#boogun

[queenboudicaa]

#WhiteRock – #SpringMountain Conservation Estate is of high cultural significance to the #Ugarapul people 🍃it is a large sandstone rock formation  referred to as #Nugum or #Boogun (meaning dog) and was an important area for women’s business. Currently members of the Ugarapul people are setting up a program for pregnant Aboriginal women to come out to the area and partake in #womensbusiness with the elders. It has been continuously expressed that climbing the rock formation is off limits to men and non indigenous members of the community - please respect this custom 🌿 ℹThe area was taken over as a rifle range in 1912 and used for military training in World War I, World War II and Vietnam, with remains of gun pits and bunkers still present today. I cannot imagine how  Ugarapul women felt having their special place being used for war practice by thousands of men. https://www.instagram.com/p/B02jd8dnfo0/?igshid=1mnt87gdwahkz

[ghost-chance]

Adventures in house-hunting - Episode 2

In the years I’ve searched for a home Cold and I could call our own, I’ve learned some hard truths. One of these is that there are two main kinds of owners in retail listings:

The kind who exhausts themselves with cleaning, staging, and photographing every single little detail. They’re probably over-pricing the building but because it looks great, they’ll likely sell it.

The kind who doesn’t even bother painting over the gang symbols, upside down crosses, and “Satan” chip-carved into the surface of the front door before taking pictures for the listing. Lists it at a steal because the buyer probably won’t be the only resident. The house will probably end up vacant for years then “burn down without warning.”

...seriously. I’m looking right at a listing for a 2 bed/1 bath with upside down crosses and the word “Satan” gouged into the paint on the front door, and a giant - and I mean GIANT - pile of dog crap on the front porch. We’re talking ‘someone overfed an Irish Wolfhound and collected the dung for a week then piled it all in one place’ giant. The house is over 1K square feet, comes with some appliances and several mature trees, and it’s listed for $26.5K. I’d ask how many people died in the house but I really don’t wanna know. Living with one ghost/poltergeist/malevolent booguns was enough for a lifetime, thankyouverymuch.

[ghost-chance]

Dreams are weird. Recurring dreams are even weirder, and mine are no exception.

There’s the “Darwin is shaking his head” - in which something big, bad, and scary is chasing me but for some reason I’m only able to run on my knees. Yep. My knees. Because apparently it is entirely possible to run upright on your knees with your feet curled up behind your butt and still outrun a booguns.

Then there’s the “As if it wasn’t bad enough the first time” - in which I inexplicably decide that my grades in high school weren’t good enough and I go back to take all four grades over as an adult...only to miss half my classes because fuck getting up before ten, and bomb everything spectacularly. I end up with much worse grades than before and decide “fuck it, I’m a grownup, I’m allowed to have shitty grades.”

Sometimes I have the “I’m so fired” - in which I’m living my life without a care only to suddenly remember OH YEAH! I got hired at a new job a couple months ago! Then I realize oh shit, I haven’t been working that job the past month, and I go ape-nuts trying to figure out how I got from “most valuable new employee” to sitting on the sidewalk wondering where I am, how I got there, and how on earth I’ll explain to my boss that I forgot I worked for them.

Overall, most of my recurring dreams are strangely amusing when I wake up. There’s only one that really bothers me - “It’s happening all over again.” That’s the dream where some horrible disaster happens - a tornado or earthquake, a mass shooting or disease outbreak, or even the friggin’ zombie apocalypse - and I survive...only to hold my husband in my arms as he slowly and painfully dies. I’m no stranger to night terrors, but that’s the only dream that ever leaves me shaking, crying, and clinging to Cold when I wake up. I’ve dreamt of him shot full of arrows and bleeding from zombie bites, and cut in half after an explosion; I’ve dreamt of finding him pinned under a fallen building, and riddled with bullets, hooked up to life support.

These nightmares are what made me realize that my worst fear is losing those I love and being helpless to help them. Now I know, and I’m quite ready to not be reminded. I’d rather dream that the zombie apocalypse was thwarted because zombies are afraid of cheesecake. (Actual dream.) I’d rather dream that possums rose as a new sentient lifeform and attempted to overthrow humanity Planet of the Apes style. (They also drove zambonis instead of cars, for some strange reason.) Heck, I’d even rather dream I risked my life to retrieve a bar of chocolate from a haunted building, only for the murderous entity to chuck the chocolate out the door and yell “Even I know better than to keep chocolate away from menstruating women! Just stay out!” (I woke up laughing so hard I was choking.)

That, folks, is the stuff my dreams are made of. It’s a madhouse in here.