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2001-11-19 / 7:26 p.m. ~I'm Bored With Me~ I want to be a comfy, cozy lap for Norma, now sometimes known as Norman, Norman Schwartzkopf, Norman Conquest, or plain Norma to remind myself, and herself. I want to be able to sit for hours on end, very still, being a chair of sorts, for her, but sometimes I have to get up, sometimes I want to get something done, like this, now, this diary thing, get in an entry about my glorious day. I'm thinking about Provisional and how he threw in the towel. He has such good reasons though, and they're rubbing off on me. My own towel is itching to be thrown in, but I am not him, I don't know any of you, and trust me, there are very few of you. I know. I have a Site Meter. Yes, I do. Most of the viewers are people looking up weird shit on Google. Weird shit, and they end up here. I think it's the page title, the "WhatTheFuckRULookinAt?" thing. They can't resist. If my diary were called "Here it is, it's boring, don't read it", they probably wouldn't. But anyway. So, yeah, I saw the beginning of "Brokedown Palace", now I'm all caught up. Can't just see the middle and the end, must see beginning, and now it all fits. It all makes sense. Not a bad film, not really, but I like the beginning better than the middle, and certainly better than the end. So, Norma had to get up, I had to come here, to write. Right. What a lonely day. No one to talk to of meteors, of watching TV, of thoughts, philosophies, of my book, Fast Food Nation, and how fascinating, yet dry it is. It is awfully textbook-y, but there's no one I can tell that to. People around me all day, but no one I can relate to. Not anymore. Sad, sad indeed. Lulu is really weird around me. It's okay for her to be alarmist, to be negative, but I can't be. Seems she holds me to unusual standards, and I don't get it, and I don't want to explore it, not at all, but I hate being around her sometimes, hate that she is there, so close to me. I jokingly said I think I have mono, or AIDS, or anthrax, or meningitis, and it's funny, to me, because I'm this anti-doctor hypochondriac who self-diagnoses and self-medicates, quite naturally, I might add. She said I was bringing negativity upon myself, and that it's the weather, but she wasn't sympathetic at all. Not at all. I want someone to care that I have a fever lately, that I keep feeling I'm "coming down" with whatever, but I never actually do, and it feels gross to always feel that way. And if only someone cared, someone close, someone I know, you know? No, she's not close, I know she's not the one, well, she does sit close by, TOO close, but, oh, I don't know. She was mean. And she didn't want to hear about the meteors, she's never seen one, she hardly cared. So, I sat and read my dry textbook-y tome on the Fast Food Industry, read all about Ray Kroc, and the McDonald brothers, and Walt Disney (yeah, he's tied into it all, knew Ray Kroc, oh, it's a long story, read the book), and Carl Karcher - and what a great story his is. Next, I'll get to the gross stuff, how the food is actually purchased, processed, etc. And I got online on my breaks, checked email, and actually got a personal email, not from a list serve, not spam, but a letter from my online friend in Ireland, and it's been forever since she's written to me, not just sent a cartoon, or something, but written, and now I need to write back, something equally personal and juicy. Boring. I feel like someone else, one of my favorites, Ms. Bathsheba. She had a weekend like mine, but I didn't have friends calling me to invite me shopping. Well...H. did call one night while I was online, left a short message on CallWave, 5 seconds to be exact, said she just wanted to "check in", and I don't know that that merits a response. Does it? Was I supposed to get offline and call back, call her at work? Why was she calling from work? Bored at work? Exhausted all her other possibilities? Called everyone else she knows, why not check in with Joleen? Harrumph. I did more tonight when I came home from work than I did all weekend. And in a lot less time. I changed my sheets! I cleaned the litter box, which for me is just cleaning the inside of the hood where Gladys sprays, and adding fresh litter - it's already impeccably tidy, thank you. I stopped at washing dishes. Oh, that's too much of a project, a "PROJECT", I don't know if I can. Yes, I need to, good lord, what the fuck is wrong with me?, I need to, but I'm waiting for the perfect time. It's sad. My little life is so sad. Today I started really wanting someone again, just closed my eyes and imagined someone giving me a massage, or holding me close, just wanted to be touched, and to touch back. I had a sexual fantasy about the computer guy at work, then immediately thought how he'd never want me, never mind if I'd want him. And at lunch, three separate male individuals looked at me, I mean, LOOKED at me, one smiled as he passed in front of my car, walking, listening to his Walkman, and it was a nice genuine smile, and I thought, wha...?, is it the sunglasses? What the fuck? Two more did little double takes, and why? Nobody wants me, I'm gonna go eat worms or something. Ack, whatever. So, I'm living in a dank, dirty cave, well, not so dank, but dirty, well, not too dirty, just really dusty, because I know as soon as I dust it's gonna be dusty again, so what's the point? And I feel undesirable because I spend too much time criticizing myself in front of the mirror, and so any time anyone looks at me I think "WhatTheFuckRULookinAt?".......and I get lonely, er, sometimes. Sometimes when I have so much to say, and there's no one around to listen, no one who would want to know. I'll be fine, oh yeah. Two more days. Then I have FIVE days off, another vacation, they are coming fast and furious now, boy. FIVE more days to sit and wonder if I'll ever clean this place, and think if only there were someone to clean it for, because I'm so sick of trying to do things just for me. I'm bored with me. Cost of the War in Iraq
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