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Wednesday, Aug. 21, 2002 / 7:36 p.m. ~Momentary Desire to Flee~ (*I wrote the following from work, about 5 hours ago - late in the day I became severely exhausted, could not stop yawning, suffered through a headache that lasted the entire day, and I have it still. Coming home was entering Paradise, and now, even though in headache pain, I'm infinitely better, I've read the BB3 live feed recaps, I'm listening to the feed, the regular TV show is on later, a two hour episode, and I've got leftover pizza for later. Could be worse. Laundry to put in dryer, not much happening. Oh, I posted at the Moby boards last night, late, and read again of Moby's previous email troubles...Earthlink problems. This made me think that he might have replied to my email, but I simply never got it, and for a moment last night I wanted to re-send it. !!!! I came to my senses and all is well now. Like David Letterman, I fear I too may have West Nile Virus. Major neck stiffness, fever, tired, headache. I entertain me. Punchy at end of long day. When will it be Autumn? Not the obvious answer, but really? 90s every day has worn me out. Onward and upward....thunder in the distance, but it won't rain - the air is thick and barely breathable - I'd stay inside forever if I could.) Suddenly it feels too close in here. Nearly 3:00 p.m., cubicle time. And for a second I had an overwhelming desire to leave. More a need than a desire. A flight response. Flee. I'm still waiting for it to go away. I'm not sure what caused it, other than it's slower today than the past two days. This is typical lately, a busy Monday, a busy Tuesday, and Wednesday drops off, like a shelf on the ocean floor. Crazy simile, huh? It's dropped. And I started out as usual, hating it here, hating the noise, a headache which began in the car on the way, and headphones to block out the chatter, then the Commonwealth Club, the Director of the FBI talking about the efforts to secure our homeland, then a Mozart piano concerto, and it was lovely, and suddenly I felt I simply must go to the Symphony, and SOON. At the very least I must listen to some vinyl, at home, something from my vast collection of Classical recordings. Then lunch, some BB3 live feed recaps and pizza, some squeezing of the Norman and patting the broad expanse of head of the Gladys, then back in the heat, an intense desire for a pop, and I enjoyed saying 'pop', dragging it out like I'm from Ohio or Illinois, and I borrowed change, I got a Grape Fanta, and now it's slow, I sit and read EW, I look at my pizza-filled belly bulging from my wild patterned rayon pants with the cinch waist, and I feel too intimate. Too comfortable. Too personal. I remember this feeling. I've always had it around people. The feeling of wanting to get away from them. The need to flee. Like a man who's awakened in the bed of a woman he's only met the night before. Or one he knows too well, who wants too much from him. Like Reg must've felt every morning after our nightly passions� It's mostly gone now. It was there, but now it's not, not so much. Was it the Grape Fanta? The sodium benzoate? My life is flashing before my eyes. No, it's behind my eyes. It's not really flashing either. I'm just recalling memories. Whew, thank god it's over, that feeling. I really think I can't stand getting too close to people. Physically or spiritually or emotionally. Animals, yes, indeed, but people? Gives me the heebie jeebies. I don't want to write right now. Cost of the War in Iraq
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