness has given me: a flavor of assertive not yet seen before in the RaeRae. I keep telling stage managers, directors (well, maybe not so much her because she finally learned how to speak my language), other designers to basically stuff it up their ass when they change plans on me. On the upside, I might get to order some kick-ass tea sets soon.
When the weather warms again, I will write haikus out of sheer thankfulness.

Is it odd to say that I spent sixteen hours traveling round trip, spent four hundred dollars on an adventure of professional proportions, and I kind of feel like I wasted my time? I don't really think so. It taught me some things, like the fact that travel is just a matter of picking a direction and moving towards it. Damn the fact that my parents made going places such a big ordeal when I was younger. There's so much of the world I could have seen if only I would have been able to just go.
This weather makes me happy. Warmth, sunshine, dry air. Absolutely beautiful.
I also have this problem of wanting to live behind my camera, but not turning the damn thing on. This needs to be remedied soon.