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Sunday, May. 19, 2002 / 2:16 p.m. ~As it Should Be~ Friday night I popped popcorn. Without a microwave. I used a popper, on the stove over a burner with a hot flame. Oil, popcorn, popping quickly, then seasoning with melted butter and seasonings, tamari. And it was good. Yesterday I listened to music, I threw things away, I touched things I hadn't touched in ages, I saw piles I'd neglected, I noticed everything around me, and I remarked to myself. I watched the end of a hockey game, barely able to sit still. I puttered. I ate yogurt. And when my hunger grew so strong I could no longer ignore it, I went out for Thai takeout, held up on the highway because people cannot read the road signs, cannot merge when they should. I was angry, I tailgated, the woman in front of me slammed on her brakes, toying with me, watching me in her rearview mirror. I came home and ate, my favorites, Basil Rolls and Nam Sod and Garlic Pepper Tofu, and a new item, Tofu Vegetable Soup, a very light broth with tofu and cabbage, celery, carrots. And I was full. And I had indigestion and I couldn't breathe and my side hurt. So I lay and watched television. I checked my email twice, I read some diaries. I had no desire to share myself online, I didn't write. I considered it. I watched "You Can Count On Me" and didn't understand why it was so critically lauded. I watched "Saturday Night Live", only because Moby was on. He was cut off for a commercial while playing "South Side". And he played "We Are All Made of Stars", as I knew he would. His bass player smiles at the camera, she has an odd TV persona. His vocalists were barely audible. And he was a small feature on "People in the News" on CNN, late. So I watched a story on Celine Dion, and one on Enrique Iglesias first. One week later, I'm listening to "18" again, my fourth time. And finally I love it. I find songs from it going through my head at different times in a day. Any day. Certain melodies stuck there. One week ago it was on TV, and there were incongruous images accompanying it. Now it's just music, and I do love it, it's moving, it's emotional, it's feeling and very beautiful. But I will remember where I was, how I felt, that day, one week ago. I'm glad it's all over. That intensity, that excitement, that torture of passion and emotion. Only one week ago I felt too much and it consumed me. I've fallen back to Earth and now I'm throwing things away, I'm listening to music, I'm turning the PC off, I'm cleaning, I'm washing dishes, I'm doing what I want to be doing, there is no interference other than my own. It feels right. And I missed the "Guiding Light" tribute at the Daytime Emmys because I was online Friday night, all night, reading diaries, or maybe one or two. The porch is open, the temperature is 65 degrees in the shade. It's perfect. The sky is blue, the trees are green, and earlier I sat out there, with Norman, we watched the branches move in the wind. I sank down low, nothing but trees and a rooftop visible. It was quiet. Now my neighbors are active, they're on their porch below. I want to change my sheets, vacuum, clean the bathroom, shower and wash my hair, I want to cut my hair, short, and finish throwing things away, take the recyclables to the car, if not to the recycling center. I want to clean, listen to music, watch TV later, I want to eat Spicy Veggie Chicken, later. Everything is perfect right now. As it should be. Cost of the War in Iraq
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