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Wednesday, Oct. 08, 2003 / 1:25 p.m. ~Look Me In the Eye and Tell Me, I'm Satisfied~ (I've had a lot of song references lately in here - why, only yesterday there were three - bonus points if you know the title song and band name) Aha! I have the font style in my toolbar now. Whoo and hoo. It all seems so futile really, fighting traffic only to get here, to work, and to sit. To come in and sit for the first hour, answering the occasional phone call, waiting for the paperwork to arrive. And the ironic thing is the paperwork and the phone calls pick up at the same time. So, finally we get paperwork, around 10:30, and the phone calls start, and just when it gets really crazy and we all have big piles on our desks, the phones don't stop ringing, and then I turn to see Kukla has hers turned off, so she 'keys' all she wants, no interruptions, and because the phones cycle through our extensions, mine rings over and over continuously and I become incensed. Yeah, every day. And then Q turns hers off too, and when she gets up to FAX and copy and etc, she leaves it on, so it rings and I say, "Phone's ringing!", and she runs back but it's too late. How is it possible that I've stayed so long at a job that I really hate so much? We've been through all this before, haven't we? So much so that I noticed when I was reading back through old diary entries the other night that my life is exactly the same as it was two years ago. I work all week at a job that I hate, a job that sucks my soul right out of my body, and on weekends I sleep and wish I'd do more. The occasional movie or hockey game or night out at a club, or restaurant takeout break the monotony, but it's all exactly the same, at least two years of it written here, and sadly even longer not written (thankfully, we suppose). Hmmmm. I'm listening to Chris Isaak's "San Francisco Days". It's lovely. His voice is so sexy, so beautiful, it wraps itself around me every time I listen to him. I forget my love of his music until I plop one of his CDs in the Walkman, or on the stereo, then I sink into it, remember, and it always makes me want sex. I recommend. I think it's "Heart Shaped World" that made the Zagat guide. And rightly so, but all of his albums are quite good. I own several. I lent Jane Moby's "Play", also in the Zagat guide, and she'd never heard of it, nor of him, so I had to briefly tell her of my horrible crush on him, my experience meeting him, the picture taking incident, rubbing his back, and reading his journal online. Insert large dreamy SIGH right here. I'm going to guess she won't like the album, I can't imagine it being 'her thing'. Bored. This is some horrible boring. If I stop typing this, now, I won't have anything to do, but maybe read. And I'm not in the mood to read. It's so hard to be here like this, knowing there's a whole world out there, and even a small one at my apartment, things I need and want to do. I know this is a broken record, and how boring as well to read or hear of someone so desperate for change, but afraid to make it happen. You might say, "Hey, get a new job, send out your resume, what is your dealio?", and I'd say, "But I don't want some other boring job, I want NO job, and I won't be happy until I have no job. I've had that life, I know what it's like, and it's wholly unrealistic to think I'll have that again, but in a very un-feminist way I wish I could just be a housewife, just stay home and clean the baseboards, grow herbs in the backyard, and have an affair with the roofer. Or something. I want to read books, I want to cook, I want to travel, and I want to write. I don't want to be giving my life to someone else, not like this. It is written. Now, when? This is far too navel-gaze-y. How 'bout something topical? Can you believe Schwarzenegger is fooking GOVERNOR?!?!?! As they ask, "Will wonders never cease?" I like to say his name all German-y, "Shvartsinegger". Dude's a Nazi, face it. And a womanizing pig. And a helluvanactionhero. But he has a commanding presence, broad shoulders, good posture, and that's about all it takes, and a few million dollars. Whee! Good for him, little Austrian boy who wanted to be somebody, who wanted respect and power. I guess he's got it now. Time to save this to disk, go pee, wander around, get some water, wait for Jane to pass out the paperwork, look forward to checking email on my break, to see if John has sent more poetry. Dude is so after my scent, and I have no clue why� except he did see all the photos in my Yahoo! online photo album, before I had the sense to make it private. I guess he may have a crush on me. Imagine that. It's later now. There's a young woman working here, very mysterious, very attractive, blond, lanky, tall, and I rarely see her, wonder about her when I do. She reads in the break room, carries books with her, has a tattoo or two, and today wears a skirt and sweater, looks very retro. I want to know her. I checked my Site Meter stats and was somewhat horrified. I need to do a count, but it looks like every single person in the world is looking on the Interweb for video footage of the tiger mauling Roy Horn, and because I used those words in a previous diary entry they are all clicking on my diary, and it's not even taking them to that entry! (I counted: 50 separate search hits since yesterday at about 2:30 - it positively smacks of conspiracy) They're just clicking, and going away, or reading a page or two, and suddenly my diary is splashed ALL OVER THE INTERWEB, EVERY SEARCH ENGINE. It's insane. I made the entry in question a private entry, but of course that did nothing, it's still showing up on every search engine. So I locked the whole thing. Until I can regroup. It really shouldn't bother me, but holy moly, you should see it, every single hit is from a search for that video footage, and I don't even know if it exists, online, or anywhere. Meanwhile, here at work, I'm cranky and horny, and have the same headache I had yesterday (I wonder, does being fertile require having a headache?). Not a good combination. I vacillate between thinking about sex and wanting everyone here to SHUT THE FUCK UP! Everything is too loud, too bright, or smells too strong, or feels too rough, or feels too good, and I just want to have mad crazy sex with someone I'll never have to see again. I want a beautiful man's body to ravage, and ravage it I would. I feel very dominant and desirous. To continue� I'm home at lunch now, eating peanut butter and apricot preserves on whole wheat, trying to cool off after a particularly nasty phone call just before leaving work. This crazy woman trying to garnish some poor slob's wages, someone who's defaulting on his student loans, someone who no longer even works for the big corporation for whom we verify employment, is having a bad day and wanted to take it all out on me, just bitch, bitch, bitch, blah, blah, blah, interrupt, interrupt, interrupt. I could not wait to get her off the phone, and I slammed my phone down after throwing off my headset and practically ran to the time clock to clock out and practically raced out of the parking lot in my little 20something year old Toyota. Now I'm calm, I feel pretty good, food helps, but I dread going back there. I'm so frustrated in so many areas of my life, basically all of them, and it's hard some days. Days like this. Cost of the War in Iraq
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