Life as an Extreme Sport

lousy way towards progress

I was going to write something witty, share interesting news stories with commentary, and be generally charming, intelligent and sparkly. Unfortunately, it seems that my lungs have other ideas of what would be fun and entertaining, and are starting to shut down again. I’ll give myself another day, and then start the prednisone again.

So you’ll have to forgive me for neglecting this place and being a generally boring lump. For every step forward, it seems I have to take a few back.

“shippers”

So earlier this evening I was called a “shipper” by a friend, giving me the opportunity to finally ask an actual human being (I’m beginning to think this is defined by the ability to spell, but I digress) what the hell that meant. Apparently it’s someone who gets involved in the relationships of characters on TV shows, often with too-cute mooshings of character names to symbolize the union (desired, existing, or otherwise).

Over at Neil Gaiman’s journal, which isn’t letting me actually access the page or I’d give you a direct link to the relevent entry, he says:

…part of the compact between reader and writer …[is that in] fiction, you’re being told something that matters, and that you’ll care about, and which will have consequences, and won’t leave you feeling cheated.

It’s probably just my desire to very much not be associated with the sort of people I suspect “shippers” to be (the mind alternately switches between women writing fanfic I’d be horrified to stumble across and something vaguely 17th century-ish and involving lots of rum), but this is what draws me to character stories. It’s not necessarily the fact that a couple is or is not “having a relationship” as it is that the tension often creates a lot of great writing opportunities for those doing the writing. Give a good writer a good opportunity, and she’ll usually take it. Add in some good actors who have chemistry, and you’ve got something compelling.

It doesn’t have to be a romantic relationship for this to work; of all the series I can think of, Deep Space Nine did a fabulous job making almost all the characters have dynamic and engrossing interpersonal relationships.

Of course, if we look over the list of chararcter interpersonal relationships that I’ve been most fond of, a pattern does emerge: Kira and Odo, Picard and Crusher, O’Neill and Carter, and just so people don’t think that the pattern is “my god she’s a science fiction geek!”, Maddy and David and Ross and Hathaway. Sort of telling, isn’t it? Perhaps there’s something to be learned there. But I maintain that I’m not a shipper, merely someone who appreciates compelling character dynamics of any type.

Obligate Aerobe

Well, that was unpleasent. For a variety of reasons, my sleep schedule has been a bit screwy lately, and taking the time Friday night to indulge in a new passion (or hobby, or addiction – admittedly, the latter being how I refer to it) seems to have reset me to my old, nocturnal patterns. This isn’t a huge deal; I’m relatively good at surviving on no sleep for a day or two while I reset back to whatever time schedule I need to function on.

What sucked was the getting sleepy and dozing off, then stopping breathing. I was tentatively diagnosed with sleep apnea about a month ago, although I’ll need to go in for another round of tests for the diagnosis to be conclusive. What happened tonight seems to verify it, though. I was falling asleep reading when my throat closed up and I felt like I was choking. It’s something I’ve remembered happening for as long as I can remember; it’s similar to that “falling” feeling you sometimes get when falling asleep. Or at least that’s how it always has been, until now – something that occasionally happens when I’m falling asleep, and I sit up and it goes away, I realize it was some weird primordial sleep phantasm that both Jung and Freud had complicated theories for, and fall back asleep.

Tonight, my throat closed and I couldn’t breathe, and I jolted upright, expecting the feeling to go away. It didn’t. I tried and tried to grab air, to force myself to breathe, and I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t cough, gasp, scream. Nothing. The clocked ticked by a minute, then two. I was reaching for my phone to dial 911 when I shuddered and gasped and toppled forward. I laid there for a few minutes, then got up to move around the house.

Coincidence moves strangely; maybe I’m picking up some of Douglas’s luck, as I have an already scheduled pulmonology appointment for Wednesday afternoon. Hopefully they can do something for me; while I’ve always hoped that one day I’ll die in my sleep, I also hoped it would be at the further end of a long and well-lived life. I have a bit of ways to go before I’m comfortable saying I’ve fulfilled either of those criteria.

Haiku; Gloaming

A friend challenged people to write a haiku using the word gloaming. Gloaming is both one of my favourite words and favourite concepts, not to mention a time of day I genuinely enjoy. I also intimately associate it with the very powerful, Christopher Reeves directed movie Into the Gloaming, the title of which I appropriated for use in my haiku.

    soft petals fall, pink
    cherry blossoms fade, they’ve gone…
    into the gloaming