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Monday, Nov. 04, 2002 / 11:40 a.m. ~A New Journal, a New Crush~ I�m on time because all my clocks are fast. There�s one in my bathroom that makes me rush, makes me think I�m running out of time. The one on the wall in the dining room lets me know the one in the bathroom is faster. And the one in the car indicates I�m right on time. I get to work and clock in� three minutes early. What can I say? It works. And the one on the VCR seems to be a minute slow since the time change. I�ve got it set to tape �GL� today, so we�ll see what happens. I managed to watch three episodes on an old tape last night. I kept it running, hit �pause� continuously. To put wet clothes in the dryer, or take dry clothes out, carry them to the bed to fold, spilling socks and underwear all along the way. I�d run back to the living room, hit �pause� again when it ran out, when �pause� became �play�. It was good to watch ye olde �Guiding Light� once again. I still haven�t made it to the first of at least two tapes Mark has made for me, not yet. But there�s always tonight. Shhhhh� 9:09 a.m., deathly quiet in the department. A series of gray cubicles filled with ghosts of employee service reps past. PHONE CALL! It was horrible, the call, I heard an echo, like I was being monitored, the very idea of talking to a stranger made my throat irritated. I wanted to clear my throat as soon as I answered. I�m wearing a sweater and it�s too warm in here now. Can�t win for losing. I dreamed of LiveJournal.com. All night, I think. It�s my new toy. Why?, you ask. Why do you ask?, I ask. God, I only had about four hours sleep. Or so. Now that I�m showered and dressed and driven and here, I�m exhausted. StrangerLucy offered me a code, to create my own Live Journal, and one has to have a code, so I said sure, why not, thanked her, and in between �pause�s on the VCR I created my own Live Journal. Or LJ as they�re known over there. It�s so different, it�s a blog, a web log, not like Diaryland at all. And I already have my first LJ crush. It�s mostly on a photograph, but it�s on the writing too, the attitude, the NYC state of mind of one of the journalers� and strangely enough, it�s not the one StrangerLucy had recommended (he�s a Scorpio, �nuff said!), but on one who left comments in that one�s comments section (a Sag, much more practical). Mmmmmm� I know, I know, Interweb crushes get me nowhere, but it�s harmless fun, for now. So I have a blog. And I have a Diaryland diary. Of course I pay for the latter, for this, for image hosting, for special stats, for the prestige of �Gold� status, because we all know how much �prestige� means to me (not). I won�t cross over completely, I won�t become a Diaryland ex-pat in the land of LiveJournal.com, but it will be fun to have a new outlet. I like it, I don�t like it, it�s odd, it�s foreign, it�s exciting, it�s challenging. It�s new. Thank you, StrangerLucy! Outside it�s wet and gray, with subtle colors in the leaves, nothing bright, nothing spectacular yet, just wet and brown, or dark yellow, or a brownish orange. Yet. I stayed inside all weekend. I didn�t bathe. I showered on Thursday. And this morning. Reminds me of the French boyfriend, the times he said, �I don�t feel like getting wet�. But his genitals were always impeccably clean, clean enough to eat. But it�s gross, I know. I finally changed from the old Victoria�s Secret pajamas (the same ones Danielle wore on �Big Brother 3�, by the way!, well, mine are mine and hers are hers, hers are bigger too, but you know what I mean) I�d had on since Friday night� yesterday. Ew!!! Oh come on, if you lived alone, er, with a couple of cats (who don�t care how you smell), and just sat around online all weekend, you�d maybe do the same. No? Ah, fuck you. It wasn�t that bad. It was cool inside. I�ve yet to turn on the heat. Maybe 68 degrees. Jammies and socks weather, inside. And know what??? It made my shower this morning all the sweeter. You could eat off me now. My hair is squeaky clean. All is well, see? Pretend I was camping. Would that make it better? Goofy Americans, so obsessed with your body odor. Deodorants, bodywashes, body sprays, heaven help you if you smell like a real person. I know, three days is extreme! Whoo hoo! I shouldn�t even be telling you, and I know who YOU are, all of you. Blech! I�m going to forget the reader now. Ahem. So what else is new??? Um, right. Boy, see, I got off on a tangent there, and now it�s hard to work my way back. Yes, yes, yes, in spite of not giving a fuck, in general, I DO care what people think. I can tell you of my occasional disgusting hermit-like behavior, but then when I inadvertently place myself in your shoes, and I�m you reading this, I�m no longer me writing this, well, I�m very judgmental. Let�s hope you�re not. Or you are, whatever. Blah, work. I told Listerine, �It seems like just a couple of days ago we were here��, and isn�t that sad? This is where I spend the bulk of my life. My cube is not so bad, really, I rather like it. It�s well lit and there is plenty of counter space, but jeez, I�m at fucking WORK. Cost of the War in Iraq
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