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Sunday, May. 12, 2002 / 11:05 p.m. ~Let's Just Quickly Forget It All, Shall We?~ Here's how it's been: I've left my computer logged on to the Interweb the entire day. I've been checking my email every few minutes. I wrote to Skipper, told him how I felt about HIM, and I will name him, we'll call him James. Right, James. And I wrote to Sandy, briefly, to tell him I was in his neighborhood last night and came really close to dropping by unannounced. I've heard nothing from anyone. Nothing from the mysterious email address I wrote to last night, nothing from Skipper, Skipper who is no doubt hungover still. And confused, and possibly hurt. He had even made it a point to tell me in the same sentence that he cannot compete with the younger men, yet he has a better body than any of them. Skipper, you're 60, I'm 41. I prefer younger men, not older, and are you attracted to women your own age? Skipper's not here to answer that, I realize that. It's rhetorical, I know that. Skipper has problems with women, I know that too. He let slip that he is overall rather condescending towards us, women. Right after telling me he needed someone like me to mother him, nurture and care for him. Because why? What had I done? I'm bossy, not motherly. Does he equate the two? It's all a mess inside my head, and I've been a mess, and it's been all Moby, all the time on MTV2, all day, and they played his entire new album, "18", without videos, because there is only one for one song yet, so they played computer graphics, spinning cubes and spirals and fireworks, and it was heady and trippy and after a while I couldn't look. I'd like one song, think it was amazing, love it, terrific, then the next would suck, and when it was over I fell asleep on the sofa for an hour or two. I ate garlic bologna and provolone on whole wheat, and just now a whole tray of shumai, 15 I think. Garlicky and good. With tamari. Yogurt first thing, after coffee. So I've eaten. I have my appetite. Oh, hold on, email from Sandy........ Sandy, do you mind if I quote you? What's that? Fine? Good: "You know, I'm at a point in my life where I don't feel the need to jump into a relationship. I just enjoyed being around you (an attracted), and wanted to develop a friendship first. That's not to say that I'm not open to the possibilty of being in a committed relationship with someone, but for now it feels good going slow. I guess, I do see how you felt my excitement and interpreted it as something else (coming on fast)." Ohhhhhh.... I see. Un huh. Okie dokie now. So "slow" to you is calling me several times a day? I get it. Yeppers. What occurred to me whilst watching "The Osbournes" tonight (the "Dinner with Ozzy" was wonderful!) was I'm going to be just fine. I'm going to forget about yesterday, I'm going to go back to my horrible job in Hell, from which I cannot possibly extricate myself, because, well, that's the very definition of Hell, now isn't it?, and I'm going to go back to my routine, and that will be that. I got lost, I got swept up, I hadn't been to a party in a while, and never to a party with SO many good looking, and seemingly unattached men! It blew me away. Yes, there was something in the air and I wanted every one of them for something different. I'm okay now. I don't need any of that anxiety, that worry, that horrible, horrible whatever it was. That's just awful. I can't even describe it. The worry. The self loathing, the feeling of an impossibility in measuring up, of being what someone else would even consider wanting, despite Skipper's constant, "Isn't she great?!"s. No. I'm not. Stop it. I'm nothing you think I am, you're projecting, you don't even know me at all. I'm just getting to know me. I'm not anything you would want, don't you see that? And sexually? Egad! Have you seen me naked? Good, you don't want to. I'm not attractive. The last man I had sex with ran from me. Never, never wanted to see me again. What does that tell you? No, I almost took a wrong turn here, and it scared me being lost on that wrong path, the wrong road, however you want to say it, it was wrong, very, very wrong, and despite how exciting it may have seemed, it was not. It was more Hell. More Hell I do not need. It's late already, and I have energy because of my nap. I got almost nothing accomplished. I vacuumed the living room and the dining room and hallway. That's it. I became obsessed with looking good, I wanted to shave my legs, my pits, but I didn't. I didn't even bathe. I lifted weights for the first time in years. How many years? Two maybe. I stretched and did abdominal crunches. Why? Who am I kidding? The shumai filled my mouth with flavor, it's stuck there. I think I'll get ready for bed, watch more TV, call this day over, call this weekend over, and after I tell Lulu about it tomorrow it can officially be placed in the past. Quickly to be forgotten. Cost of the War in Iraq
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