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Monday, Aug. 12, 2002 / 7:16 p.m. ~A Glimpse Inside the Overactive Mind in the Midst of Hormonal Upheaval~ (The following was written, by moi of course, about 5 hours ago. Since I wrote it I have finished the work day, shopped at the Wal Mart, land of all that is necessary to own or covet, and now am home in shorts and tshirt, underwearless, as any god would intend. The night awaits�) Much better. What, you ask? My glasses. I left them on my mousepad at home, but I retrieved them at lunch, and now I'm back to the cube. Belly filled with yet another Quarter Pounder with Cheese and fries. I think, but I'm not sure, I could eat those two items every day for lunch. And I wonder how long before I keeled over and died. I made headway on my kitchen yesterday, washing a rather large and spread out pile of dishes, pots, pans, glasses, etc., and was inspired, but not yet quite prepared mentally, to tackle the entire kitchen as I want/need to do, including vacuuming the coils on the back of the fridge. This would of course include cleaning the top of said fridge. Right. Not yet quite prepared mentally, but I am visualizing it. In my mind's eye I have cleaned that kitchen top to bottom many a time. It will become reality, all of it, one day, grasshoppah. Oh, I hope any and all readers are old enough to grasp that reference. NO! I've broken the fourth wall, yet again. But has there ever really been a fourth wall surrounding this particular diary? Nah. Speaking of my mind's eye, said eye seems to enjoy associating Moby with Hockey. Especially whilst I am sleeping. This morning I dreamed of the two again. At a hockey game, and as last time there's a glitch with the game. Last time there was no one there so I went outside and Moby showed up, and the fun began. This time there were barriers set up just past center ice, creating a goal three quarters of the way down the ice. No boarding in that game. It was really weird. Moby was entertainment (fook, it's BUSY here at work today, hardly time to write this!) at the game, before, or between periods, I don't know, but he came over to my aisle, talking into his mic (only almost EXACTLY as on "Senor Moby's House of Music" on MTV late last night�), etc. I just find it amusing that I dream I'm at a hockey game and Moby somehow shows up. Why is my brain putting these two most separate of events together? I intend to ask the members of the Moby message boards as soon as I have time. Tonight, if I remember. I sometimes feel like I have way too much to remember. Post-it notes everywhere. In fact, this morning at work, first thing, I consolidated my main list of things to do and purchase. It had so many little notes attached it was downright unruly. So much to say. I ordered the free 14 day trial of voyeuristic ecstasy that is access to "Big Brother 3" camera views. Joy. It doesn't move as streaming video, not continuously anyway, and that is probably the fault of my PC connection speed, and really my phone line. I tend to connect at 23 kbps (that's 23kilobytes per second, yes?), much slower than the designated 56k, so I'm guessing that's the problem. But it's fun to listen in on the mundane conversations of the 'houseguests'. I checked it at home at lunch and one camera was fixed on someone sleeping. Another was trained on Marcellas and Gerry talking. Marcellas tends to continuously shuffle cards. It must wait until later. I am anxious to simply sit and watch and listen. I remember doing just that during the "Big Brother 1". I remember I used to listen to the out of state hockey games on Real Player too. Times have changed. Damn phone keeps ringing. 2:35 p.m., cubicle time. Busy for a Monday. One of my numerous pet peeves? When I'm giving someone a telephone number, reciting the digits, and the person can't hear me for saying, "Mmm hmmm". Shut up and let me just say it. I'll move it along, no need to fucking push me, then make me repeat myself because you couldn't hear over your own "Mmm hmmm"ing. Jesus. Here's an example of an overactive mind during PMS� Last night I wanted Chinese, or so I thought. Food, that is. I'd had enough of raiding my cabinets, eating grits and apple sauce, really felt I wanted food from the Chinese restaurant from which I last ordered takeout. I perused the menu, made my choices, didn't care the cost, held the cordless phone in my hand, even dialed all but one of the numbers, turned it off, set it back down. Put the menu down, picked it up again later, (Brief distraction: opened my package containing Moby's "Rare: The Collected B Sides" whilst listening to someone on the phone, and I am really disappointed. I've got to stop buying from Half.com - Look, if you're going to sell your CDs shouldn't you fucking CLEAN them of all the smegma and smoodge first?! Christ! Little variation on the usual "Jesus" there) Where was I? See how I dropped right off, just left the comma dangling up there? Right, so I thought I wanted Chinese food, from this particular restaurant, but the overactive, in the midst of hormonal upheaval, mind is constantly at war with itself. Therefore, I said to myself, No, I can't drive all that way. I don't have enough oil in my engine, it's been leaking and I only added that one quart, but I can't go to Wal Mart to get oil because I need all kinds of other shit too and I'm not in the mood, nor am I dressed appropriately. I can wear this to get takeout, but not to shop around a bunch of strangers. Continuing with the thoughts, new paragraph� But do I really want Mongolian Beef and Moo Goo Gai Pan? Those are such 'Occidental' faves. I haven't ordered them from this particular restaurant in years, literally, and what if they suck? What if I drive all that way and the food sucks? And it will cost a lot of money, right after my big Thai order from last week - should I be spending all this money on takeout? What if my engine burns up because it's out of oil, and I don't have enough money for a pay phone - they cost so much now that everyone has cells. Am I ever going to give in and get a cell phone, just for emergencies? Who would I call? Mark? What if I don't make it to pick up the food? How awful for them to cook it and I don't even show up because I'm on the side of the road with a burned out engine! Holding the phone. Setting it down. Looking at the dishes in the sink. Hating myself for not washing them. Wondering if I'll ever buy groceries and cook again. So I washed dishes and made a couscous mix, added some frozen mixed vegetables, and it would've been good, but it tasted rancid, as if the spice mix had somehow gone bad. How the hell does THAT happen? Blech. Today was Quarter Pounder with Cheese, and fries, and I'm happy again. The kitchen is beginning to resemble a functioning kitchen, the visualization continues. I have a new smoodgy CD (the last one, "I Like to Score", was also smoodgy, the jewel case cracked and scuffed, and I got online and left comments about the seller to that effect - so others would know - take THAT!), and later I can watch the "Big Brother" people, listen to them talk about their navels, or whatever. Oh yes, this time I have no choice but to do the Wal Mart motor oil, etc. run. I can't risk not having any extra in the car. Now I have stupid work to do, phone calls to answer, paperwork to process, busy, busy, and I need to listen to these CDs (double CD) to make sure they at least SOUND okay. Lesson learned. Buy from spun.com, or secondspin.com, or whomever, but not individuals calling their crap "Like New" when it looks like it's been riding around on the floor of their cars for years. Grrrrr�!!!!! Cost of the War in Iraq
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