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2001-10-23 / 7:10 p.m. ~Obscenely Long Drill Bits, and Other Stuff - Is This the Longest Entry in Diaryland History?~ **Hey, this will be one of those entries written while at work, sort of throughout the day, then saved on a floppy, uploaded much later, once home, when everything feels different. It will be long, drawn out, disjointed, chaotic even, but it will be my day. Oh, joy.** I recently read about Marty Scorcese being late to meetings because he stays in his car listening to whatever song is on his radio. Whatever good song. Like, a song he really likes is on the radio, he's on his way to some meeting with some suits somewhere, he keeps driving, or he sits, parked, until it's over. Isn't that great? I was listening to Fatboy Slim in the car on my way to work, on my Walkman (That's not illegal, to drive with headphones on, is it? No more dangerous than talking on a cell phone, right?), and when I pulled into the parking lot I simply left the headphones on, walked in to work with them on, first time ever. It felt great, really, to not be hearing all the "Girrrrrrllll!"s, and "Bless you"s, etc. Sometimes I'm just so sick of this culture into which I am immersed every day. And Lulu can't stop talking, no shit. Doesn't matter who, doesn't matter where, anyone, YOU, passing by, something to say to everyone - when she runs out of people she gets on the phone for more. And I don't say a word, surely she notices, but know what? Know what? She doesn't say a word to me either. It goes both ways, doesn't it??? Yep. (Hey, later�later in the day�that changes, just a bit, a word here and there if we make eye contact, if I'm her audience, show her I'm listening.) I've done this before, minded my own business, kept it all to myself - after L. left the lynching photos on my desk. I didn't talk to anyone for months, maybe two or three. Unless I had to, unless it was business, I didn't say a word. I got a lot of reading in. Funny thing is, I talk all day long, to strangers on the phone. I had one of those slinky voices yesterday, well, maybe not slinky, but the guy was right in my ear, like we were lying next to each other in bed or something, I mean right there it sounded like, and it was too intimate, caught me off guard a bit. Most people sound sort of far away, or echo-y or businesslike, or like they're underwater, on cell phones, or on speaker phones, but this guy, like every now and then I get one, was lying next to me, whispering in my ear. "I need to change my address", code for "I want to fuck you slowly 'til you scream for it to be harder, faster - do you like it when I stick my tongue in your ear?". Why? I don't know. Again, I've said this before, it's tone, it's timbre, it's the quality of the phone. Crazy, huh? You think I'm childish, don't you? You think I use silence as a weapon, as a tool. And you are right. But I choose with whom to associate, relationships are not permanent, they're fleeting�sometimes it's best. *Okay, I just had this call, this guy wants to change the dollar amount taken out of his check for stock, and he can't figure out the automated telephone system, because he, like a lot of people, is stupid, so he wants me to help him, but I don't do stock, I don't do payroll man, so what the fuck, right? I'm telling him this, and he says, "Oh shit, I just got off at the wrong exit", and I say, "You're driving?!", and I'm thinking how the hell was I supposed to give him a phone number when he's driving a car? Oh, more likely an SUV. Made me giggle, made me laugh, a lot, we said goodbye, but this was funny. I just read what I've written so far, and the last paragraph made me laugh again. Some people are so fucking stupid it's a wonder they can function at all. I'm serious. One of my favorite lines from any song, ever, is from that Jane's Addiction song, and I should know the name, is it "Pigs in Zen"?, but Perry Farrell says that some people SHOULD die, it's unconscious (subconscious?) knowledge. I'm not saying that dude on the phone in his SUV calling to change the amount of his stock deductions should crash into a telephone poll, but you've read some of those hilarious "Darwin Awards" that float around the 'net, right? There's a whole book of them published now. It's true. We are a huge herd of animals after all, and we do need to be culled sometimes, even if we do our own culling. It's necessary to thin the herd. Speaking of, didn't I read in my Sierra Club engagement calendar that this is some World Population Awareness Week or something? There you go. See? I am aware. So aware. I think what this is is me bouncing back, me not being able to stay down for long (Cue "I get knocked DOWN, but I get up again!" Whatever happened to that band? Talk about one-hit-wonders�). I don't feel biploar, but I know that I don't stay depressed forever. Life goes on, I have to function, I have to interact in society, earn a living, etc. And sometimes I am tremendously amused by people, stupid or ignorant people, or both. We have roofers on the roof here, roofing I'd guess. Every now and then it sounds like they're using power drills, well, they ARE using power drills, with screwdriver attachments, or whatever, to screw the new roof in (?). I have no idea, but it's loud, and it sounds funny, and it just made me think of that scene in Brian Di Palma's (is it De Palma or Di Palma?) "Body Double" where that woman gets the drill from under the floor. Egad! That big ugly freaky looking guy is under her drilling up through the ceiling/floor with this horrendously long drill bit. Oh man, that's a great movie, see it if you haven't. A classic. Later: It's just after noon, officially "afternoon", and I just checked email on the lowly Internet PC. I changed the font on that PC so it looks cool now, it's all Tahoma, all the time, now. Carlos wrote back to me. Ah, a young man of few words, typical I guess. I write him a little something, he gets back, a week or two later, but he does seem to get back. Looking at my photos from the trip to D.C. again last night, on disk, I was reminded of how incredibly attracted to him I was, how it was sort of consuming, one of those times when I meet someone and there's this thing, chemical, pheromonal, I don't know, but it's there and I can't shake it, I couldn't shake it. I honestly, foolishly, thought we could be friends at least. Maybe we can, I don't know. He wrote and asked if I'm going to the Rally/March on Saturday, said, "see you there". If he's there, and I'm there, yes, we will see each other again, and I feel butterflies in my stomach, my heart beating faster, just thinking about it. Why? That inexplicable something. What's the difference between "inexplicable" and "unexplainable"? Are they the same? Saturday. Hmmmm� I have no idea what to expect. Dianne says over 5,000 flyers have been distributed, many groups have been contacted. This could be the biggest protest I've ever seen in this town. I wonder how many protests there have been�it is the South after all. We tend to be apathetic, or "they" tend to be apathetic here. Maybe during the Civil Rights Movement there were protests. But "anti-war"? I don't know. Here's where I can be all girlie and say, "But Ooooo, Carlos will be there!" Yeah, I am a child. (Bonus points if you know that Neil Young song by the same name, "I am a Child"). Finally, something to look forward to, not just seeing the boy again, but seeing all those people. Time to make another sign! No�hold on just a sec�I might play photographer this time. Why not? Last time I had that disposable camera, but what if this time I take my camera, shoot real pics? This could be a plan. This is going to be really long, I can feel it, and that means no one will read it, but me, and sometimes I like that. Yeah, I know how it is, you start scrolling and you're thinking, Jesus, how much did this chick write? When does it fucking end? I'll just keep scrolling, skim it a bit, see if there's anything juicy. Stop every time I see the word "fuck" or quotation marks, something that looks good. Yeah, maybe I'll read it all later, when I have the time, but wait, I won't have the time, I've got my favorite diaries to read, nah, this chick writes too much. See, I do read minds. I've been there. But I am not like you, I love to write, I love to read, I love a wordy, juicy diary. That's why when I found Bathsheba's diary I was in heaven - she writes and writes and writes, sometimes it seems like it's going to be a chapter in the book of her life, and I just want it to go on and on like it does. The diaries with little one or two sentence entries don't hold me, not at all. My only problem is reading a lot of text on a white background. It's hard on my eyes. Or diaries with really small fonts. Wow, I'm rambling. Can you tell I'm bored, waiting for it to be time to go home for lunch? Working on the longest entry in Diaryland history here� Back at work after lunch. I was listening to my Walkman in the car on the way back, actually reached for the car stereo volume knob to turn it up. That's funny. Louder, louder, it's good: "If this don't make your booty move your booty must be dead!", yeah. Okay, I left home on a bad note. Here I am feeling 100% better, and I've had the revelation, I know exactly what happened to me, I know what brought me down, I know, but I can't write about it here, I mean I won't. I can't even write why I won't write about it here, but this does beg the question "What won't you write about in your online diary, Joleen?", but no one is reading down this far, so we won't get into it. Suffice it to say I figured it out, things are not the mystery they seem. Right, so the bad note, Norma was a bad girl. Dammit. She's 11, she knows me by now, she's lived with me almost her whole life, she knows I get pissed if she destroys my personal property, so why? I was a fool, I set my Birkenstocks on the floor, I thought I'd wear them back to work, on account of it's really hot out, maybe 80something degrees. So, I took them down from their perch, set them on the floor, went to pee, just for a sec, what was I thinking? I come back and she's chewed them all over, her saliva leaving them wet, the straps. A few holes here and there, hopefully not that bad, but still, those are my work Birks. Not my new ones, thank god, but the ones that I get away with wearing to work, and not on Casual Day. Dammit. She can't help it, she's an animal, she loves the smell of leather, the feel of it in her mouth, between her teeth, but I got mad, and not as mad as I've gotten in the past, but I let her know it was "BAD, NORMA, BAD!!", and here's the bad part, I smacked her butt. That was wrong. I shouldn't have. Not that she cowered or anything, hell no, she sort of looked at me with an expression that said, "Uh yeah, damn, those shoes are GOOD! Ow, I wasn't supposed to chew on them, was I?". Yes, I read all that into that one look. But I didn't head out the door blowing her kisses, saying "I love you", like I always do. Even Gladys knew the difference. I feel bad. But shit, man, those are my good Birks, my dress Birks, my work Birks, you don't chew my shoes, cat! Fuck me. This reminds me of Lulu saying she wasn't sure she wanted another dog because she wants a new dining table and chairs, and she is afraid the two won't mix. I said I'd rather have the dog, I'd get a lot more out of a relationship with an animal companion than a table and some chairs. No, my shoes aren't more important than Norma, and yes, she'll get extra hugs and kisses later, but she had to know that was unacceptable what she did, totally unacceptable. Not to repeat later. No, not a good thing. I'm not in favor of corporal punishment, not at all, for animals, children, the elderly, spouses, anyone really, but sometimes I just feel it will drive the point home that much more. No, it was wrong, it's never right. Yelling should've been enough, putting them back up on their perch, those shoes, should've been enough. No need to hit a small animal. (Loudon Wainwright III - there's an article about him in last week's Entertainment Weekly!!!!! - has a song on one of his albums about reaching to the back seat of his car to hit his daughter - it's pretty intense) Sometimes, if we're playing and Norma scratches me or bites me, I scratch or bite her back. Freaks her out. Gladys, on the proverbial other hand, is very gentle, would never dream of hurting me, lashing out at me. They are so different. Gladys is more like me, if I piss her off she'll just not talk to me. Silence is her thing too. I love my girls. This morning Norma came into the kitchen with that "I just woke up" look again, the look wherein she looks her age, and once I again I filled up with my love for her, and immediately, almost, thought how I don't know how I'll survive when she dies. Here's what I think it is, that I'm afraid of losing someone I love. That's not that unusual, but maybe it's a feeling of vulnerability, of investing too much in something that clearly is not meant to last forever. But nothing in this life lasts forever, everyone dies. Harsh reality. Wonder how I can spend so much time writing and not working while at work? I actually had my phone turned off for like 20 minutes without realizing it. I think the longest Diaryland entry in history may be coming to a close (but it's LONG, isn't it?!). Perhaps I will try having thoughts and not writing them, at least not here. I'll see what that feels like. (This is starting to seem bipolar after all, isn't it? Like this is the manic phase?) Cost of the War in Iraq
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