Bitten by a sad snake. Time to draw out the sad poison.
Bitten by a sad snake. Time to draw out the sad poison.
The Daily Make (2014-1-14): More knitting, more frogging.
I started the decreases and then tried it on and realized there still won’t be room for my hair (which I usually wear up) and I need another inch or two of height.
I bought a kitchen scale recently for fermenting and it’s been a surprise win for knitting. Weight is the only way I can think of to figure out how much is left in a ball compared to what’s already knitted, and thus determine in advance whether I can get two more inches out of this ball, or only one.
Incidentally: Why do digital scales “flicker”? The ball went back and forth between 0.70 oz and 0.74 oz. Back and forth. The same thing happened to me on the scale at the gym last night, but I figured I was swaying a little. This yarn has no such excuse.
I learned in my chemistry class that electronic scales all have a margin of error, even when they have a high degree of precision. The only digits, in this scale’s case, that are known for certain are up to the tenths place. The last digit represents that room for error. If you were weighing this on an eye-level scale, it would probably wobble between 0.70 oz and 0.74 oz, and you would have to use your judgement to determine what is correct to the hundredths place, which might differ from what someone else sees. I hope this explains the flicker!
There’s no easy way to say this, but the only thing recorded last night was a really loud fart.
I’m not even going to try and transcribe this. 30 some seconds of I DON’T KNOW WHAT.
"—M cups. (Whispering) it looked like a Kleenex box."
So I guess I’m back? I had a pretty good idea of what my dream was when I woke up this morning, and though I was determined to remember it and think about any correlations, I can’t remember it now. I have a Kleenex box next to my bed, but judging by the state of my pillow case I don’t think Sleeping Emily found it.
I set out almost a year ago, initially, to capture myself sleep talking, and soon began mildly experimenting to see what reduced or encouraged this behavior (alternating between the two depending on if I was sharing a bed with a light sleeper that night). It seemed that melatonin shut me up from time to time, along with the occasional “miscellaneous” substance or potable, though the latter seemed to stoke the sleep-walking and nightmare fires enough to disturb my own sleep, let alone someone else’s. I assess my relative happiness and well-being over that year as “pretty good,” though, being relative, perhaps not as good as I thought, not compared to now.
I’ve learned that my sleep talking might be a litmus test for contentedness and anxiety; that perhaps the more I talk in my sleep, the less content and more anxious I am despite outward appearances. However, there was a breaking point in September where I was so overcome with anxiety that I could barely sleep, and would wake up 2-3 hours before my alarm feeling like my heart was going to claw its way out of my chest and start screaming and running around the room holding a knife. My digital recorder would have captured a few whimpers at best, but usually 9 seconds of me moving around fitfully in my sleep without so much as a sigh.
I overcame that period, but did not achieve any sense of normalcy for awhile, especially moving to a new house. This stress lurked dangerously near the surface, though I was convinced I felt fine when I was awake. Several times I found myself waking up walking into the hallway outside my bedroom, about to turn on the bathroom light. My digital recorder only captured the sound of my door opening and closing those first nights in the new house.
A couple nights ago, I was looking through my digital recorder. The last sounds I posted were from early October, and September is almost nonexistent. But the rest of October and all of November were barren. I began to wonder if I was done sleep talking, or if there was something still bothering me even though I have legitimately felt fine and normal for awhile. The next morning, loud and clear on the recorder, I heard myself spew out the longest string of nonsense I have heard in over two months. So, maybe I was wrong. Maybe my anxiety only plays a minor role in how much I talk. Maybe it’s an indicator of feeling well and comfortable. Maybe it’s an indicator of nothing, beyond my brain being nutty. I have no idea. It’s not like there’s a grant riding on this, though I could use some cash for all the batteries my recorder goes through.
“Are you hearing this? Get me out of here safely.”
These are words you never hear in a horror movie. Although I could understand that hearing them come out of me while I’m sleeping would be a bit scary.
But who? AND WHY?!
The best part about Soundcloud hosting my sleep talking clips is that it is VERY easy to detect spam. Some of the only comments I get are like this. “Your song is really good!” is especially hilarious when the clip is 10 seconds of silence broken only by me coughing.
"Am…am I put together? Fffch yes! *giggle*"
I like this one for a lot of reasons. I like the bashful, almost worried way this one starts, hinting at my own deeply-rooted insecurity (though my idea of looking “put together” has changed over the years to exclude worrying about someone’s opinion of my appearance), then quickly turns into a total psych-out! Did I fool you?! Or maybe I’m pretending to psych myself out in an effort to psych myself up, to get confident for the moment or remember lost confidence. It doesn’t matter, because the giggle at the end will creep severtwitch out so bad!