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Wednesday, Feb. 12, 2003 / 8:01 p.m. ~Val De Reee, Val De Raaaa, My Terrorist Attack Kit On My Back~ I just realized it's been a while since I last mentioned how much I miss my other computer. I still do. Miss it. I had a great dream on Sunday, well it wasn't all great, a large portion of it involved me living with my father, in my old apartment, my first apartment on my own. How do you write the sound you make when you shiver? Okay, well, it was weird, living with him again, and he was sick, or getting sick, and that's a small apartment, always was, still is, even in my dreams, and sometimes I dream I've gone back there to live. In fact, I am dreaming a LOT lately about moving, about living someplace else, about looking at other places to live. I want to hurry up and sign my new lease and get the commitment over with - in fact, I called today to see if it's ready for me to sign, but it's not. Long story. Or short, but I'm really digressing here. In the dream, the one where my father and I live together in my first apartment (which I lived in WITHOUT him, just me and three cats, three different cats, you don't know them), my father called in some guy to fix my computer. He came in and pressed one button, or one key, or something, and it was up and running. Said it had to do with something or other and then it was fixed. Bingo. Just like that. I was going to have to pay for the guy's services, so I was concerned at the hourly rate, etc., and the guy was a druggie, or something, really it's not clear. But it was SO great to get it fixed. The dream this morning involved some really nice house for sale, hardwood floors all over the place, and me trying to decide if I wanted to buy it, or rent it. I said it would be great, if I had some Oriental rugs, but I don't. Too much floor. Great floorplan, lots of 'flow', incredible, I can't describe it, but I can picture it (I bet I could draw it). I'm not sure I'll forget it really, it made quite an impression. One other thing was that I said I'd be scared to live there alone, too many doors to the outside, too many noises, too many ways for someone to break in. Themes. Space, rooms, security, fear of lack of security, upheaval in home environment. Work it out. It's Gladys' fault I can't sleep with the cats lately. She has boundless energy, and she wakes me up over and over. Always has really, but lately it seems worse. I wonder if she ever sleeps, even during the day. Of course she is an Aries like I am, so is Norm, we all are Aries, and sometimes I think their moods are matching mine, the planets have us in sync. Thusly, today, after a restful, catless sleep, I had boundless energy. Kathy asked how I was and I said, "I'm surprisingly very good", and she turned away, as people do, but I kept going, "No, really, I'm surprised, but I feel great! No kidding, I don't know what it is, I mean I shut the cats out, I slept well, maybe that's it, I just have energy and feel really good", and she said, "Well, you're finally over your cold, that makes sense" and she kind of went on a little. She's our permanent temp, the one who comes every year during peak to help us out, but they won't hire her permanently for some unknown reason. She is a 'Senior', but won't reveal her age. Her daughter is my age. And she's from New York, plays Mah Jhong (am I spelling it right?), has a doggie, lives alone. I think she's in her late 60s, but I can't be sure. She is also a ballet dancer and has wonderful posture, an elegant carriage. I love her. Really. She's a Virgo, really into all things healthy, nutritional, and she believes every old wives' tale. She's a 'hoot'. She starts all her sentences with "Well, you know....", as if she's going to impart some incredible wisdom, but then she says, "... that if you boil a chicken with lemon and eat it while you stand on your head you won't get cancer", or something like that. So I couldn't read all day. I talked to 'the new boy', whose energy seemed to match mine. We told each other about every crazy phone call. "Listen to this! This guy just called and wanted his tax statement, and he said.....!", "Yeah? Well listen to THIS! Look at THIS guy's name! It's 'Toshiba'! Isn't that hilarious?!", etc., etc. All day. I was outgoing and friendly, sort of like I can be, when I feel good. I think my coworkers think I'm mad, or bipolar, if they only knew what bipolar means. End of day a fight broke out on the other side of the suite. A Supervisor asked some people to hold down the noise, and one responded, "Fuck you, you alcoholic bitch!", or something to that effect, and her boyfriend, or the man she is having an affair with, during work hours only of course, stood up for her and threatened to break the Supervisor's jaw. Apparently the HR Manager was called, a meeting took place, more meetings took place, and nothing much has happened, yet. We heard it about it, 'the new boy''s wife (who works on that side) called him and told him details, we all talked about it, decided they should be fired immediately for insubordination, but it wasn't happening. I said it's racial, and Kathy pooh poohed me. No, really. The Supervisor is white, almost all the employees are black. I really think if tables were turned they'd be gone. As it is, so the story goes, this Supervisor gets no respect at all from any of her employees, save the one white one, 'the new boy''s wife. I'm not kidding. They all talk back, give her a hard time, show no respect. Except her. Age? Race? Who's to say? I've only been there for 5 years, what do I know, right? I know. An office, in the South, with 90% black employees, management staff 99% white, you do the math. The racial 'incidents' are rampant. Rampant. I've never experienced so much prejudice and bigotry in my entire life as I have working at this office. He said he'd break her fucking jaw. And he's a big man, maybe 6'2", maybe 300 lbs. And he's fucking the one who called her a fucking alcoholic. This is what we heard..... We were like little angels, "Can you believe it? How awful!", like nothing bad has ever happened on our side...... have we forgotten already??????? Okay, big difference, we don't say "Fuck" in our department. Well, 'the new boy' and I do, sometimes, when we're talking, and there was that time I was really pissed off and said I was sick of the fucking blah, blah, blah, to Veronica, but that's different. Our quarrels are so tame by comparison. Anyway. I did the grocery store thing after work, really just for water, and again, I HATE that I can no longer drink my tap water. When I run the washer, when it's filling up to do a load, the smell is ovewhelming. One I day I MUST find out what's in it. It smells like a gas, like a toxic gas, but I don't know which one. It's so awful, and I wash dishes in it, take showers in it, brush my teeth in it, but I spit it out, I won't swallow (get your mind out of the gutter) and I won't give it to the cats to drink. We three drink nothing but bottled water now, but it's a pain in the fucking ass. Filters? Maybe. We'll see. I'm not sure which is more expensive, my 2.5 gallon jug a week, or Brita, or a filtration system, or Crystal Springs delivery, or whatever, but I want my tap water back!! It's on my list of things to do, to get it tested, find out what is now in it that wasn't in it a few months ago, file a Class Action Suit against the County. Hah! Good luck. Man, I am so wordy, I keep straying from all topics at hand. The store. It was crowded. So many singles, so many people running around grabbing this and that, it was a madhouse. And speaking of madhouses..... the CBS Evening News showed people constructing their emergency TERRORIST ATTACK kits. Oh, the duct tape! The plastic! The bottled water!!! Too crazy. Reminds me SO much of Y2K!!!!!!! Do you remember Y2K?!!!!! How you laughed at the nuts in their bomb shelters lining up their cans of soup? That's how I feel now, like you people are freaking out and you really ought to stop. At least their reports are balanced lately, or more than used to be. They had a brief interview with a Terrorism Expert who was saying that duct tape and plastic sheeting aren't really going to do a whole helluva lotta good if we're attacked. He said if people want to take care of themselves they'd be much better off quitting smoking, getting some exercise and not driving drunk! It was great! Yahoo!! You said it, Chester. No, I don't think his name was Chester, it's just I like that name, like Dave Letterman likes the name Kenny. And Larry. Dave's fookin' crazy. Oh, I said "fookin'" at work today, to 'the new boy' (when oh when will I give him a decent nickname?), and he had me repeat it, he thought I was really funny today. So, back to the news, there was this woman in NYC who was all prepared for the big attacks, right, her kits, her water, her knitting, or whatever, and she says, if there's even a small chance something will happen, isn't it better to be ready? And I say there's a small chance you will be hit by a meteor tomorrow, so you shouldn't leave your house. And there's a small chance some serial killer will come to your home and rape you before he slashes your throat with a giant butcher knife, so really you should buy a gun and sleep with it under your pillow. Better yet, sleep with it in the crook of your arm, assuming you crook you arm while you sleep. And there's a small chance you will win the Lottery, so you should play it every single day until you do win. And there's a small chance the man who cuts your grass with his riding mower won't see you while he's cutting and he will mow you right into the ground, blood, guts, bones, ick, spurting everywhere, so really you should never leave your bed. And when the calendar year switches from 1999 to 2000 all the computers in the world will cease to function and we will suddenly have no utilities because the utility companies will all blow up! And the nuclear power plants will all melt down and then the sky will fall, and men in long robes and funny hats and long beards, and indecipherable foreign accents will grab you and try to teach you about Islam. Run for your lives!!! Chester is right. Quit fucking smoking if you want to save your life. Quit leaving the bar toasted and getting in your car to drive back to the suburbs, you idiot. Eat a salad every now and then. And accept the fact that YOU WILL DIE, some time. It may be because of a misguided interpretation of the Koran, it may be because you fall in the shower and hit your head and an aneurism develops and bursts. You will die. So, LIVE NOW!!!!!! Jesus fucking Christ. So, I ate deviled eggs, pre-made, and sure, they were rubbery, but I dig rubbery egg whites. Call me crazy. I know, "You're crazy." And now I want to eat more, and we talked again at work about how it's perceived that I don't eat, and Penelope said, "I've seen you eat, you can eat!" and I said, "Thank you." I got the temp out of my cube too. Forgot to mention it. H., the Supervisor, gave me the break I needed, and Penelope trained her instead. But the temp, whom we are all calling by the wrong name, the name of the last two temps, who share a name, natch, and it's funny that no one can remember her actual name except for Penelope because she sat with her today, left after lunch because she had to see to her broken car. I know she needs the job, but if she doesn't come back I'm good with that. She seems very nice, but she is not suited for the job. Maybe she can be a Camp Counselor or something. Or a hand model. Or a Train Engineer. Not a Call Center Rep. Did I mention how at 7:30 p.m., on the dot, I was overcome with exhaustion? And then I played with the felines, with their new toy, which they love so very much, until I was tired and they were not? "The Bachelorette" will be a special doggie episode tonight (well, what's the manly word for 'catty'?), and I look forward to that! Whoo, and hoo as well. I'm through now, I think. Got it all out of my system. Dream, check. Terror kits, check. Quit smoking, check. No, I don't smoke, I quit, when I was 16, no lie. Tired, check. Train Engineer, check. Looks good. Oh, wait, one more issue. We are all really different, and sure, yeah, yeah, I appreciate that, and I piss people off, here in the land of diaries, and I get pissed off, and I read some diaries written by some people who could not be more different from myself if they came from other planets, no lie, and lately I am finding I cannot read them because I want to grab these people and shake them until their brains fall back into their heads in the appropriate positions so they can see the light, so things make sense again, but I can't, so I can't read them. I'm going to work on it, I'm not going to go removing people from my list, but I know only about a third of the people who list me read me, and I'm getting to that point too. I liked your shit at some point, I added you, but now you infuriate me. And I, you. I know, some people have told me, flat out, plain as day. Remember the dude not long ago who thought I shouldn't eat at McD's? I decided to take him off my list, so he got in a tizzy and took me off too. I won't be that juvenile again. I've always told people if they don't like my shit, by all means, don't waste your fucking time. Likewise, you're sure. Ciao. Cost of the War in Iraq
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