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Tuesday, Sept. 24, 2002 / 11:39 a.m. ~Choosy Moby Groupies Choose �Move�~ I have insect venom on one thigh, one juicy loin (old reference � my brother coined the phrase �meaty juicy loin� years ago), and what feels like sciatica running up and down the other leg in its entirety. Right now it�s in my hamstring. The back of my knee, down to my arch. Pinched nerve, twisted nerve, pressed nerve. Ow, painful, discomfort nerve. I was typing a PO BOX address, the same one, in Canal Street Station, over and over, and it made me think of those stainless steel toilet seats in that train station in Manhattan. Grand Central? I think it was. It was where we stopped to pee when we were post-wedding, pre-Village excursion, in July of �99. One of the best nights of my life. The most spontaneous, the most social, the most hopeful. The most fun. Four of us, laughing at everything, including stainless steel toilet seats. There is a machine in the department next to this, on the other side of a gray partition (well, everything here is gray), a machine which scans documents, okay, a scanner, but it raises and lowers paper to be scanned, and it sounds like a dentist�s drill. I keep hearing it, thinking I�m working in a dentist�s office. Or I�m next in line to be drilled upon. And I looked in the mirror at my teeth this morning, before work, and thought, It�s been 7 years since I�ve been to the dentist. I brush at least twice a day, I floss every night, with little exception. I guess I�m okay. Funny how time just keeps on passing. For instance, it�s almost October. Who knew? The weatherman said it�s going to be in the 50s by week�s end. Wow. I haven�t complained about the heat in days. Haven�t needed to. It�s been cloudy and cool-er. It�s been rainy and lovely. I like it. Mi piace molto. Um, I like it, a lot. The leg thing hurts, in spurts. The �paper jogger� jogs. The scanner rises and lowers, the dentist office noises, here. I started my day here, at work here, in the cube here, listening to �Horowitz � The Last Recording�, paying my bills due next week, listening to Chopin. Liszt. Wagner. Again wanting to go to the Symphony. I think I keep forgetting. I need to find the schedule and just go, just walk up and buy a ticket and go on in. I miss Classical music. I need it every so often. Then I put Moby�s �Move� in the Walkman and almost had an orgasm. My eyes closed, it was too good. In fact, I had to turn it off for a bit. We have tons of paperwork today. It�s cold inside. The leg has its thing going. Ow and stuff. I want to go to the Zoo, the Symphony, I need to trim my nails again, and no doubt the girls� claws. Kukla is back, so is Penelope, and I wish they were still gone. Kukla talks on the phone a lot, like Lulu did, personal calls. She turns her work line off and yaks. It�s SO wrong, but I can do nothing about it. Still, over the dentist�s drill, I hear her. I�m thinking about food, what I want for dinner. It�s 11:52 a.m. and I am thinking about dinner. My stomach is growling. So. We have the sciatica (self-diagnosed, of course), the hunger, the insect venom, the cold, the long nails. I�m a physical mess. But my hair is squeaky clean. I actually combed it this morning, in between washings, and in putting it back I felt it, of course, and it was indeed squeaky. I think I�d better work now. You know, I feel an obligation, since I�m getting paid and all. I think I�ll attempt the Moby album again. I know this one is just an EP, at least I think it is. It�s not long, but it has several songs on it, I don�t know what it is, but when I reach for a Moby CD to grab and bring to work, �Move� is the one I choose. Choosy Moby Groupies choose �Move�. Have I mentioned lately I am still stuck on him? Yeah. Mmmm hmmmmm. Cost of the War in Iraq
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