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Sunday, Mar. 02, 2003 / 6:10 p.m. ~Everything Feels Good~ Hey, you know what's not so good? Leaving your oven's broiler on after you're through using it. Even if your oven is relatively clean, or even spotlessly clean, it creates this odor that is not so very pleasant, this sort of burned oven odor, and then you have to open your windows again, and all the time you took earlier in the day to burn scented candles and move them from room to room even, seems for naught. I actually forgot to write here yesterday. Imagine that. I wrote just a tad in my other journal thingie online, but I totally forgot to write here. I read diaries, I was online, I checked antiwar.com, and Cainer's horoscope for the week, but I logged off and forgot to update. Not that I had anything to say. But now that I'm here, and it's evening on a Sunday, I can reflect. No, she never even called. I know she's irresponsible. I know she's immature. But still, somehow, optimistically, I'm disappointed. If I were a true cynic I wouldn't be. So this is how you tell. If you believe people when they tell you they'll do something, you're not as cynical as you thought. I'm okay with it. Part of me never wanted her to call, never wanted her to come over, but especially never even wanted to hear from her at all. But I cleaned. Oy, did I clean! This place is amazing. I've just sat at my very own dining table, candles lit, groovy Crate and Barrel placemat, my grandmother's china, regular flatware, but a cloth napkin, crystal wineglass, wine!, and steak, organic corn, wild mushroom couscous, and when I was through I didn't want to get up. I sat and remembered the Full Moon Dinner Parties we used to have, Leigh, George, and that one time Kevin, and I. We'd take turns. It was an opportunity to try new recipes, to hang and drink lots of wine, and talk. The more wine, the looser it got, and every time I'd clean like crazy before they got here. The first one I hosted I'd just moved in. I set up my whole library just so I could bring them in here to sit on the faux Oriental rug and gawk. We drank and laughed and talked and ate. Always several courses. At least an entree, bread, salad and dessert. Maybe an appetizer if we were feeling ambitious. And the one time Leigh and I got back from the Farmer's Market late, the 'boys' sat and waited for us, and sat and waited some more while I made the linguine with shiitakes in a saffron cream sauce. We never cared at the result, it was the whole experience that got us. I found her emulating me, I found that she thought I was worth emulating, and I loved going to their apartment just as much, yet their love overwhelmed me and I would leave feeling lonely. Now, I can do just like in that book, I think it's called Live Alone and Love It, or Like It, or something, I can sit at my own table and treat the hell out of myself and not feel alone or lonely or bad or guilty, but just plain fantastic! I loved it. I never wanted to get up. But here I am. Airing the place out from the broiler left on too long smell. Digesting. The wine making me feel relaxed, truly relaxed, for the first time this weekend. Nelson called Friday night. He'd called before, a couple weeks ago, and freaked me out just because he remembered my number. Friday I was online and I saw him on ICQ, but I hesitated. It was late and I was tired. Still, I got in bed and the phone rang, really late, booty call late, but we just talked about everything, with a major helping of politics. He is so smart, smarter than I remember. We both agreed Dan Rather is on someone's payroll other than CBS, we agreed on so many things, and he is so smart, I'll say it again. We didn't even come close to the old phone sex, it was more like two good friends talking after years apart. And he wanted to know how long we've known each other. I said I'd get back to him on that, and he really wanted me to. Yesterday morning Sandy called, wanting to see if I would go to the Demonstration with him, but I was wasted tired and backed down. I said, "I know, I'm a horrible protester, aren't I?", but his mom was on the other line when I called him back, so we never really did talk. Turns out there apparently was no demonstration, so all's well that ended well. I slept all day yesterday, woke and tried to get as much cleaning done as possible. It wore me out, but I was overtired, I overslept. Really, I was exhausted. Today I finished. I could hardly sleep. I was so anxious for Brandy to call, to come over, to have everything looking so perfect for her and her friend. I cleaned the living room and dusted some books in the library (did the dining room last night). Everything looks really good, but I still have the bedroom and the rest of the library. Soon. I can't believe how much I got done yesterday and today. I love my apartment. And I love all my things, but unlike Moby, I don't love dusting. I have a lot more than Moby has, I'm a collector, so every little objet d'art must be picked up, dusted and the surface beneath dusted and polished. It's extremely tedious and it means I only do it about once a year, lately, if that. Horrendous, I know, but damn it looks good now! It was hard to stop myself earlier. I knew I needed to relax, to just sit, and the cats had no idea what to think, they're used to me just sitting here in front of the computer, or cooking, or in front of the TV, on the sofa. They didn't sleep all day, and now they're exhausted. You know wood looks SO much better when it's dusted and polished? It's no longer white with dust, it's the color of the wood. Fabulous. I do agree with Moby that it's instant gratification. Cleaning is best when it's done and you can step back and just admire your work. I've been doing that a lot, yesterday and today. Really, I think that's all I have for now. I'll document it all in my paper journal, just because this has been a rather notable weekend, but for here, now, I feel scattered and pleased. I need to just sit and look around, or walk around, or watch some TV. Everything feels good right now. If only I had some spectacular dessert..... Cost of the War in Iraq
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