Tuesday, Oct. 28, 2003 / 6:38 p.m.

~I Have Stories~

I'm cooking a real 'pot luck' dinner tonight, and I'll be lucky if it's edible. I hesitate to write it here, but here goes: chicken bratwurst, cut into small pieces, sauteed in olive oil, added marinated artichokes, also cut up, some sun dried tomatoes, likewise, mixed into last night's couscous/brat leftovers, and added some orecchiete pasta. We shall see. I'm hungry, but this was all I had, and the brats don't last long once opened. So there you go.

Bits of stories leaked out today, stories about my trip, leaked from me. It was nice to talk about it, nice to remember all the little things, nice that Q asked, that she said she missed me, that she gave me such a big hug, nice that being back at work actually felt right, normal, okay. I need structure.

Jane didn't seem interested, but at the end of the day told me she'd tuned into C-SPAN and saw a bit of the Rally. So I told her the Viggo story, and she said I should've written my email address on the sticker I gave him, but I said I did that with Moby, and Moby never wrote, so I didn't even try. That's just it, I don't try anything anymore.

I told her about the Iranian, and how I was so attracted, and how I saw him on the C-SPAN clip of the Rally on their web site, there he was, the guy from the bus, but how I didn't want to get too close, even though he's lived here for 26 years I was prejudiced, I was assuming how he might treat women, and I wanted no part of that, didn't want to risk us getting to the point where we plan a date.

I have stories, and it turns out I crave interactions, connections, and I'm lonely not having them. At least I have a couple at work, with Jane and Q. It wasn't such a bad day.

Q asked all about the cats too, which was nice, how did they like the auto feeders, and were they glad to see me when I got back, etc.

Later, when I was telling Jane of the Viggo incident (see previous entry for a link) I got really hot and bothered, passionately angry all over again, and I was very self aware, aware of how I seldom get a chance to talk, to tell my stories, or to relate anything at all that's not work, so I get overly enthusiastic, forget to swallow, and I become aware of her listening, aware of her expressions, and I feel like a total freak who can't communicate at all. I've been too far removed for too long.

I have no close friends, I have no family, and after work it's just me, two cats, a computer and a couple televisions. This is my social life, and when something happens, something I want to explore, or talk about, there is no one really, and it can be lonely.

That's it really.

I'm going to finish this odd recipe now, which is no recipe, just what was in my cabinets, and the sausage. I'll eat and watch my "GL"s on tape, as I am very far behind and wasn't able to take the tape in to work for my coworker today. And then there's a "Joe Millionaire" on tonight for no known reason but to fuck with the viewers (the regular night is Monday, and it was on Monday night), and alienate them probably, and "Gilmore Girls", so I'll have to tape one, and the "24" premiere, which should be eventful, and a new "Queer Eye", or so I believe. TV night.

Maybe I'll make friends one day, maybe one day I'll have people to talk to, people who want to know me, and people I want to know too, and we can share our lives and be happy.

In the meantime, I guess I'll keep writing here, feeling a little like I'm talking to someone.

Cost of the War in Iraq
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