Thursday, Mar. 28, 2002 / 7:03 p.m.

~No Zoloft For Moi~

But enough about me. What do YOU think about me?

That's one of my favorite jokes.

No, really, I'm kind of sick of talking about myself. It's always the same old crap.

I was watching the CBS Evening News, and why oh why do I bother?, it's always so horrible, and those commercials.... drugs, diapers for the elderly, antacids, Viagra (which I think is disgusting as a concept, and sexist as hell - where's the drug for women to get aroused?? Do you know that in my state it's illegal for women to buy vibrators, dildos, clitoral stimulators??? It's illegal to sell them. But men can buy Viagra), it's gross. So there's a Zoloft spot, and this voiceover is asking if I feel anxious, if I have trouble sleeping, do I not enjoy the things I used to?, etc., and I'm answering, Yep, yep, yep, that's about right, but I am NOT taking drugs for it. No drugs unless they're recreational. And even then, nah, I'm too old for drugs. I did all that in high school and college.

So, I was at work this afternoon, and it was slow, and I started a diary entry, but I deleted it, and I don't often do that. But it was all about me, and I got bored with it. I was making a list of things I love though. I was trying to be upbeat. Maybe I'll try it again soon.

The Full Moon is evident. Things were crazy at the end of the day. We shifted from fantasizing about our Lottery winnings we'll receive after the drawing tomorrow night (we're getting together another pool, two bucks a pop this time), to Lulu brainstorming about some car wash idea she has. Sexy women to wash the men's cars, hunky men to wash the women's, or however you want, have cocktails or a juice bar, meeting rooms, etc. I won't mention the name the Temp came up with (oh, I've not mentioned the last temp yet, I have no nickname for her, but she's three weeks with us, or thereabouts)......

(Grrrrrrrr...... my downstairs neighbor is going in and out and in and out and in and out of her apartment, SLAMMING her door! I don't think it closes all the way unless she slams it, but in and out, in, SLAM, out, SLAM, in, SLAM, you get the idea, my whole apartment shakes, I even screamed earlier, probably yelled, "STOP IT!", because I couldn't help it. Man, I am losing it.)

Anyway, right, so the Temp thought up a name and everything, but I won't put it here, it might get patented or something.

But there we were, Lulu standing in her cubicle, one foot out in front of the other, model-style, her long skirt, her hands gesticulating wildly, so excitedly talking of the business she's going to build, the business that will earn her millions, and D., the Supervisor, has joined us, sitting in a chair in the middle of the aisle, moving herself up and down the aisle as need be, to talk, to listen. The occasional phone call silences one or the other of us, and I'm scoffing, rolling my eyes, Lulu is wild, like a kid on a sugar high, and I say, "Have you been eating too much sugar?", because she is diabetic too, and she says, "Yes", and I'm thinking, It's a full Moon, She's a Cancer, she is wild and crazy with the moon.

And getting to McD's for my Filet O'Fish and fries was a chore, the traffic horrendous, and I thought is this all due to a religious holiday? And as I write that I can remember arriving in Paris during Easter Weekend, and there were no rooms, and I met those Americans in line for assistance, in the train station, the Gare De Lyon, do I have that right? So we roomed together, three of us in one room, two strangers and me.

But that's another story altogether.

Right now I have no story. Just the same old shit. The cars, the smog, the blue sky with that layer of brown on the horizon, and so many cars, SUVS, everywhere. I should live somewhere else, but I live the city, I love my city, and I don't actually live in it, I'm in the northern suburbs. If I lived in the city I'd be happier, but it's too expensive and I don't have the money, and I can't move because I don't have the money and I can't do anything because I don't have money.

Hmmmm..... It would seem I could use some money. That's why I'm so aggressive about the Lottery, like if I play it enough, my one ticket per drawing, I'll one day strike it rich. And that is so silly, but to anyone who thinks I'm this horrible negative person, I'd have to say, See? See how positive I am? Such a dreamer I am. I have dreams. I don't have to tell you what they are, you don't know me at all, do you?

I got email from Hermione today. She writes once, sends to everyone on her list, and I can see all the addresses right there, and I hate that. Send them as "Bcc", please. But she won't, she is not 'net savvy, knows no 'netiquette, and won't learn. So, I read, and she's apologizing for writing that way, asking us all not to be cross that we didn't get a personalized email from her, but letting us all know that if we write in response she will reply in response to our response. Gee. Thanks.

The letter is mostly about 3 year old Lilly, and how she now skis. Snow ski, that is, out there, out West. What a time they had, she goes on. What a time, in detail, the time. And I'm angry that she canceled her plans to come over that last time before they moved, my last time to see baby Lilly, and when she called again she absentmindedly mentioned Lil was out West already, and I hadn't known she'd gone. I'll never see her again, and I didn't get a chance to say goodbye. The child I held the day after her birth. Wanna see a picture of that moment? I have it, I'll upload it and put it here. Temporarily. Three years ago, I met this child, and I wanted her. I loved her instantly. Then others began babysitting, I wasn't even asked. I was left out of it all, but invited to the birthdays, oh yes, bring presents, then go away, blah, blah. I could go on, I'm bitter, very, very bitter, but I won't.

And they sold their house, the one they left, here, and made $57,000., she tells everyone on her email list. And they will buy a car now, a van, or minivan, or SUV, or something big and roomy to hold them, the dog, the child, friends, family. And a computer, she says, and pay off S.'s school loans, and pay her mom for helping them relocate, and a down payment on a new house. And I'm jealous, envious, I need a new car, I don't just want it, I have to have one, mine is dying a slow death, and look at this computer, it speaks for itself.

But, I didn't buy a house, I rent. I'm lazy and stupid and afraid to grow up, I have no support system so I don't venture where I fear to tread.

Blah, blah, blah, who the fuck cares?

I know I don't. I hope soon I'll have something good to write about. Or maybe I can try poetry or fiction. All this angst and bitterness and anger is getting old.

Speaking of angst, I can't read anymore. I sit in my cube at work, trying to get through the EW from two weeks ago, trying, always, to catch up, but I find that as I'm reading I'm thinking about things, what I have to do and when, making mental lists, trying to organize, plan, wondering WHEN?, WHY?, HOW?, and more, the words are there on the page, my eyes are moving through each line, left to right and back again, a line down, then back up because I didn't even hear it in my head, there's too much noise in there.

Ack.

I wanted to come home and eat and sit on the sofa, watch TV, but I knew I'd never get up to write here if I did that, so here it is, now. I hate to think that other people are reading this. Sometimes I feel that way. Embarassed. Totally. I can't believe you've read the crap I write. I'm sure you skim. I skim diaries sometimes. If it's long. If I'm pressed for time. So maybe I won't worry so much, you're just skimming. Good. Whew!

By the way, please go read the Activism page. Bookmark it. Add it to your favorites list. Broken-Glass created it, not I, but it's a wonderful idea, and I hope more people are turned on to it, add to it, read it, tell friends. And yes, I've been posting there, emails I get from the International Action Center. It's important. Please just keep an open mind and read. Visit the sites that are linked.

TV. "Survivor". "CSI". "ER". I can't concentrate and TV is the only thing I can manage. That and this computer, or any computer with Internet Access. My attention span is losing its length all the time.

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