Thursday, Jan. 09, 2003 / 11:29 p.m.

~Please Respond To Your Personal Email, Everyone, Right Now~

This time of day, 11:29 p.m., is not good for me, not for writing. It's just not creatively conducive, or conducive to creativity, or even articulation. See what I mean?

Work is so crazy busy this week. Crazy. And today I actually felt happy in my job. I was hesitant to even write that sentence, hesitant to even think it, and I won't elaborate. I told myself a couple of months ago, or less, that I would stop writing about work here. And I have, mostly.

Alas. I'm tuckered out. Plum.

It was close to 70 today, and I think if one was in the sun, if a person was in the sun, it felt even warmer. Sort of like a heat index, let's say the heat index was more than that, higher than that. It was nice. I wore my jacket to the farmer's market because it was colder inside than outside.

Another good TV night, part two of the new "Star Search", and a child prodigy almost brought me to tears. Why do I get so choked up at live performances? Is this why I don't attend plays? Musicals? Do singers always make me want to cry? Good singers? Oh, bad too.

Ten years old, this girl, and she used the word 'siblings' in her interview. Was she coached? Is she an actress too? Does she memorize her lines? Are her parents pushing her? She said they lived in a van, earlier, before, when she was little. Fuck, man, she's only TEN now! My god, could she sing! And not all belt it out as loud as you can sing, but really sing. She was a million times better than that woman that butchered the Al Green song later. And no one noticed that one sang the same verse twice.... didn't she? Was I hallucinating? Didn't she lose the pitch, the key, whatever, a couple times, but she started belting even louder and louder and LOUDER to cover it up?

And "CSI", good, good, good. I really like William Peterson, and Marg Helgenberger, and I especially like trying to say her name the way I imagine it should be said.

"ER", and the lovely Goran what's his name. And poor Kerry, losing the baby. Yikes. I had a miscarriage once.

Silence.

Um, this morning I was thinking first thing about my train ride from Paris to Verona on my 24th birthday. That I turned 24 that very day. That I'll never forget the French people in my compartment, eating their hardboiled eggs and bread and other assorted foodstuffs, how the Europeans get on board and start eating. And the point of my remembering was when I awoke in the Alps, at night, and I only knew it was the Alps because it was so COLD.

I think that was the return trip though, and I have no way of remembering, although perhaps I could consult the journal I kept on the trip..... I was thinking about that ride, that trip and the waking to the cold, because I'm trying to imagine all possible circumstances for next Friday night. I mentioned it was near 70 here today, but it's supposed to get cold again, and things shift all the time, weather things, so I have no clue what to expect. I won't know how to dress, or what to take, until then.

But I'm thinking about it all the time. I'm watching the news, I'm reading the news, I'm trying to catch things, updates, as soon as they're available, and I'm loving how it's shifting, the political things, as well as the weather things.

UN weapons inspectors say there are no smoking guns, and Ari Fleischer says hidden guns have smoke you can't see. What the fuck ever. Next thing you know Ari will hold up some bloody glove and ask, "Where did THIS come from, huh Saddam?".

Oh, the emails are getting good too. Caroline sent me this Ari Fleischer routine from a recent press conference, from Monday's press conference actually. I love it! And daily, more really, I'm getting all kinds of updates, links, notices, of vigils, of teach-ins, of actions, meetings, commentaries, mock letters from Saddam to George Jr, it's great! I weed through it all, try to read most of it, and occasionally I add my own.

No word from Sandy, not since he told me he made it back from out West after New Year's, he has some guy staying with him now, some activist, and we should get together soon. I hope he doesn't suddenly materialize at the bus and plant himself next to me for the entire ride. Though I'm guessing that's exactly what will happen.

I have an issue, and I keep trying to write about it, but I don't want to say too much, I can't seem to word it as I'd like, but I'm pissed, irked, aggravated, and it's because I went out on a limb, I tried to help someone, and I've gotten no acknowledgement whatsoever. That's rude, it's just not necessary. It's like please and thank you, it's not hard to do, and yes, I do want a response, anything, even it's just yes, I got it, thank you. I think I realize, as I keep forgetting for some odd reason, that most people are not worth my time, no matter how compassionate I'm feeling. So fuck them.

Cost of the War in Iraq
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