|
Wednesday, Oct. 29, 2003 / 7:55 p.m. ~I've Leaves Of Many Colors~ More internal conflict, more uncertainty, more doubt, more questioning, more really bad Chinese food. The kind that's so bad you question whether or not you can eat it whilst smelling it on the way home. Peruse the voluminous menu choices, place the order, make the drive, pick it up, pay, place in back seat, hey, what is that smell? That smells horrible! And you eat it anyway. You paid for it, you picked it up. Or I did. I'm the one. My belly's full with it. Nasty shit. First sign was when I realized the scent was like cheap canned beef stew. And this for a crap version of Ma Po Tofu, 'Hot Bean Curd With Pork' they called it. I know, I know, I know better, what was I thinking? That I couldn't make the drive to town for the real thing? Nothing's satisfying anymore. But Q and I took two walks today, one at 11:00 and one at 4:00, and the weather was perfect, more than, better than. The following shall be a copying and pasting of what I wrote at work earlier, way earlier today: "It�s hard to come inside on a beautiful day, walking across the parking lot outside, the �big sky country� that is the paved wasteland beyond here. Feeling the constant breeze, seeing the smog is blown away from here, for now, the blue sky, the multicolored leaves, wanting desperately to hike, or canoe, or just run through woods, crunching leaves underfoot. Alas, it�s 9:08 a.m., cubicle time, and I�ve just logged on, briefly discussed �24� with Penelope, and semi-hugged Q �Good Morning�. Now it�s time to sit and wait, answer the phone when it rings, �process� any paperwork that hits my desk, read my EW (I�m 5 issues behind!), and daydream. I used to go outside. I used to hike down by the river that runs through the city, the northern section set aside for recreation, as opposed to the southern which exists solely for factory runoff and fishing for the poor. I�d pretend I was far into the wilderness, far away from any humanity, in the mountains, but it was only a trail just beyond a rather wealthy neighborhood. Ugh. Turns out I have nothing to say after all. Maybe later. It�s 10:35 a.m., cubicle time. I�ve eaten two Halloween cupcakes and I�m close to coming down off my sugar buzz. Cupcakes: The Breakfast of Champions. I have an arched-back cat ring on my right hand, and a black widow spider ring on my left. I licked the frosting from them, washed them and am trying to type whilst wearing them. We�ll see how long this lasts. H., our Supervisor, the provider of all that is sugary goodness, asked if we want to decorate for Christmas. Yes, this is the life of a cubicle worker. I suggested a cubicle decorating contest, and got a bit excited at the possibilities, but as with all things, we shall see. I want to walk on my break at 11:00, but not alone, and Jane won�t go because it�s her period. I said, �Right, you can�t walk when it�s your period�. Makes sense to me. Oooh, now I can say, �Yeah, well I marched on Washington during the heaviest portion of my period!� I love having accomplished that feat. Which wasn�t much of a feat when you get right down to it, though why you�d want to �get right down to it�, I don�t know. I really want to go to the mountains and canoe a river, almost any river. It�s like a calling or something." *Back to reality. Yes, it was like a calling, and it passed, and I bent down to pick up leaves which were particularly beautiful to me, yellow with green centers, leaf patterns upon leaves, red upon orange and green upon red. And I taped their stems to my cubicle edge, the 'door' frame area, no name for it really. The Site Manager came by and didn't notice, so I pointed them out, and he told me his sister used to use natural objects to crush and make dyes to use in painting. I wanted to talk about that, try it, go outside and gather more leaves, but this wasn't arts and crafts class, it was work. I had to practically fight Gladys for my chair just now, and finally, finally she has stayed in her own 'computer chair'. Maybe it was the placement of her frog there, who knows, but we each have our own and this is good. Back to the horrible food, I suppose it was fitting that I was trying to wipe up all the spilled 'juices' from the styrofoam containers filled with horrible smelling 'food', when I heard Norman throwing up, appropriately enough in the bathroom, on the linoleum. Thanks, Norm. It all made sense right then. Too bad I'm not of the eating disorder type, I'd throw it all up. That's not me though. Egad, reminds me, I'm getting bombarded by hits for that famous skinny woman, and the fact that some people say she may have a serious eating disorder. Bombarded. Nothing but search engine hits lately. Why do they come here? I'm tired of the whole thing. I never feel like writing here anymore. I'm never dying to tell whoever reads this anything, I feel no connection to anyone at Diaryland and it's my fault, I'm sure. Maybe they tried, maybe I failed, maybe I tried, maybe they didn't pay attention to my trying, and maybe none of it is worth it, and maybe I'm tired of trying to entertain you, and maybe I think I can't write, I have nothing to say, and certainly no creative way to say the nothing that I've got to say. Do you want to know what I watched on TV, or what time I fell asleep, or what it really feels like not to be able to stay awake? Is there a way to describe what it feels like to fight it, and would you care? Even when I think I have something, it's interesting, it's worthy, it's not. The same and usual conflict creeps in, or up, and it's me wanting to chuck it all, checking the stats to see all the Googlers and DogPilers and MSNers, and what is the point after all? There's nothing here just like there's nothing anywhere else. And men at Emode.com matchmaking continue to send me email. They like my picture, the ones in their 40s and 50s, they want to meet me, they call me a 'girl', "You seem like a nice girl", and I write back something scathing like "I'm 42, I haven't been a 'girl' for years, I'm a woman", you idiot, but I try to be diplomatic and I never hear from them again. Sometimes I think I really wish I could mean something to someone, and feel something, connect with just one person maybe, and I feel it more now than usual. I don't know why, call it emotional vulnerability, call it sharing a unique experience with a bus filled with strangers, and the one next to me acting as if he were on an airplane trying not to notice the person sharing his arm rest, and we didn't have the arm rest lowered. We slept like two people on a loveseat, two people who can't be friendly, two people who are miles away. The whole thing left me cold. The whole 'so much potential, but no reality at all' situation. And a bloated belly filled with bad Chinese food, money spent on crap, and nothing but red and gold and orange leaves to show for anything. Never fulfilling anything, no desires, just alone and plodding along. Q pushed my biggest button at the end of the day, and it drove my own point harder, home or otherwise. "You don't have to go home and comb your cats' hair and feed them and give them baths and get them to bed, you can stop for takeout, you don't have to cook, you can do what you want", as if I have no obligations. So I had to say we all have money for what we want to have money for, it's a lesson I learned a long time ago. And I have no one to do anything for me at all. If it needs doing, I do it, or it doesn't get done. There is no one to lean on, no one to turn to, no one to ask a favor of, it's just me, know that that is not as easy as anyone thinks it is. And then I realize it, what I've known forever, no one knows, no one has ever been close to me, anyone can think, and probably most think they know, but no one knows what it's like to live my life. And they don't need to. The more I realize they don't get it, they have some bizarre and inflated image, the more I realize I have no desire to make them see, or to even let them. It's mine and there is no room for you. This is the dichotomy, the wanting the closeness, but not wanting to explain any of it. It's more a desire to be me around someone who wouldn't need to misunderstand or ask for an explanation. I could sleep now. Last night I was watching TV with my eyes closed, and I napped purposefully from 10:30 to midnight, waking to catch up, and then lying in bed unable to sleep. Now, with this fullness of all that is unpleasant and obligatory and unfulfilled, I feel I could do it again. I've been tired all day. Cost of the War in Iraq
(JavaScript Error)
Recent Entries: It Was 40 Years Ago Today - 9:44 a.m. , Friday, Oct. 12, 2012 Dead Black Cat - 9:07 a.m. , Wednesday, Jan. 25, 2012 As Seen From Outer Space - 1:07 a.m. , Saturday, Dec. 05, 2009 I Survived to Tell the Tale - 7:29 a.m. , Friday, Sept. 18, 2009 Reading My Life - 12:55 p.m. , Saturday, Sept. 12, 2009 
  |