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Friday, Feb. 13, 2004 / 3:30 p.m. ~I Am a Diaryland Failure~ Listening to Edie Brickell and New Bohemians, "Strings of Love" on the Winamp. Mmmmm... This is such a great song. Today was a five hour day, paid for eight. If I weren't afraid I'd use all my vacation time by March, I'd keep this up. I love working part time and getting paid full time - really, what I need to do, is find a job that has these hours regularly and pays even more than what I make now. How do I do this? Hard to concentrate and listen to good music at the same time. I think I'm using too much of my brain, ow! Again, I have no point. I'm home, I'm caught up on journals at LiveJournal, as I am obsessed with reading my 'friends' list in its entirety. And there, I broke through the fourth wall, I've busted the barrier, I'm talking about LJ here. Funny, I occasionally mention Diaryland there, it should be only fitting. Oh no, Rolling Stones, "Shattered". This is impossible. Whatever I planned to write, if anything, cannot be thought out at all. I know I had ideas earlier, but now? How about mere snippets as cohesive diary entry substitute? Alrighty then, "Work and work and love and sex - ain't you hungry for success success success?!?! Does it matter?" Shadoobie, indeed. Rolling Stones at Turner Field, October '02, best concert I've ever attended. Hands down. Hands in the air, like you just don't care. Okay, let's see. Last night. Tres bizarre. Trop bizarre. C'est francais, n'est-ce pas? Ah, mon dieu. Can I say more? Nyet. Talked to the painter, and I feel good talking to him, then I don't, or vice versa usually. First I was angry, I lambasted him, chewed new asshole, but it sounded jovial. I like him, dammit. The other one? I don't know what to say. I just want to sex him. We'll see, but Jesus Mother Fucking Christ, if it hasn't been fucking 'We'll see', for almost two fucking months now. What's the holdup? Er, yeah, MC Solaar now. I'll keep updating the music as we go. Bouge de La. No, I don't know what it means, it's slang. Oh god, he can rap to me en francais any day. Tous les jours. Mustn't forget my Vincent Perez double feature tomorrow. Someone remind me, okay? Mustn't forget to call Brooke later too. Don't want to wake her, but want to go OUT tonight, yes, drink beer, and hear about her 'surreal' life. Now, just now, I find things going on I didn't know about, and I'm not crazy about this, and I hate reading diaries/journals wherein writers write about things far too esoteric ever to be deciphered, and I do apologize, but I am terribly self aware right now. In every one of my journals I am too aware of readers right now. I'll get past this, it's a phase. Now, again with the now, let me make more sense. Plans, I need to get OUT, yes, drink some Bass and be with people. Strangers, maybe one potential friend or two. It's Lo Fidelity Allstars now, "Sleeping Faster", but I was so terribly distracted by an email communique, to which I promptly responded, now I'm thinking far too fast and furiously, and I am out of sorts. Hate it when that happens. Still feels like things are happening beyond my control, like change is imminent, and as I write that I think about the past two months and all the changes that have already occurred. I started to make notes of major events in my paper journal. It's too much. Gladys is sitting on the package that contains my new watch, as I've yet to open it. I have a small collection of wristwatches, all battery operated, all containing dead batteries, and I've intended to purchase new batteries for them, but not sure the best place to go, unable to remove the watch backs myself, no good 'tool' to use, and not wanting to incur the expense of all the new batteries, I simply stopped wearing them, any of them, years ago. Possibly two, possibly longer, I made no note of it, of which I'm aware. I carry a pocket watch (one I can wind by turning a winding dial - love that, love life pre-batteries - I'm a Luddite at heart) if I have to be someplace at a specific time, other than work of course. Movies, for example. I have a clock in the dash of my car. There are clocks all over at work. I have a wall clock at home, a clock in the VCR, and a small travel alarm clock next to my bed. People everywhere wear watches, I simply ask, "Do you have the time?", "Excuse me, what time is it?", etc. But, long story longer, I got a cool catalog in the mail not long ago (oh, just heard Johnny Cash's "Man in Black" - now Cat Stevens' "Don't Be Shy"), and in it was/is this watch with an Egyptian designed band and face, and I wanted it. I wanted it a lot, and as per usual when I want something from a catalog, I dogear the page, leave it open, whatever, but never buy anything. I just look at the picture, and it's almost as good as having it. Me, realizing I don't need to possess every pretty object. But this one, ah, I got online, went to the online version of the catalog, as I am loathe to call strangers on the phone, even to order a lovely new watch, and ordered it. Here it is, today, I have it. It's right there, and I haven't even opened it. Shall I? Now? (Durr, just had terrible thought, totally unrelated, but it's again about something that's going on behind my back, and it's so fucking wrong I can't stand it. I need to confront it, but I hate confrontations, I do, it doesn't seem like it, Ms Aries, Mars the Warrior, etc., but I do, I do NOT want to do this, but how could she? How could she, knowing how I feel, what I went through, how could she? See, if I were a stranger reading this, I would be turning away right now - consider this one of those real diary entries, not for entertainment purposes, thank you.) Package opening music: Johnny Cash's "Folsom Prison Blues". Well, the band is really stiff, this will take some getting used to. I suppose I'm used to leather bands, and this is plastic or some other man made material. It's okay, my wrists are so small. I've gone without for so long... But, well, we'll see. It's very groovy, that's for sure. More email, I'm not going to check it until I finish this, dammit. Very stiff band, very uncomfortable. Hmmm... There we have it. Grrr, I'm borderline miserable. Funny how one little thing can set me off. Women really piss me off, I don't like them much. Men either. Remember when I was a misanthropic cynical optimistic curmudgeon hermit? God, I miss those days. Rolling Stones, "Can't You Hear Me Knocking", and a quick proofread. Anyone want a cool watch? I have some confronting to do. Durr, I hate this shit. I leave listening to Me'Shell Ndegeocello "Bitter", perfect. Fucking Perfect. Cost of the War in Iraq
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