I remember everything I felt, physically and emotionally, earlier this morning and all evening. The GM of life was not merciful enough to take those memories away, so they’ll haunt me a while. Sometimes the GM does. Sometimes the GM does not. I’m not sure which is better. In a way, remembering them now means I know I got through them.
On the other hand, I remember them. So I didn’t have flashbacks. I think.
I’m sculling about in the waters past the waterfall and rapids of my very prolonged PTSD episode. I’m very tired. I fell asleep at 5am, it’s now 9:20am, I just stayed up until I got too tired and the tiredness took over the nausea. It’s the only way to get through, I think, though I didn’t exactly remember that the last other times. I have to get really tired. Is it possible for tired to cause pain? I think so, but then again, I wasn’t completely sane last night.
But I didn’t overdose on the pepto bismol even in the middle of all that. I counted the pills this morning to make sure. I just remember trying to take more and more and reaching the point in the directions that say “stop doing that” and stopped. *is proud*
As for T. A. Pratt’s Marla Mason series, which I either re-read and read for the first time Monday and Tuesday and hanging over the puke bucket this early morning, I really like it. Why do I do this… well, it’s an interesting thingy. Sometimes if I get really, really into a series, and it has a strong main character, that character will show up briefly in my dreams. It has to be a little on the level of obsession, and I think, it has to be timed correctly in order for it to work for these episodes. I didn’t always remember this fucking stuff climaxed, like a plot does.
The first protector was Warren Ellis’ Spider Jerusalem, some years ago. Before the Years of Zorn and Tharn, and I didn’t make the connection. Spider did it twice. When I eventually made the connection, well, there’s a reason I took my current nom de plume. That was the last time he did it.
The second was Sherlock Holmes. There is a reason he has, basically, a little bloggy shrine I constructed. But he never came back. They didn’t after Spider.
The third was Jim Butcher’s Harry Dresden, one year ago? or so. See, I don’t time it right a lot. But sometimes I do. Huh. Not often. There has to be a lot of series to burn through, to feed the obsession. A couple of books won’t work. I don’t get to do this very often, but since the paranormal urban romance stuff started, a lot of material suddenly showed up.
The fourth was T. A. Pratt’s Marla Mason. I didn’t get to see Rondeau, I like him, but it got a bit confusing on what he looked like after Spell Games, maybe that’s why I didn’t see him. Anyways, after she showed up, I don’t remember any nightmares. Possibly the cows cleaned up after her. I do remember that Echo Bazaar and Safeway merged for a bit, and I tried out my high level qualities in Persuasive. Not that I remember what happened when I did, but I think I was happy.
If this was Marla Mason’s world, I’d say this is a very rare magic I don’t get to do often. And it doesn’t last for very long, more’s the pity. Just a single dream, each time. Sometimes it’s the dream I really need, and sometimes I fuck up the timing and that just means Spider sits down with me on girders in an unfinished tower in his city and talks to me about things. It sounds a little crazy but Spider is why I didn’t lose some huge amounts of money to a minor betrayal. His talk made me actually listen to another friend who was warning me. I was young and knew everything, even though thinking one knows everything during that kind of time in one’s life is a recipe for disaster. ((And so it turned out. I’m sorry it took the Years of Zorn and Tharn to work through it all.))
Don’t ask me why Spider helped. I’m sure I’m talking to myself during these times. I sure as hell wasn’t listening to sense from elsewhere at the time.
I think these guys have to come from cities. Fantasy countries don’t work. I hate cities, so am not sure why this is.
Doesn’t that all sound insane? Yes, I’m sure it’s insane. But hey. I’ve blogged about my other insanity. Why not this one.
There’s almost enough material for Liz Williams’ Detective Inspector Chen to do it next time. Or sooner. The Iron Khan can’t come out fast enough for me, because the next time a big whack comes, it’ll be Christmas.
If my birthday is horrible, Christmas is likely worse. My father was an evil man, in his way. If only he never loved me. Then maybe I wouldn’t have so many issues.
I’m going to go back to sleep. Maybe it’ll work twice. One can hope. Or maybe I’ll figure out what happens in Echo Bazaar/Safeway when I try out Shadowy. Maybe I won’t dream. Or maybe I’ll see my parents again, and it’ll be bad.
On the other hand, I could always just drink a lotta really black tea.
Thank you for the well wishes.