Tuesday, Jun. 04, 2002 / 3:28 p.m.

~Finally, I Could Sleep if There Were Time~

I�m sorry, but "why was I crying??"!!! I can�t help it, that is really sticking with me. Was it not clear? Does it need to be? Nothing wrong with asking, but really, you didn�t get it? Any of it?

There�s a stuffed gorilla sitting on the guard rail on the Interstate on-ramp. A stuffed gorilla. I�ve driven by it twice today. And looked, turned my head during the acceleration process, asking myself, �Is that a gorilla?�, and answering, �Why yes, yes it is�.

The air is thick and heavy, it�s falling down upon us. I don�t know the temperature, I�m guessing in the 90s, but the smog is so heavy, so oppressive, it can�t be good to be breathing it. Breathing, today, outside, cannot be a good thing. I did my part, sort of � I do insist on going home for lunch every day, getting online, kissing and hugging the girls, grabbing a bite, and often I stop at the Hardee�s right on the way to grab that bite. Sitting in the drive-thru, which is just wrong.

Today I stopped my car, in a parking space of course, got out and got my Hot Ham �N Cheese sandwich, and got back in my car and drove home, a much faster process than sitting in the drive-thru, burning the fuel, polluting the atmosphere. I�m so proud. And righteous. Now I�ve decided they should outlaw the drive-thru as concept altogether. They are bad, bad, bad for the environment.

I�m tard. That�s Southern for tired. Tard. This morning was the first in days, maybe since Thursday or Wednesday of last week, that I felt I could keep sleeping. The alarm went off and I was in the midst of a deep sleep, I only wanted more. (It seems I want more of most things lately�)

But I�m responsible, I have money to earn, so I came in to work. It�s currently 2:05 p.m., cubicle time.

Yet I�m tard. Plum tuckered. I love that expression. Did I make it up, or do other people say it? I feel certain Jethro Bodine said it, yes? Down by the ceeeement pond? Maybe chatting up Ellie Mae about her critters?

Last night I got an email response from �She�, �She� who got the call that her sister had committed suicide, whilst in the midst of tattooing a client at the Convention. �She� who blew my shit away. �She� who does not have the time to be writing to me, wrote to me, to thank me for my �sweet letter�, and to tell me we will drink that drink, at the next Show, and she is busy, she is teaching some Japanese folks to tattoo, and she hasn�t even had time to cry yet�

I read her letter, so pleased to hear from her, so amazed I heard something so quickly, she responded within hours, literally, and it only made me think of James, and how he is right here in town, nobody died in his life, and he can�t even respond to me, to say, �Um, no thanks, I don�t want to go out with you, you don�t appeal to me at all.� No time. He is too busy to write. Fucking asshole. �She� logged on, read my fan mail and got right back to me, and you are too busy? Oh man, I can�t even describe how I feel about that.

And Jon too. Coming on so strong, then backing off completely. I am so fucking scary, I know. (Oh, I�m sorry, Caroline, I do say �fuck� a lot, just bleep me if you need to) Most men don�t know what to make of me at all, I�m no girlie girl, I�m assertive, outspoken, headstrong, impulsive. Deal with it, or run. Most seem to run. In the long run� it�s best that way.

Yesterday, by the end of the work day, I�d shown every woman in my little department, shown my tattoos all around, reveling in the reactions, so varied, so uniform, so predictable, so surprising. Quincey was the most surprising: �I want one!� D., the Supervisor, was the most perceptive, as she listened to my stories, brief yet excitedly told, she commented on the bonding that must�ve occurred and I said, �Yessssssss.� Bonding.

�She� who tattooed me, who�s tattooed for 31 years, wrote to me that yes, it is an empowering experience. Yessssssss.

I looked for Mike on Sunday. His last words to me were, �So you�ll be here tomorrow?� and when I said, �Yes, definitely�, he�d said, �I�ll see you tomorrow�. But he was nowhere to be seen. He must�ve checked out of the hotel and driven back to South Carolina, leaning forward all the way (he got a HUGE backpiece, his family crest). I actually missed him. I�d seen him the first day, complimented his Celtic cross on his calf (and I meant it, it was really nicely done), and we�d talked throughout the Show, watching each other get ink, etc. But he was clingy, was waiting for me Saturday night while I listened to �She� and her incredible stories� I didn�t want to cut her off to be with him instead.

Still, we�d bonded and I missed seeing him for the last time. He took a photo of me with �She�, actually he handed the camera to someone else and the three of us are in that photo. I hope I somehow get a copy, see him somewhere again.

Major bonding, indeed. I miss it already. It was great to tell the women here all about it yesterday. And greatest still that Listerine is on vacation, so I was able to talk freely, not worry she�d hear something I said, take great offense, and instead of saying anything would go straight to the Manager (M) with it. It was nice. We had fun, at work, imagine that.

Now, I�m punchy, tard, still drained, but relaxed, coming down off the high, the adrenaline has seeped back into its place. Today is supposed to be an excellent romantic day for me, Moon sliding into Aries, and the prevailing horoscope says I should ask for what I need, ask the Cosmos, make a list of what I want from love, and then I need to get out and mingle. But I�m fucking tard, and out of money. I want to go to a Sports Bar to watch Game One of the Final Series in the Quest for Lord Stanley�s Cup, but I have nothing to spend in said Sports Bar, and I�d rather not go alone, and rather not go with anyone I know, so, er, that�s not going to happen. I�ll watch at home.

Last night I didn�t even turn on the TV, a very nice change. I ended up posting to the message boards at Moby�s site, all night long. Chatting up a Leo 27 year old man, in Private Messages, back and forth and back again, talking tattoos, talking Moby music with others. Fun.

My cubicle phone is ringing too often to really concentrate, and I�m too tard, okay, tired, so this is all I�ve got for now. Thank god, right?

Cost of the War in Iraq
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