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Saturday, Apr. 27, 2002 / 12:44 p.m. ~Can't I Just Go Back to Bed?~ Someone did a search in Google for "I love gay men" and read my diary. Why? I never wonder so much at the searches people perform (perform?), but at the fact that they click on my diary. If I'm searching for remedies for menstrual cramps and I see a link for "suziesgotherperiod.com" or some such shit I'm going to skip right over it, you know? I'm going to the "webmd.com" links or the university links or medical centers, or whatever. How is it that people are so easily distracted? I was thinking last night about how I do nothing I used to do, how my life has totally changed since I got my current job, and I realized that I got this computer almost simultaneously. The two go hand in hand. Get a job which takes up 40 hours a week, and a computer which takes up another 20 or 30 or more, and there you have it. You have gray hairs now and wear glasses. Is it a big mystery? Hardly. Today is my official 4 year anniversary of being a permanent employee at my job. I started February '98, as a temp-to-hire, and it was April 27 that I was officially added to the payroll. I never considered I'd stay this long, and really, on my days off, work is the last thing I want to think about, but I know it's the 27th, so there it is. If I didn't have this computer though......... what would I do? I like to think I'd read books, instead of strangers' diaries, I'd clean my apartment when there is nothing on TV, and maybe I'd go out more, looking for things to do, things to entertain me. The computer keeps me here, connected, to everything I don't go out to do. To every person I don't have to actually meet or talk to. Reminds me of something Moby recently wrote in his journal - he was saying that maybe he updates too often, that maybe he should tone it down, maybe just once a week (NO, Moby, NO!!!!), but then he said he loves writing his updates, and if he didn't write there, in his journal, he'd have to get out and talk to real people. I love Moby. I do. Sometimes he thinks exactly as I do, sometimes I wish I was right there with him just so I could let him know, "ME TOO!". He is the only one, well, besides Tony Bourdain, who does do something for me, and it's not like I wrote yesterday that there is no one who turns me on, it's deeper than that. I connect with these guys on a cerebral level, and possibly a spiritual level, in that they, and I, believe in the importance of the same things in life. With Tony, it's food, the sensousness, the sensuality, the overall pleasure center awareness while eating the best there is, and travel, and experience as the ultimate in life. With Moby, it's also pleasure, but in small things, in sounds and textures and animals and the Earth, a big thing really, but he is so passionate in his caring, yet alone in himself. These two men fascinate me completely. Ah...but soon I'll be in the company of another, and I dread to think I must soon be charming and funny and engaging. When all I want to do is curl up on the sofa with my pillow and wish my cramps would go away, and watch movies or "GL" on tape. Lie with Norman on my stomach, take a turn with Glad. I don't feel like being with a real person right now, especially not one who so clearly wants something from me, of me. But I will. I am obligated, and this I do not take lightly. Once committed, I am there. Like it or not. Right now I can't even remember what I dreamed. I must have slept solidly, deeply, only waking once I remember, or twice, once to turn off the TV, once to look at the clock and see that it was time to get up, my body was ready, I'd had enough, but it was still early and my mind wasn't finished yet. In my mind I was tired, my body was tired, it couldn't be time, not yet. And when I finally got up it was still dark with the curtains closed, the vertical blinds in the living room, and I wanted to leave them that way, sleep all day, pretend it's still night, dark all around. But I'm up, the cramps are going away a bit, I've ingested the caffeine necessary for a normal waking process, or is it wakening? Awakening? Now I'm shaky with it, but I won't eat yet. I have to find something to wear, and yes, Lulu, NOW is when I start to wonder, what will I wear? It doesn't happen until now. My horoscope says something about my "lover" wanting more from me than I'm wiling to give, but I should give my "lover" the attention that I know I need as well. Yes, Sandy, you're real cool, extra special even, now what were you saying about ME? Fuck, I hate dating. I hate getting to know someone knew, having to explain, to tell the stories, the ones I'm so sick of hearing, all about where I've been or what I've done. Maybe we can talk about current events, and leave ourselves totally out of it. Maybe we can go somewhere with so much external stimuli there will be no need to add anything to the mix. Blech. I need an attitude adjustment. How could I plan a date for the onset of my period? Hey, it'll be my period on Saturday, let's go out THEN! Wheeee!!! But why should I schedule myself around it? Because I'm a mess during it. I am Greta Garbo, I am Bette Davis, I am Joan Crawford, man, just leave me alone! Bette Davis? Aries. Joan Crawford? Aries. Garbo? Not sure, but these were strong, independent women, women who used their men for their own advantage, when they wanted them, and the rest of the time they were on their own. This is how it should be. I'm so mean. I'll be nicer, I promise. I'll be nice to poor Sandy, poor Sandy who is for some reason all smitten with me. Did I mention he came forward on the bus, during the night last Saturday night? He told me. He said I was asleep, sprawled across my two seats, and I thought yes, so what? I had two seats. It's not my fault you had Abe in your other seat so you couldn't stretch out, but what did you want from me anyway? And did you stand there, holding on to the seat so you wouldn't fall as we rumbled our way down that horrible broken highway, looking at me sleeping? What would you have said had I been awake? Would you have sat down, again, without asking if you might? If I minded? This will be diary fodder, this thing tonight, and how do I tell him I write and write and write online, in a diary, for strangers to read, without him doing as Mark did, coming to find it? And how did Mark find it? I've gone back to Google over and over, inserting (inserting?) those words he used, and I don't find my diary! I don't find it using those words. How in the hell? Okay, I'm going now, I think I'll shower, that will feel good, right? I'll find something to wear with my black jeans, I'll watch a "GL" or two on tape, that will be a diversion, and I'll leave, on time, and go to Sandy's "bourgeois home", and I can't wait to see how he lives, I can't wait to gauge just how much money he does have. Is he rich? Will he buy me a new computer? Will I fall in love with him? Will we get married and live happily ever after? Will there be no second date? Here's something really funny Sandy said the other night on the phone, and I keep forgetting to put it here. I told it to Lulu at work yesterday, but I really don't think she got it. Did Sandy intend to be funny? Was it a joke he heard somewhere? He was talking about how is looking forward to this Summer, telling me ideas he has for places he wants to go, a humanitarian/environmental mission in the Palestinian territories, or New Mexico, or a community in Tennessee to take Abe, or he was thinking about going to a meditation retreat.... but he thought it might be boring. Did you read that? He thought the meditation retreat might be boring. Okay, am I the only one who gets this? Who thinks this is very funny? Ciao for now. Cost of the War in Iraq
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