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Thursday, Apr. 25, 2002 / 11:42 a.m. ~Voices in My Backpack, Violent Tendencies, Invasion of Privacy, and Wanting to Lie Down~ This morning, as I was getting ready to leave my apartment, Norman sitting in her spot watching me as I sat on the floor by the door to put on my Birkenstocks, I heard voices talking inside my backpack. Somehow I�d pressed the �radio on� button on my new CD Walkman, must�ve been yesterday afternoon, maybe yesterday morning when I put it in my pack, but it had been left on, and people were talking in there. It was very strange, and it wore down my new batteries, not a lot, but enough to piss me off. 10:24 a.m., cubicle time. Listerine is talking to herself, that constant mumbling thing I love so much. I�m telling you, it makes me want to grab a sledgehammer and bring it down upon her head, all �Maxwell�s Silver Hammer�-style. I�m incited to thoughts of extreme violence. Now it�s nonsensical humming. No tune, just humming. I feel ill. My throat is a bit sore, I woke up coughing early this morning, I woke up to loud thunder as well. I woke up a lot, I didn�t sleep well. I want to lie down. My breasts hurt. They�re swollen with water retention and hormones. Right now I�d rather be a man. It was odd reading Central-Red�s loving account of her own menstrual cycle in her diary. She�s exuberant, horny as hell, thrilled to be alive and bleeding. Good for her. I hate menstruation. I�ve never been happy to be a woman. I never wanted large breasts or womanly hips. I don�t want mounds of flesh bouncing on my chest when I walk or run. I don�t want to struggle to pull pants up over my hips. And I don�t want to �create life�, to give birth. I�m the anti-woman. But there was that phase when I was on the verge of pubescence, when I wanted to be in Playboy, when I wanted to be beautiful like those women splayed so creatively, airbrushed so lovingly, across those shiny pages. So I preened, I shaved as soon as was allowed, I used makeup, I tried, but it was never me. It�s still not me. I prefer androgyny. Sandy called me again last night. It made me angry. I have the habit of turning on the PC when I get home, logging on to the Interweb, and turning on the TV almost simultaneously. News, weather, what�s happening in the world, who sent email, who read my diary, wanting to know all at once. I read, I write, I leave the PC on, quite often, watch the TV, and last night was a spectacular 2 hour �Amazing Race�, which was good because I always find I want more after the usual hour is up. And there are two messages from Sandy on the CallWave, two because he went on too long in the first and got cut off. �Call me at this number, no, I�ll take my phone with me, just call me at the other number�. Don�t ever tell me when to call you. Ask if I might. Tell me you might like it if I did. I don�t want to be ordered to call anyone, especially if it�s about nothing more than deciding what to do three days from now. I really don�t care. And if that�s not bad enough, someone else wants to jump in, I should go out with him too now. Truthfully, and I have given this some thought, and it�s probably just me amidst my pre-menstrual fucking syndrome, but I just want to be alone. I just want some time to myself, I want to finish cleaning my apartment, and on my days off I want to sit and watch movies on cable all day, I want to order food to be delivered, and hang out on the Interweb for hours, I want to write and read and dance around my living room to music I choose. Yes, isn�t it exciting that three men have some interest in being in my company, but I say a loud and resounding, �Why?�. I�ve given you nothing on which to base your sudden desire. And why YOU? Why not that one, or that one there, why not the one who makes me gooey inside, why YOU? Times like this I feel old, I feel I�ve been through this, I�ve dated, I�ve loved, I�ve had sex even, a lot, I�m tired now, I don�t want to reject anyone, I don�t want to pine over someone who is not interested, I don�t want to feel any more heartbreak, or cause any, I want to live for me, and the girls, not for anyone else. I want to revel in my selfishness, knowing that it�s true that I came in this world alone and I�ll leave alone and alone is good. Who wouldn�t want to spend time with a companion, to share a meal, to see a show, a movie, together, to laugh and talk and have fun? Sure, but if it�s a man, a straight man, he will want more from me. And if I don�t share that desire? Discomfort, unpleasantness, hurt feelings. I don�t want to do it. I�m talking myself out of all of it. With valid reasons. I thought this morning, as I do when I�m in the bathroom, first thing, washing, etc., Sandy should�ve given me time to wonder, to wait, to be anxious, he shouldn�t be bombarding me so soon. It feels invasive. After I write the above I�m telling Lulu I did some research for her on the Interweb last night, before Sandy�s calls, and she changes subjects, as she always does, quite alarmingly in fact, and asks me, �So what are you wearing on Saturday?!�, and I get angry all over again. �Look, he�s calling me too much, he called again last night, it�s too soon, haven�t you seen the movie �Swingers�?�, and no she hasn�t. At this point, right this moment, I don�t even want to think about going out with Sandy or anyone else. Funny, but I was reading one of my favorite columnists in the free weekly this morning, and her column is much like one of the diaries here at Diaryland, very personal, very revealing, very funny, and she writes of discovering a letter she wrote, in crayon, when she was 6 years old. Back then she wanted to be things, a tennis player on TV, a princess, a movie star, a �book writer�, everything she wanted to be, but she says, �Christ, what a contrast to today, when all I wanna do is lie down, it seems, because even sitting on the sidelines and watching a friend build something is too exhausting.� I could totally relate. But she has a husband, and a child, she has excuses. What is my excuse? This is just another phase, and it too shall pass, I know this. But right now is frustration, anger, irritability, and I wanna lie down too. Cost of the War in Iraq
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