Solar Powered

Not that this information is going to make a huge difference in your life, but it’s something you might find interesting. Or you may not. I don’t know. But. By way of opening a teeny tiny window into the mass of tangled coax and fibre optic cable that is part of cenobyte’s brain, cenobyte is, for all intents and purposes, solar powered.

What does that mean?

Well, we’re all solar powered, after a fashion. Which is to say that the sun affects our behaviour, our health, and even our body chemistry. IT AFFECTS OUR MOLECULES, DUDE. Our Earth’s “pale yellow sun” as Superman continuously whined, has an impact on our moods and on our internal clocks. I feel this effect of our “pale yellow sun”. I do sometimes wonder how much more insanely powerful I would be under Krypton’s red sun, but then I remember that probably I would be *less* powerful since the reason Superman has his superpowers is because our sun is more powerful than his home planet’s shitty sun.

In fact, let me just distract myself for a moment here to bitch about Superman. The dude is a total jerk. He passes himself off as a hero, but he looks with clear and utter disdain on Earth in general and on humans specifically. He’s all, “I am a hero! I will save you!” But when he’s walking among us in his ‘disguise’, trying to ‘fit in’ with the humans, he’s a bumbling, ineffective dunce. Is this how he sees us? As chattel and children that need his protection all the time? And on the heels of that, how complacent do we become when we have a flying egomaniac on our hands “protecting” us all the time? How much of our own responsibility do we get to shirk because Superman’s on the job? Oh, that homeless dude getting beaten up by drug dealers? Not *my* problem. Superman will handle it.

Seriously. The man is a menace. A MENACE. To society. He is undermining society at its very basic level: that being that we are all the same and therefore ought to be good to one another. If we accept the premise that we are NOT all the same, then there is no reason why any of the ‘isms’ are hurtful or deleterious. And the very existence of someone who is, by definition, better than all of us (which is a specious claim in the FIRST place, IMO, but that’s a discussion for another day) just throws all of society into the crapper.

But. Enough about Superman. What a dick. Back to the sun.

I am solar powered. In the summer, I have energy. A lot of energy. Too much energy. I often have difficulty sleeping. However, if I spend enough time in the sun, I will sleep like a baby. Summer is just completely made of awesome, and I could lie in the sun all day and just…and just be happy. Sadly, lying in the sun all day is not particularly conducive to getting anything done (like housework, f’rinstance), so I don’t get to do it *all* the time.

So I have trouble sleeping sometimes in the summer. This is certainly the case this year. Although I cannot blame summer entirely as there are other things going on (not excluding Superman, here. He could very well be the douche who’s been playing his car stereo at ridiculous levels in the wee hours).

For one thing, my internal editor has quit. You might remember this having happened to me once or twice before. Most notably in the summer of 1997. What does this mean? It means, by and large, that I  am often afflicted by brain-to-mouth disease. Not the kind that involves monkeys with the tops of their skulls chopped off. That’s just horrible.

I mean that there aren’t really all that many filters between what I think and what I say. This is a dangerous, dangerous state in which to be. I’m kind of relieved it’s happened near the beginning of my vacation, so that I can worry less that I’ll say something completely stupid and rude to my co-workers, who I love very much.

It also means that I have less and less tolerance for idiocy. This seems to happen every summer, but combined with the internal editor having quit, I kind of feel like I need to apologise in advance to the entire world. Because I don’t have patience. Because little things that are irksome rather explode into slightly larger things that are completely vexatious.

Note: this isn’t an uncomfortable state *for cenobyte*. Quite the opposite. cenobytes in their natural habitats are, not infrequently, known to stomp about and mutter incoherently, sometimes shouting cusswords for no apparent reason. But, gentle reader, there is a reason. There is always a reason. In this state, cenobytes have been known to rant for extended periods of time about hipsters, the elderly, the ridiculous inability of couples to do anything apart from one another, dog owners who don’t pick up their mutts’ poop, right wing politics, centrist politics, power lines, toast, plagiarism, planned obsolescence, will-full ignorance, pop music, media buzzwords, pretentious arrogance…oh hell. The list goes on. In fact, the list doesn’t really end.

So.

The END RESULT OF ALL OF THIS (yes, thank Christ, you’ve reached the end) is that cenobyte wishes to apologise, in advance, for the nasty things she is more likely than not to say in the following months.

That is all.