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Thursday, Nov. 28, 2002 / 12:44 a.m. ~From the Sleepy Land Of IE~ I'm using Internet Explorer and it's very different. Reading diaries, reading my own, going back one year, going forward, backwards, today, yesterday, hating my writing, hating what I write, loving others' writing, then finding it childish, liking my own again. Vacillating, just a bit. I watched "The Glass House" tonight, a movie starring the peculiarly similar to Helen Hunt looking Lelee Sobieski. Forgive if I've misspelled. Throughout, I found myself wishing Helen Hunt would just enter the scene, just for a moment or two so I might compare them. They have the same eyes, nose, voice. It's so bizarre. I need to see them together. Couldn't their agents get them a gig wherein they play mother and daughter? Please? It's disturbing. The similarity. Not a great movie, and I expected that. I read Entertainment Weekly, remember? Reminds me, mental note to read EW, I've fallen behind. But I can catch up. But, as I was saying, it wasn't great, but it wasn't awful. Diane Lane was good, Lelee was good (fucking Helen Hunt clone!) and Stellan Skarsgaard (again with the spelling, this is hard!). And with him, I kept picturing that "Breaking the Waves" movie, thinking he was speaking Swedish in it. Thinking he's Swedish, right? No, that movie was in English, but it was shaky and thinking about that scene with Emily Watson (Emily Watson, right? I'm tired) on the swing, swinging back and forth, higher and lower, well, I will never forget having to get up and leave the theatre. Not into the Dogma thingie. Dogma, right? Suddenly I've turned into a 46 year old man! And I only have this amazing ability to categorize that species so specifically because I've recently been associated with two, count them, two divorced 46 year old men, both with young male children. The similarities do not end there. The one is spacey from drug use, I'm almost positive, the other from early onset Alzheimer's, I'm guessing. I think it's that aluminum cookware so popular in the midwest. Did I mention I'm tired? I felt inspired to write anything at all because I just spent a good bit of time, an hour or so, reading diaries, catching up a bit. Reading about everyone else's lives reminded me that I've not written much about mine lately. I think I'll keep it that way, for a while. No detailing. Just little blurbs. I feel so decadent, like I could go to bed and stay there for days if I wish. I can stay up all night (with toothpicks to pry my eyes open) or I could go to bed early. And I've missed the "Felicity" repeat. Dammit. I actually missed an episode a day or two ago too. What's going to become of me? This is so horrible. I almost wrote about a coworker. I've vowed, to myself, not to write about work at all anymore. I want to keep it to myself, but people say things, some of it is relevant, people at work, saying things, but I have to keep my fingers from typing those things. Durr. Um, I need to go to bed, I think. Norm is about to change positions, she's raised herself up, but she's sort of stuck there, too tired to shift, I guess. Silly old girl, she made it, she's in the Wintertime curled up ball position now. It's supposed to get down to the low 20s tonight. Last night, after work, it was so warm, I was shocked. But this morning I stepped out and it was COLD. Fookin' cold fronts. He says he doesn't like to talk current events, or the weather, and I thought, damn, I LOVE weather, I LOVE current events. I hate delving when on a first meeting. It's so pretentious and boring. Dude knows my whole life story, but I doubt he'd remember. He had a tendency to forget immediately after I told him. Let's hope he retained nothing. When I say I had a sister, and now I don't, people should leave it at that. Jesus Christ. Fucking delving, fucking prying, for what purpose? To judge me later?? Ooooo, she's had so much loss, she's all hurt, all wounded. And she says Aries and Scorpio don't last long, they burn out quickly, yes, and Aries women are so needy emotionally. I do beat dead horses. Why? Because I can. Because when people make idiotic remarks I can't forget. Especially when they involve me. It must be that emotionally needy thing. And the kicker is, yes there is a kicker, he wasn't even talking about ME, the Aries in question was the ex. It's always about the ex. Even with Sandy, it's Margorie this, Marjorie that. Who the fuck cares? I think the best conversations I've ever had, with people I barely know, have been about whatever popped into our heads. The world, politics, religion, movies, art, philosophy, popular culture, TV, books, music, always music. But the ol', "How many siblings do you have? Do they live here? Where did you grow up? What do you DO?".... yawn. It's still fresh. I'll get over it soon. Very, no doubt. I'm mulling, I think. Dammit, major shit is happening, has happened, big time stuff. I'll only allude to it here. Yep. It's interesting alright. Unh huh. Mmmmm.... time for bed. 'Night Moon. ("Gilmore Girls" was really really good last night - loved Luke's comment about what he's thankful for, that he's not a Native American whose land has been stolen and has been given a smallpox infested blanket, and "Amazing Race" is still my favorite show this season. Damn, it's SO fun, especially as the teams dwindle to just a few... loves me some good, quality television!) Cost of the War in Iraq
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