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Wednesday, Mar. 30, 2005 / 8:43 p.m. ~It's the Adult Onset Seasonal Allergies, Yeah, That's the Ticket~ So I listened to most of Moby's bonus "Ambient" CD (in the "Hotel" set) today at work, and it may have been my mood, but I'd say it's music to slit your wrists by, or meditate by, or maybe have sex? By? To? I have no idea what happened, but I think it was the quiet, I think it was the near empty parking lot, I think it was most people showing up late, or not at all, and my supervisor resigning. I think that had a lot to do with it. She was not supposed to leave first, she was supposed to stay until the end of next month, just like the rest of us losers. I panicked. I really did, and it wasn't pretty, not that anyone could see, but I put on my headphones and popped in the totally wrong music, and wished it were last week, wished I had things to look forward to, concrete tangible things. I called the woman at the temp service, and I called my work contact, and I tried to get some proverbial ball in some proverbial motion, but I was motionless, and I wrote it out, but briefly, and then was swamped with work, which was a good thing. And I sat and read from 4-5:00 at the reception desk, which was nice, and the department manager said, "Don't work too hard" on her way out, and I wasn't sure whether to be worried she noticed me reading, or laugh at her little 'joke'. I've been coughing all day, a really dry hack, and a phrase occurs, pops in and out of my head, "adult onset seasonal allergies", which I think I made up, but I'm not sure, but then again, the pines are in bloom, if one might call it blooming, fresh pine cones all yellowy green, and the yellow tree sperm to prove it. Pollen, just getting going. Luckily for this situation, there is rain every day or three, not lucky for my rotted out sunroof which leaks rusted water onto my driver's seat in my car, but lucky for the onset, and the severity, it lessens. Just thinking of yellow pollen makes me think of yellow curry tofu, so it may be time for a fix, soon. And then there are the finances. I paid off the credit card, again, and this time it was the struts on the car. I'd forgotten I still hadn't paid for that. Ouch, and such. Now I've got to pay rent, and then I've not got a lot of money. So, there we go. I need money, and to get money I need a job, and though I joked today I was going to apply to be a call girl, and then said I simply need a sugar daddy, and the favorite coworker said, "You know what you have to do for them, don't you?", meaning providing sexual favors for sugar daddies, and I said I really didn't mind, and I could close my eyes after all, and I was picturing Robert Redford in that movie where he offers up like a million dollars to sex Demi Moore, but she's hesitant... what? Yeah. And then the bitch coworker, the hypocritical malcontent, says that she can't talk about this sort of thing at work and I ask if it's inappropriate and she says yes, but she's on the phone too, and I'm no longer sure who she's talking to, but I look around and there are approximately six people still working there. So what the fuck, anyway? I was certain I'd call to get the winning lottery numbers and find out I'd won at least the five thousand, hopefully the hundred and fifty, but I didn't match any numbers at all, which I still contend should be worth something. Anything. I'm watching my "Guiding Light"s on tape, and somehow one day is missing, so I ostensibly logged on only to read the synopsis for that day before proceeding to the next, but here I am. The Interweb is boring me lately, so this won't take long, and won't hurt a bit. I want to feel better physically, and I honestly think today's hack and touch of logyness were what precipated all the rest, because I know if I feel good physically I can overcome the mental challenges. Wanting to lie down and take a nap doesn't help me stay confident and strong, so this must change. I have this and that to report, or note, but really, I'm tuckered, and I opened my Grenache/Shiraz, and despite last week's beers and wine, I am still the eternal lightweight, so the one glass is making me way relaxed. I fished the roach out of my car's ashtray after work, thought I'd best not have it there in the car, and I thought of John sitting to roll it in my car, my leg over his, awaiting his massage for my crampy high arched foot, which he deemed cute, and of me telling him I write online, and that I'd write about that night, and he said he'd like to read it, and I know if he tried to find it he could. I'm thinking more and more how great it was it was only the one night. Maybe all experiences should be singular like that. No time to develop any ill will, any animosity, any doubt, just do the one night, say right out front that you'll never see each other again, and do what you want from there. I do wish we'd done the more, but he was so sweet, I'd hate to sully him, or to have him think me the slut I am. This way, he has no idea, and he can remember me fondly and think of what he missed. I rather enjoy that concept. I'm hungry - hash browns may just be in order. Cost of the War in Iraq
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