Tuesday, Apr. 22, 2003 / 6:54 p.m.

~On the Evolution of Discomfort~

My latest obsession is The Mirror Project. Although, it's hardly an obsession, it's merely something really cool that has piqued my interest. Again, if I had a better computer (same old song and dance, about which I'm not doing a thing) I'd spend hours there, but so far, it's merely a diversion, something that inspires me, totally, completely, reminds me that my chosen career, at one point, back when I imagined a career for myself, was photojournalism.

And, I have two photos there now, at The Mirror Project, and I went through just one of my huge old photo albums last night and found several (!) photos I've taken of myself, and others, in reflective surfaces. I wanted to scan them all and submit them, but I don't have a scanner, I can't hook one up to this machine (no hard drive space to install software, trust me, NO hard drive space, Windows '95 takes up almost the whole C drive, and the partitioned D drive is almost full with fun stuff), and I barely get time to use the one at work, which I don't know how to use.

Really, thinking about all of that, in a split second, last night, I wanted a state of the art computer system, and I wanted to go out and shoot with my old Olympus OM1 I got for high school graduation, shoot, shoot, shoot, look for reflective surfaces everywhere and take self portrait after self portrait... it's a dream anyway. I have a lot of those.

I spent some time on a 15 minute break today at work looking at other people's photos of themselves in reflective surfaces, and most are really good, really intriguing, and again, inspiring. Fun.

Today was much like yesterday, a little less hand wringing, a little more relaxing, a little more resolve, a little more resolution. Passports are really expensive. Flights to Italy are even more expensive. I'm getting no response to the huge bombshell dropped on me Sunday, no response at all to my response to said bombshell, so I'm losing the desperate feeling I had to connect. It occurred to me to simply get a phone number for my Uncle and give the dude a call, chat him up, yak his ear off, cheer him up or something. After all, reach out and touch someone and all that crap.

We'll see, we'll just have to see.

Meanwhile, it's the usual proximity with absolutely no fucking intimacy at all, all day every day. I can't wait to get away from them, the co-workers, come home to the cats. I'm so very at home at home. I don't understand why people want to go out - I always think they must not have nice homes, must not have books and music and cats. These 'things' make a home, and mine is fine.

Solace and comfort is now, in fact.

I actually checked messages from work, I have no idea why, maybe just to hear Moby on my answering machine, "Speak to me baby, in the middle of the night, put your mouth close to mine...", but there were no messages. So, it was surprising to come home and find the red light blinking, and rather than just listen, as I did at lunch, to the man who wants to install a satellite for me (how do these guys get my number?), I checked caller ID, and yeah, guess who it was?

'Crush Boy' called, one of those people who responds to email with a phone call. I suppose I've done that, and vice versa. He enjoyed Moby on my answering machine too, and mentioned the gathering at his house next week, said he's going out of town this week, so I called back, even though his message didn't really merit a reply. Which made me feel sort of stupid for calling, and he has this echo-y phone so I couldn't tell if I was on speaker phone or what, and we didn't talk long at all before I realized he doesn't like Moby, but hasn't heard much, thinks of his neighbor's five cats who are always 'killing things' outside when he hears I live with two cats, and that the thing at his house sounds really weird, but I won't talk about it here.

Which of course makes me think of here. No, I shouldn't go into it, dammit, I can no longer be as open as I'd like in my diary. I've got at least two people fucking with me, and they'll love to see mention of said fucking with, I know this, so I debate, but it's my diary, and it just came across my mind, so there you go. Why are you fucking with me? What do you possibly gain? Really. What?

So, the locking didn't last but a weekend, and I consider it again, as usual, and leaving altogether, and writing a truly private diary for no one else but me. The considerations are all worthy of considering. I do have to check stats, as this is 'anonymous' and if people who 'know' me find it I'd definitely lock it....

Which reminds me of when I sent email to my uncle, a year or two ago, with my joleen email address as the return address, and I realized it on my way to see "Moulin Rouge" at the FOX Theatre, panicked, sat in the theatre barely able to pay attention, wondering if he'd notice, came home and locked the diary immediately, wrote to him to tell him to please disregard, and he feigned Interweb ignorance, as a lot of people do, feign. But I believed him, and all was well.

Anyway, I miss the freedom I once felt, to say what I really wanted to say, to post photos - I don't think I will anymore, not of me anyway... who knows what these people would do with them? Seriously. I was written about on a hate web site a while back, and I don't know what people who think they hate me would do with my photo.

Which reminds me of something else, since I'm doing nothing but following one train of thought after another for a few minutes here before I watch two of my very favorite televison shows ever, one "Gilmore Girls", and one "24", I got out my Passport last night, and it was right where I put it, years and years ago, at the bottom of my desk drawer, and the picture of me is wild. I look Middle Eastern. I could easily racially profile myself and say I look like a potential suicide bomber, or someone with explosives in her shoes. It shocked me really, I don't recall ever looking quite so.... 'ethnic'. But this explains why people I meet for the first time still ask me, "Are you Latina? Are you Italian? What are you?", and I, frustratedly, say, "I'm American". But lately I say, "I'm half Jewish", because I think that's what it is, it's the Jew in me.

Whatever. I know. It's a funny picture though, I hope that I get to keep it when I renew it, but looks like I won't be, and besides, it's been close to 19 years since I got it, I can't 'renew', I'd have to reapply. Expensive, way, close to $100 if I put a rush on it. And I don't look like that picture anymore.

I was going to scan it today at work, post it here, but then I remembered these folks who are 'fucking with me', and I decided I couldn't possibly put a picture of me here. 'pacbell.net' and 'bbtec.net' would have a field day. And why click on someone's diary every hour or so? What is the point? I suppose I can understand angrily pissing someone off on purpose, doing something that you know will piss someone off, just to piss that person off, but after a while don't you let up? Don't you move on and piss someone else off? And what is it with strangers on the Interweb singling people out to piss off? What is that about? It seems peculiar to Interweb culture, I mean I'd never see that in 'real life', except stalking, but that's not to piss someone off, that's some sort of misguided worship.

Worship? This diary? Good god. This is crap. Go worship something worthwhile, go to The Mirror Project or Moby.com and read Moby's journal. And how is it people can be online all day every day? Don't you get out and see the sun? Go make some friends, go out to eat, ride a bike, pat a puppy, go live a life, get offline for a moment. You'll see there's a whole world filled with people to harass, not just me.

Yes, I know what writing about these two will do, it will spur an onslaught of clicks. *Sigh* Worship me, if you must. But in doing so, you get only a small piece of me, you restrict me and must enjoy the process. I'd ask that you go away, and find someone else to worship. Then we could all be happy.

Oh yes, and Happy Earth Day! I wore my "Earth Day Is Every Day" button on my shirt collar today, but only one person noticed, the woman who offered me help when she saw my engine's hood up as I added two quarts of oil in the parking lot after work.... I celebrate Earth Day by leaking motor oil all over the parking lot at work. And driving a car desperately in need of a new fuel pump and possibly exhaust system. But what a beautiful day it was. Very lovely here this time of year.

Cost of the War in Iraq
(JavaScript Error)

Run, Kitty, Run!

Previous - Next

New - 2012 - 2009 - 2008 - 2007 - 2006 - 2005 - 2004 - 2003 - 2002 - 2001 - Profile - Contact - Notes - Rings - Diaryland - Favourite Entries - ReadMe - Surveys - Random Entry

Recent Entries:

It Was 40 Years Ago Today - 9:44 a.m. , Friday, Oct. 12, 2012

Dead Black Cat - 9:07 a.m. , Wednesday, Jan. 25, 2012

As Seen From Outer Space - 1:07 a.m. , Saturday, Dec. 05, 2009

I Survived to Tell the Tale - 7:29 a.m. , Friday, Sept. 18, 2009

Reading My Life - 12:55 p.m. , Saturday, Sept. 12, 2009

Happy Kitty

My Diary Was Reviewed at Ms Lovejoy's - Get Yours Reviewed Too!

Registered I was a nominee