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Saturday, Jul. 12, 2003 / 1:34 p.m. ~A Randomly Written Random Entry~ I get a bit lost reading my own random diary entries. I just read about stapling antiwar rally posters to utility poles with Anna back in October of '01, wanting to flee from work in August '02, and something from July '01, and it was really well written. I mean, it was just stuff, just free flowing thoughts that sort of came out, all free flowing and stuff. Gee, like that. I'm so fucking eloquent. I lay in bed thinking about my dresser this morning, or afternoon, since I woke up around noon, and I was telling myself the story of the dresser, reminding me, as if I were telling someone else my whole history, and as I struggled to remember each event that led to the next, I would say to myself, "Gosh...", as in "Gosh, I can't remember what my bedroom liked like back then (when I was 6 years old) at all", or "Gosh, my sister had the biggest bedroom", or "Gosh, I can't remember my brother's room at all, that is SO weird!". And then I wondered why in hell that particular word, that exclamatory word comes to mind first thing in the morning when I'm trying to remember that first time we three all had our own bedrooms and it was so luxurious. I was only thinking how I need to dust my bedroom, and then I looked at that dresser, that remnant from that time, and thought about where it came from, and why I have it, and it's sentimental only, really, and how I'd love to one day furnish my own home, actually choose my bedroom furniture, not just use my mother's old bed, my sister's old dresser, my grandmother's desk that was actually my mother's when she was a girl. There are only two pieces in there that I chose myself, a Lane cedar chest for my wool sweaters, and for Gladys to sleep upon in front of the window, and the bookcase Hermione gave me when her grandfather put up the built in bookcases around her big picture window in her living room. Books spilling out of it and around it all over the floor now. I've run out of room for books and CDs, they're stacked everywhere, yet I keep buying more. And the free weekly is in huge piles, as I have to 'go through' them with scissors, cutting out articles I want to save, before I can bag them and take them to recycle. But this is a 'project', and anything deemed a 'project' becomes a PROJECT, and hence overwhelming and best left to sit until I feel the ENERGY to tackle said project. And so nothing gets done and I get up on a Saturday and read old diary entries so I can think I sometimes have a bit of talent for writing about the ordinary and everyday. Amidst the navel gazing. And I'm still thinking of words I like, due to Manchmal's Survey questions and the blank I drew when trying to answer them. I think 'elucidate', 'articulate', 'inconsequential', 'eccentric', 'fantabulous', but that's made up, 'pamplemousse', but that's French, and 'fruttivendola', which is what Art called me as a term of endearment all those years ago, but that's Italian. Since answering those questions, in particular that one, about the five favorite words, now I say or write a word and I think, that one! That's a great word! Why didn't I think of that? And I think I shall make a list, but I already have too many lists everywhere. 'Ciao', that's another favorite word, and 'Salut', which usually has a '!' after it, and has to be heard said by a real French person to be fully appreciated, but it's so much better than 'Hi'. Nelson called last night, exactly as I knew he would. He asked if I'm psychic, but he seemed so sarcastic and cold. And on his cell phone he uses all the time now, and I hate those things. The reception is always inferior, always horrible, and he accused me of not speaking clearly, but he sounded like he had a mouth full of seaweed himself. Perhaps we'd both just exited the ocean. I don't want phone sex with him again, ever. We don't do that anymore at all, and I can tell he doesn't want to chat, he is horny, despite saying, "I'm horny", and after I say, "I figured as much", then "I'm kidding!", which prompts the ever popular and immediate "No you're not". I just wanted to hang up on him. He asked about my Fourth. As in Of July, and it was uneventful, so I said, "It was uneventful". And that was that. So I asked, "How was yours?", and he said he watched fireworks and made fireworks, and I immediately wondered, Oh yeah, with whom? Whom??? Who do you hang with??? I know nothing. Then, realizing I know this nothing, I became frustrated knowing I will never know, then knowing that I'm right, I've always been right, it doesn't matter what he says when he calls when he's drunk, we will never meet, we are not destined for anything, and I don't care how many years this has been going on, at some point he will meet someone he wants to marry and he will stop calling, or more likely he'll call me to tell me how happy he is and how he wants me to be happy for him, and it's all so very pointless. He's not my friend. A friend I could call. A friend would answer my email. A friend would call me on my birthday or send an e-card, or a card in the mail, or call me up more than once every month near the full moon when he's feeling especially horny, and be cold when he realizes he's made a bad choice in calling. I got up and got online and wrote in my blog and surfed, I actually surfed the Interweb, and I forgot how consuming it can be, how much is out there, and how all it takes is some curiosity and it can go on forever and lead one all sorts of places. Fun. Until 4:30 in the morning. And now I'm here again. But writing it all because I need to work it out, or put it down, or document it, and if only so I can go back and click on 'random entry', and read it later. And if I think about it, as phrases go, that's a good one there, 'random entry', makes me think of space travel somehow. Shuttle landings. I read last night, online of course, that Hillary might run for Pres in '04 despite all she's said, quite evasively of course. She's a Scorpio. Way too evasive, secretive, and controlling for my taste. I don't like it when someone talks without moving her hands either. What's up with that? She is made of stone. People thought Al Gore is stiff? Hah! And she supported Bush through all his horrible decisions, post terrorist attack. No, no, no, I would not vote for her. I need to accomplish things today. 'Inexplicably', 'Territorial', 'Interweb', 'Decidedly', 'Concave', 'Hellacious', 'Fuck', 'Pseudointellectual', 'Protrude', 'Propitious', 'Mutilate', 'Castigate', 'Supercallifragilisiticexpialidocious' - DING! Dammit, I knew I spelled that one wrong. And the good old 'Antidisestablishmentarianism'. Those are off the top of my head, or the bottom, I'm not sure. 'Unabridged'. I do not discriminate, I love ALL words. Cost of the War in Iraq
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