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2001-08-30 / 1:31 p.m. ~I don't really have time to write, but I have a lot on my mind~ Just as I wrote that title I thought, so when is there ever NOT a lot on my mind? Ever? Does it ever stop, all the thinking? No, not even when I'm asleep. I'm at home, for lunch, just wolfed down a peanut butter and blueberry preserves sandwich on whole wheat. Yum. I was clocking in this morning, at work, and there was a girl ahead of me, wearing jeans, and I thought, hey, that's weird, what day does she think this is, what is going on, won't she get sent home, won't she be embarrassed when she finds out she fucked up in the wardrobe department? Then, wait, he has on jeans too, and so does she, hey...what's going on here? Anyway? So, I ask D., my supervisor, and I actually ask that most stupid question, "Hey, what day is it?", and we all know it's Thursday, so that's what she says, and I knew the answer anyway, but then she goes on about how she told us yesterday it was a Casual Day, Holiday Weekend impending and all, people taking off tomorrow, and some Tuesday, yada, and yada too. Add one more yada or it won't sound right. She insists she told me, remembers me doing a "Whoo Hoo", but that wasn't me, now was it?! See what I get for tuning everyone out? For listening to Cibo Matto on my Walkman instead of listening to Linda hum? I miss announcements. I only heard the hooting and hollering, over Sean Lennon singing harmonies, I missed the reason for it. And to think I agonized a bit over what to wear today. Harumph. Whatever. Fatboy Slim plays here tomorrow night, but it's $36 and that just seems like too much. I could buy every CD he's put out for that, right? Excluding the one I already have. Mr. Norman Cook, Mr. Fatboy Slim, DJ Extraodinnaire. Hmmmm....$36? Ack. Right, so the thing with MyMichele's diary, and her comments about people in their thirties being old, and my subsequent consternation (is that the word I want?), and her subsequent entry in my guestbook...okay, you're what, 21? You're a "kid", to me. You're young enough to be my daughter. However...when I was 35 I dated a 21 year old. He was from Russia, taught me fun things to say in Russian. The last sex I had was with a 26 year old, the one-night-stand. Maybe that's why it was a one night stand, whaddya think? He must have thought I was too old. I never should've told him I'm not 29, like he thought. Too much honesty. MyMichele, if you saw me, if you were right here next to me now, and you did not know my age, and you asked, and you had one of your favorite drinks in your hand, maybe a Dr. Pepper, and you took a sip waiting for my answer, and I told you "40", I swear, on all that may be considered holy to me, which isn't much, okay, on all that is true and real, or whatever, most likely, almost assuredly, that Dr. Pepper would go flying out of your nose when you gasped/snorted in a state of total shock. I'm the only person who looks at me accusingly, mostly in the mirror, otherwise it's hard, and says, "You, my dear, are 40!!!", and "Look at me, I'm fucking 40! THIS is ME at 40!", and "How did I get here?". I see people my age and think, "'Gad, he/she looks so OLD!". I don't go out with anyone over age 30something. Men in their 20s are so outrageously appealing, to me, but I'd settle for 30, something. Not that I'm much for settling. Am I through? No, probably not. I am really hung up on this. Why? Duh, is no one paying attention? I just turned 40, a few months ago. No, I don't promote that here, not too much, 'cause all you folks are....young. Not that I'm old, but well, you know what I'm saying, I don't want anyone running, not yet. But, 52, yeah, 52 is old!! I wouldn't want a roommate in her 50s either. However, my mom died when she was 52 (I was 17), and I look back on that and think, damn, she was young... As my high school graphic arts/photography teacher/mentor used to say: "Life is interesting". And he said, "In-ter-es-ting". My "Real Astrology" horoscope says my experiences of suffering in this life are essential. Without them I would have nothing to talk about. Wow. I have more, but I'm out of time. And my hand hurts, just the right one. It types harder, it takes up the slack, it has to hit the backspace key every time the left hand makes a typo. Cost of the War in Iraq
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