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Tuesday, May. 14, 2002 / 7:21 p.m. ~Run Over~ I had to remove Norman from my lap to write this. For her sake I hope it's worth it. She'd just begun to curl herself up, begun to purr. I hate me for doing it to her, but only briefly. We'll have our moment soon, it's Tuesday, a good TV night. Assuming "Gilmore Girls" is not a repeat, and I don't think it is, well, we've got three good hours of quality lap time ahead of us, some to be shared by the other cat, what's her name. I feel I've been run over by a truck. I'm going to guess it's a combination of things, and I know exactly what that combination is. It's lack of sleep, it's major life excitement, it's skipping my vitamins on Saturday, possibly contact with a virus. I will take echinacea and I will fight. The white blood cells will join forces to conquer the invading army of whatever. We can win this war on terror! Or this virus, or whatever. Really, I'm spent. This is the first I've written today, excluding like a million emails to this new person, not the person I met on Saturday, but his partner in crime, or some such. No kidding, here I was trying to hook up with James, trying to say, "Hi, gee, I think you're real cute, wanna fuck?" or something stupidly similar, all gooey and gooshy and horribly infatuated, and I ended up writing to this person I wrote to in error and we can't seem to stop. I think he invited me for ice cream. On my way home I saw two helicopters hovering overhead, a block from my apartment. Inside I turned on the news to learn an apartment complex down the street was on fire. Dogs and cats had been rescued, no one was hurt, several had no insurance. I think it can happen to me, wonder when, and know it's only a matter of time if I stay here. Where would I go? My biggest fear is losing this, and my girls with it. I'd end my life. No, it would not be a beginning. Everything I love would be gone and I would have no one depending on me. Sorry everybody, but I would check out. It hasn't happened yet. Life goes on. No fires here, not today. But.... it's not anything I enjoy coming home to - when I see those 'copters hovering like that I know something bad has happened. The last time it was a horrible head-on collision in the 'suicide lane' in front of the movie theatre up the street. Bad. I must here and now mention the weather, as it is spectacular. If you could order weather, and you were not some storm freak, or a snowboarder, I think you might order this day. Perfect. Low 70s, blue sky, windy, lush green foliage everywhere, vernal, Spring, birds singing, the air clean and dry, the sun shining but not hot. Perfect, truly, truly, absolutely perfect. And my pre-viral energy was skyrocketing, my excitement at the mystery of my email communications with the stranger was palpable. Including my theory that the communicator was/is James. But he is not. James wrote back, from a different address, asking if I was trying to reach him. I've been so puzzled, so mystified, so impatient, so overwhelmed. I wrote back, yes, I'm trying to reach you, have I?, and just now re-sent the original email - basically coming right out and saying, Hey, I dig you, do you feel anything at all? Do you even remember me? We'll see. I'm ready to crawl back inside my cocoon. I feel my attempt at socializing has been a dismal failure. I never get what I want, no, thanks Mick Jagger, I apparently get what I "need", but who is doing the deciding? Who is telling me THIS, any of it, is what I need? I've been lifting weights, three days in a row? Two? I'm sore, is my point. I'm confusing the soreness with flu symptoms. "Oh, I'm achy", "No, you idiot, your neck hurts from the crunches, use your neck less, your abs more, don't you want to look like Britney Spears?", "Who?", "You know, the one with the abs?", "Her? She's a child! I'm a woman. I do just fine, I'm just skinny is all, I want some muskels, that's all." Do I always talk to myself? Yes. You've just never heard me before. Dammit! I forgot to go to Media Play to buy "18". Fuck me to tears. Speaking of fucking me to tears.... earlier today when I was coming home for lunch and it was SO beautiful and could it have BEEN any more beautiful?, I looked up at the sky, at the trees all green and lush, making my neighborhood appear as some giant forest, I said, to no one in particular, "Fuck me to tears, but it's beautiful!". And then I laughed, at me, not with me. What a thing to say. Who taught me to talk like this? This new person..... this new person. That's it. I have nothing more to say about him. But, well, we seem well suited, verbally. Literally, as in writing. We've written. Copious amounts, all clever and witty. I've been witty for two days. And now I'm coughing. I'm wrapping this up. Remind me to take my echinacea. Should I capitalize that? Echinacea. Take it. Don't forget. Headachy. Achy. Don't forget to lift weights. Need muskels. Need James to need to see me. No, want, not need. See? I knew it was futile. You think I'm crazy? I'm so perceptive. It was a party, he was friendly, he can't help it if his eyes bore into other people's eyes, it's not intentional, one should not misconstrue such boring. Eye boring, that is. Cost of the War in Iraq
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