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Tuesday, May. 21, 2002 / 6:29 p.m. ~Gee, Could it Be PMS? A Moby-Less Entry~ Last night was funny, not as in "ha ha" funny, but funny as in "isn't it ironic?" funny, as in "life is interesting" funny. I came home after work, and Wal Mart (where I spent some $67 on vitamins, laundry detergent and snacks), and thinking I'd open my big bag of Lay's and pony up to the old salt lick, whilst on the old PC, of course, well, everything was shot to hell when old Norm has to puke. On the carpet. Quick, clean that up, rush her to the kitchen - LINOLEUM!!! - she throws up again, easy to clean, all's well. "You okay, old girl?", "mrrraaaow". Fine, great. Then she starts again, and this time not only is she on the carpet, but her food is more digested, the stomach acid has begun to churn and the vomitous emission is this interesting shade of golden brown. Impossible to clean completely. Well, using my method. I lost it. A whole day of sitting by myself, misinterpreting everything, turning everything into hate and horror, an entire day of feeling not too great came spilling out of me in an angry flood as I chased her around the apartment trying to catch her, to place her either in the bathroom or kitchen where vomiting is not only allowed, it's downright encouraged. In these circumstances. I only succeeded in terrifying her, and that other cat, what's her name. They both ran and hid, and this made me angrier and angrier, and then it came, the tears started. Me, sitting on the floor next to the golden spot, trying feverishly to clean it with wet paper towels and Woolite carpet spray. Rub, rub, sob, sob, "Why am I heeeeeeerrrrrre????", I sobbed. "What is the point? What is my purpose?". See? Isn't that funny? Wait, it IS funny "ha ha" after all. But really, how does cleaning the carpet after Norm throws up equate to an intense spiritual questioning of my own existence? I chuckle just thinking about it. And I kept crying, and kept crying, really let it out, all eye squinchy and silent screamy, no holds barred. Sure, I worried I'd look like a blowfish today, but I didn't. All was well. And I guess I'd have to say I feel better. ? I guess? I just now fed the girls their supper and I was sincerely hoping against hope we wouldn't have a repeat performance. I know she can't help it, I know this, but holy moly, she's 12 years old, couldn't she have learned by now, seriously, that it would be to her advantage, in the long run, to rush her own self to a linoleum covered floor? After 12 years? (oh, I think I scared her so much she stopped any more vomit from exiting her oral orifice - that was the end of that) Right. So I wrote two email letters to Jon last night, post-sobbing, telling him how it was too bad he likes his cell phone and I like email, and oh well, la dee da, etc., that sort of thing, and today he writes to me: "Do you want to get together on Thursday evening?", and 20 minutes later: "I'll send more mail when time allows. I hope we'll find a way that we can communicate which is comfortable for both of us. Keep well. More soon." Is this guy a masochist or what? So far, I've ignored him. I really don't know how to answer him. Do I want to get together on Thursday evening? Well, do I? Let's see, "Survivor" is over, "CSI" is too, is "ER" still on? New episodes? Hmmmmmm.... where would we go? Would we meet? Where? What would we do? Would he continue his probing in person? I'd feel awkward after everything that's transpired up to now. Wouldn't I? I think I'll keep ignoring him. Men like that, right? In other news: Mark and I are going to get together, after how long? More than a year, right? Two? We're starting to pencil in plans, starting to think of plans to pencil in, and I think it will be good. If he can shake his fantasy of having sex with me standing up, or maybe just keep it private, to himself, and we can just be friends, hang out - wait, we could NOT be friends, that's why we stopped seeing each other. Uh oh, is this a HUGE mistake? No, no, no, it will be fine. I'm excited. I hope we have fun, whatever we do. Mark is fun. And I am too, when I want to be. Really, I like me fine. I'm just always afraid no one else will. And the guy I was swooning over a week ago? The one who set me on fire? The one who looked deep into my eyes as we talked, asked questions and listened for answers? Well, obviously I read something into that, took it and ran, because nada, zip, zilch, nil, niente, rien, what else? Nothing. Hmmmm.... whose loss is it, his or mine? Would it have been good? My horoscope said yes, so what the fuck, eh? *Hey, I haven't mentioned Moby once in this, my second entry of the day!* Here's what I'm thinking, it could possibly be time for my PMS to start cranking, hence the breakdown over vomit on carpet last night, hence me ponying up to the salt lick - I'm about to go through one of those GIANT bags of Lay's in two days. I can't get enough, forget about trying to eat just one, not two, not three, man, I can't stop. I bought Fritos Scoops and Ranch dip too! God, I love Wal Mart! Imagine if it were one of those SUPER Wal Marts! OH MY GOD! As it is, un-super and all, I wander up and down the three or four food aisles buying all kinds of crap. I even bought Spidey-Berry Pop Tarts! Yes, that's right. With Spiderman on the box and everything. They look good, blue frosting with berry swirls, I think. And cinnamon-brown sugar Pop Tarts, and Ramen noodles (hell, they're only 19 cents), and, well, crap, you know. Good crap, carefully chosen crap. For when I'm in the mood for crap. We all are, at times, you know it, I know it. That's why "junk food" was created, the term coined, there is a need in our society for it. The problem lies with those who don't know when to say NO. Ahhhh.... the obese. I am sorry for them. I am skinny. Don't hate me. I can't help it. No bingeing or purging necessary, it's genetic, baby. So, usually, not so much as I get old (and I am old), but usually, I can eat a bunch of crap and not suffer too much. Maybe constipation or something, but I vary my diet. The occasional Thai, sometimes cooking good stuff at home, salads, frittatas, veggies, tofu, you know, I'm not stupid. I don't eat Lay's chips every day seven days a week, but when I buy a bag, well, I eat them, sure. Okay, enough defensive posturing, it's not flattering. Again, I don't care what anyone thinks. (secretly, I do... shhhhhhhhh!) Oh, I forgot to mention in my list of weirdnesses: manic depressive. There, that's complete. And unmedicated! Amazing! God, am I strong or what? And how many times have I used the word God in this entry? I must go now. Truly. I'm scattered and rambling, despite my horoscope saying I'd be of sharp mind today. Sharp, ready for anything, a real go-getter, yeah! Ooooo, "Gilmore Girls" is on tonight!!!! Tonight, Rory chooses between Jess and Dean. Jess, Jess, Jess, Jess, Jessssssss!!!! Yessss!! You and Dean can still be friends, right? And "24" wraps up. Yawn. No, it was good, a great concept, but tiring in its execution. I'll be glad when they can all go to bed. After showers and dinner, of course. *See how I'm still not talking about Moby?* (at work today I listened to "18", Dead Can Dance's "Into the Labyrinth" and Ofra Haza's "Kirya" - aren't my tastes ecclectic?) Cost of the War in Iraq
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