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2001-12-09 / 10:06 a.m. ~Awake too early, too much to do to sleep~ I fell asleep watching "Pal Joey", maybe 3:45 or so this morning. I woke up thinking about my guestbook, how if I deleted the HTML for the signing portion then I wouldn't get any more nasty notes from the auction girls. I lay in bed thinking about it, at 8:00 or so, and had to push Gladys aside, had to get up to change it. I changed the guestbook, I turned off the "notes", I changed my email to my hotmail address so now I can block the assholes who send me crap. And I deleted everything, but the last email letter I wrote, the one in which I told a total stranger to "fuck herself". I was so fed up, so irritated, it was after 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning and girls, girls who keep diaries, girls who create diary designs, young girls, were writing to me all over the place. I had 37 visitors to my diary yesterday, 37 "unique hosts". Because I pointed out that the auction was corrupt. Sure, I was mad, and I realize now, why did it take so long?, that I am an extremely powerful person. When I express my emotions people REACT! Wow. Who knew it would turn into what it turned into? And the offender, the one who started it all? Ms. Ginni? She gets nothing but love in her guestbook, nothing but love. Maybe I shouldn't have deleted all those guestbook entries, maybe I should've left them there. They were extreme, seriously. Like a gang attack. Hey, kids, it's just me, Joleen. You girls give me so much credit, it's too funny, really. In retrospect, I guess I can appreciate it, appreciate the power I have when I use my words, how often I am misconstrued, yet feared in a way, intimidating in another. It's wild. I wrote to Twiggle, said, "Hey, this is wrong! You need to fix it!", and she apologized, agreed, did fix it. Then she wrote again, via email, all of it, to say, "Um, you were pretty harsh in your diary entry", and she was right. I was. But the others......wow, the verbal outpouring, all done publicly in my guestbook, save for a few emails from Inez and Eris. Inez really freaked out, said I was slandering her and her fellow designers. Not really. I was speculating that the auction was rigged, and I wasn't far off. It was the auctioneers who had changed Ms. Ginni's bids. It was a little insider action. It was a crazy night. All I wanted to do was bid on two designs, fairly, and I was going to wait 'til the last minute and outbid that person for Quinn's design. Then things went crazy, bids were changing, lowering, then raising, I complained, and rightly so! Who wouldn't? Ah....who? There's the rub. Apparently no one would, but me. I, the outspoken one, the greasy wheel, and Alison thanks me, but why? Why does one person appreciate me exposing what was happening, and everyone else thinks I am the Devil? I wrote a day or two ago that I hate cliques. Hate. Hate groups that stick together, that gossip amongst themselves, that follow a herd mentality, and Diaryland is composed of a few, isn't it? Right now, I don't know how I feel about any of this, really. I looked in the mirror a little bit ago, I have my glasses on, my hair is not pulled up, nor back, but hangs long, and I looked fresh, my skin looked clear, I looked young, beautiful. I think sleep deprivation is attractive on me. I can't decide if I should stay awake, be really tired later so I can sleep and get up early for work tomorrow without the difficulty of most Monday mornings, or if I should crawl back into bed with Gladys, Gladys who is still there. So many things to do, all chores, cleaning, a manicure (my nails grow too fast, seems I have to cut them back every 2 weeks, but I'd prefer if I could cut them once and they would stay there, short, I can't stand feeling them grown out past my fingertips), watching "GL"s on tape, reading, etc. Yesterday I did laundry, and I actually went through some clothes that had piled up, clothes Kukla gave me, and set them aside for Salvation Army. I added some from the closet, and was tempted to go through all my clothes, I hate my clothes, they're all so old, ill-fitting, etc., but I didn't have quite that much energy. Still, I did three loads. That's a lot of laundry. And I washed dishes. I felt productive. Everything went as planned, except the auction. That went horribly wrong. Horribly. I really wanted those two designs too. I was having fun bidding. I was in a little bidding war with someone. It was exciting. Then it turned ugly, and they all came down on me, seriously, probably 6 different people wrote to me to tell me how horrible they think I am. Maybe more than 6. That's pretty intense. Guess I'll figure this out now, staying up, or going back to bed, keeping the diary locked, unlocking it. I hardly care anymore. In a way, I don't want anyone to read it but me, not even the regulars, the people who support me, and say they like what they read. It's too voyeuristic, the ones who read and say nothing, the ones who visit more than once in a day, or the ones who read one page and form judgments and criticize me, who never take the time to read the whole thing, to really know who I am. I'm constantly conflicted about keeping this diary, here, in this strange and wonderful place known as Diaryland. So many assholes, and they are always more vocal than the warm and kind people.... It's a diary. We'll leave it at that, for now. Cost of the War in Iraq
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