Month: January 2015

Woken up by a car alarm outside our house — it wasn’t our car, although that was the first thing we both thought, immediately followed (by me, at least) by isn’t our car alarm more obnoxiously loud? — and the dream I was having before then is already fading. It was something about having to attend a comic convention for work, but having to commute for that convention, for some reason. I can remember coming home to discover my family was visiting, and being surprised that they’d decided to buy food for dinner and also redecorate our house. I’m sure that says something about my relationships to both work and family, but because I’m still quasi-asleep and because I didn’t get to see the dream through to the end, I’m not going to draw any conclusions. For all I know, my subconsciousness had worked out a hell of a last-minute reveal that’d turn the whole thing around.

rachelandmiles:

Listeners!

Due to a scheduling SNAFU, we’ve got a little extra lead time to collect questions for Episode 40, in which we’ll be sitting down with writer G. Willow Wilson to talk about her current run on X-Men. If you’ve got questions for Willow—or about current X-titles in general—please send ‘em our way by Friday!

Cheers,
R&M

Long after it has conquered everyone else, I’ve become obsessed with The Great British Bake-Off, which is now airing in the U.S. as The Great British Baking Show. (I don’t know why the title was changed; was “bake-off” too confusing a title for American audiences?) I could try and explain why, talk about the fact that it manages to marry what I enjoy about reality contests like Top Chef and Project Runway — neither of which I’ve seen in years, admittedly, and so may be entirely misremembering — with a kindness that’s surprising and pleasant, or that I find Mel and Sue’s hosting to be particularly charming. The truth of the matter is, though, that it makes me want to start baking again.

A couple years ago, I was big into baking, and experimenting with what I baked; a new (and eager) baker, I’d get books from the library and devour them, thinking well, what if I did this…? or maybe if I took this method and matched it with that recipe like an eager scientist. It was fun, and new; I enjoyed doing it a great deal. And then… Well, I’m not sure what happened; I want to be glib and say that 2014 happened, with its bad vibes and oppressive worldview, but I’m not sure that’s true. Somewhere, I started feeling as if I didn’t have time, or I was always too tired, to bake. I just stopped.

Watching The Great British Bake-Off, I feel — inspired isn’t the right word, but I feel excited about the prospect of baking again. This might end up being the year I get fat from baking cookies again. Watch out, world.

It sounds like boasting to write this, but I don’t really have anxiety dreams anymore. It’s not that I’m not anxious about anything — little could be further from the truth! — but merely that I don’t tend to dream about that, for some reason. When I was younger, those would be the kinds of dreams I’d have on a worryingly regular basis, waking up nervous and convinced that I don’t measure up, but something about growing older meant that those faded, to be replaced by stranger (and generally, more entertaining) dreams.

I say this because, last night, I had an anxiety dream, and one about the strangest, least likely thing imaginable: a podcast. Specifically, I had been drafted in to help out on  particularly popular podcast I listen to, and was convinced that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, with the wrong personality and just very much not what the fans of this particular podcast wanted. What was particularly amusing to me, though, was that even in the midst of this feeling of pressure and being seconds away from letting everyone down, I remember a clear sense of this is ridiculous, this is the Internet in my head. It was as if my subconscious wasn’t really willing to entertain the scenario it had generated itself.

I put this down to working online every day, and that giving me a sense of perspective when it comes to expectations. That perspective being, “Well, of course you’re going to disappoint someone. It’s the Internet. Get over it.”

I am not a gardener, but I am married to one, which allows me certain insight into gardening knowledge and schedules and the like. Yesterday, Kate was talking about the growing season starting in earnest next month as she pointed at New shoots appearing in the ground, and I found that a very… exciting isn’t the right word, but a very winning concept to get my head around. It seemed early to me, almost; haven’t we just started winter? Shouldn’t everything be dormant for awhile longer?

But, no. The cycle is already beginning again, the growth is already underway. After the harsh start to 2015, it was tempting to think Well, this is just More of the same and surrender to the dark and the cold inside and outside of our heads, but knowing that the greenery is already making a comeback offers hope in some way.

Waking up this morning, my first thought was genuinely an excited “Have I turned into someone who can sleep in on weekends?” It was only 7:30 when I woke up, but as someone who tends to wake up closer to 6 during the week, that extra 90 minutes feels luxurious. Part of it, I know, is that it wasn’t entirely dark when I awoke; as I get older, the prospect of waking up with no light outside becomes increasingly bleak, as if it’s a metaphor for something I can’t understand but recognize as bad. I start to long for summer, when “daytime” starts around 5am. Then, I feel, it’s safe to get an early start to the day.

My second thought was to wonder why Wyclef Jean’s “Gone Til November” was playing in my head. January, February, March April May, something I can’t remember about not being able to stay…