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Sunday, Jan. 04, 2004 / 1:55 p.m. ~Missing Who I Was~ It's almost 70 degrees fahrenheit, again, in January, again. This happens every year, this freakish warm spell when it should be very cold. I'm wearing a tshirt and shorts. The heater has not been on in days. I started with a bang, too much energy, mental mostly, but caught myself in a helter skelter pattern, and when I broke it down into order and chronology, I lost the effort. Now I'm here, and I shall walk away, soon. I'm working on making his place 'pest control person' friendly. Just trying to straighten things, pick things up off the floor, and I keep trying to imagine where he will spray. Oh, it will be a 'he', mark my words, it always is. Take this room for example, there are bookcases on every wall, well, three of four, the fourth is large closet with sliding doors. He will spray in corners, I'm guessing, along baseboards, under the kitchen sink, under the bathroom sink, on the porch, yes?, along the baseboards there. Will he want to do closets? What if I shut the cats in the bedroom?, as this is what I plan to do. Their litter is clean and full again and the box will go in there with them. And they will freak out at being incarcerated. They will not like the loss of freedom of movement at all, and will jump atop things, furniture, bookcases (yes, there are bookcases in every room of this apartment), etc. I tend to gather things in piles, don't I? These old catalogs have got to go, my passion for them has long since died. And my passion for television. In the past two weeks I find myself seldom turning it on. There's nothing there for me now. I suppose it was the Holidays, but now my shows are gone, and new reality shows in their place hold no interest for me at all. I feel different. Mars in Aries, Mercury no longer retrograde, this is supposed to be an excellent time on the job front, but I have nothing in mind, just my actual job. Can I get an offer? Anyone? Hire me? I'm good, at anything I do. Someone rang my doorbell earlier, just as I was sitting on the toilet. I got right up, went to the door, looked out the peephole, but no one was there. I heard voices, looked out the porch and saw a group of about six young boys, maybe in their mid teens, all dressed in sportswear, like basketball sweats, walking through the parking lot. Why my door? Wrong door? I do feel a desire to clean this place, and I started yesterday, cleaned my 'credenza', the teak cabinet that had previously been covered with a thick layer of white, paw prints in a haphazard pattern on top. I used tung oil on the 'throne' chair, and read the warnings on the back of the tin, learned my rag may now spontaneously combust if not dried appropriately. Good god. The TV, too, is now fabulously dust free and shiny, everything is sparkly and beautiful, and this will last about a day before the cat hair and other assorted particles, including my own shed skin cells, begin to settle. In a way, I have a mad desire to move. To pack all this up and go somewhere brand new, maybe New Mexico like I always wanted, just get away from all of this, the people here, the faces I'll continue to see the longer I live here. It's too small a town for such a sprawling metropolis. Too much is here, too much pain. Too much lost opportunity, too many people who never really wanted to know me. It's sad. I think it's the weather. And that thought suddenly popped in my head. This isn't right, this feels like Spring, this is not dead of Winter, hole up inside and wear wool socks, hold mugs of hot tea and cocoa in your hands to feel any sense of warmth, this is wear shorts, go barefoot, do some cleaning, fall in love weather. I want the hibernation back. I want to be who I was. Pest control, schmest control. Tomorrow is work, and I've been so confused just as to the correct day. I will be glad to know each day as it comes, "This is Monday, this is Wednesday, Thursday, almost over, and Friday, wear jeans, get paid, deposit check in ATM, Friday night, stay up late, Saturday, sleep...". I miss knowing what day it is. I ramble, I have nothing to say. Cost of the War in Iraq
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