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Saturday, Dec. 27, 2003 / 3:59 p.m. ~Multiple Entry Kind of Day - When Blogs Collide~ How very strange to meet someone new and then know he/she can read your journal! Could it BE a worse idea?! Then again, I'll never forget the guy who sat one night and read my entire diary and sent me his phone number via email. What did THAT mean? And you know I had to dismiss him as a freak for liking this, for wanting to know the woman who'd poured out her innermost self for strangers to skim and peruse at will. Thank god for the skimmers. I just posted this at LiveJournal, and since that's so very separate from this, but not at all different, it's time again for worlds to collide: I walked in the room and there it was, just as I'd left it. It looked inviting, and peculiar, the way I sleep just on the one side, never moving but to switch from right to left to back. I love these sheets, the jersey cotton sheets, the 'Gypsy' pattern, the down comforter with the silly red plaid flannel cover, the Kliban cat pillow Dave bought for me at that yard sale, for 25 cents. Norma sleeps up against it, that's her side of the bed. The frame was my parents', it was their bed, they slept in it as a married couple, and later my mother slept alone, and with a lover or two, and I heard her having sex in it, and if you look on the left side of the headboard you see all the scratches from the bobby pins that held her hair in curls whilst she slept. One day I would like a new one, one of my choosing, an antique perhaps, something many people have slept in, or up against, one of those with the high headboard, made of solid wood, carved, maybe to a point at the top, something high, the kind you have to use a stool to climb up so you can board it. I want a bed that has to be boarded. Funny, but his bed was like that, it had to be boarded. I must say, his bed was fabulous, with the down and the covers, and the way his arm lay across my stomach whilst he slept. It's only been one week, I will get past this. Truth is I liked it so much, and that is why I'm lashing out, it hurts to like something, someone so much.  /LJ post I'm trying to leave the apt, I really am, but I love to write, I love to take silly pictures with my crappy digital camera and post them online, and I love to just keep going and going and going with it all. It's like riding some very addictive wave. I want to go eat some Thai, at the new place, or some Vietnamese, I want to order food and have it brought to me, have people wait on me, do things for me, I want to ask for help, to be assisted, to be taken care of, and I want to eat well, live well. Gurdnest says, "mmmmmrrrrr". I do find I'm doing more of it, asking people for help, asking people their opinions, seeking answers, guidance, assistance, "What do YOU think I should do?", and it helps, I'm open and accepting, I'm even listening and taking it all into account. And I'll pay for people to bring me things, drinks, food, or to fix things, like my old filling, replace it, take it out, pop it with that drill, put in something new and better. Fix me. Some people pay to have people touch them, regularly, to cut their fingernails, to polish them after, to massage their backs and buttocks. I draw a line. I cut my nails and filed them yesterday in my last fifteen minutes at work. I sat alone, clippers, emery board, on the clock, manicuring. Cost of the War in Iraq
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Recent Entries: It Was 40 Years Ago Today - 9:44 a.m. , Friday, Oct. 12, 2012 Dead Black Cat - 9:07 a.m. , Wednesday, Jan. 25, 2012 As Seen From Outer Space - 1:07 a.m. , Saturday, Dec. 05, 2009 I Survived to Tell the Tale - 7:29 a.m. , Friday, Sept. 18, 2009 Reading My Life - 12:55 p.m. , Saturday, Sept. 12, 2009 
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