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Tuesday, Mar. 04, 2003 / 7:41 p.m. ~Schlock~ This could easily be one of those entries where I start by writing that I have nothing to write about, and then I go on and on for way too long, put way too many useless words on the page, only because I really have nothing to say. Nothing to write. I'm sore, and I'm not sure why. I have a bruise on my thigh. Again, not sure why. I think I overextended myself cleaning on the weekend. I have a groin injury, and I'm thinking I should consult with Dominic Hasek (oh no, all of a sudden I don't know how to spell his name!) or Damien Rhodes, or some other goalie, on how to overcome it. For a few weeks now I've had limited movement of my right leg, and it's chapping my ass. Seriously. I equate it to not being able to extend my elbow. Imagine that. It won't bend outward. I used to sit in a yoga position, not a lotus, but it's a position also used for stretching by ballet dancers, sit on butt, feet pressed together, knees to the floor. I can do it fine when I'm limber, stretched out, but now the one leg sticks straight up in the air, knee to the ceiling, and it hurts like a motherfucker when I try to push it. But I have been lately, because I don't want limited use of my body, I want full use. My body should be able to do all I want it to do, but there's this tendon, or something, that now feels like it's been retracted, or like a portion has been cut off and removed, and the damn leg is only at 40%, if that. Fuck. Really, how long does this take? Should I try heat? Will stretching fix it, eventually? The other soreness is just stiffness, and I'm beginning to blame my pillows, my mattress. I wish I had money, I'd buy new things, a new bed, new bedding, a new car, new clothes and shoes. That's it, really. Aside from a vacation..... I think I'm going to take Caroline's advice and visit Moby in New York. He won't know I'm there to visit him, and it won't exactly be stalking, I'd just be there to hang out, in Manhattan, eat at his restaurant, that's all...... Nudge, nudge, wink and wink. He's on his way to another tour, several foreign lands, so now's not the time, maybe Spring, maybe Summer. Not sure yet, but the seed has been planted. And besides, we've met before, I can use that as an opener, "Hey! Remember me?!". Stop laughing. And don't call the police, it's harmless. Caroline understands, don't you Caroline??? What else, what else, what else? I've been groggy all day, I dreamed too much, too hard, and as I drifted off to sleep in the beginning, last night, I thought, Here I go again, off to that other world, because that is what it's like, it's like taking a journey to another very real 'other place'. But I was way too into it, way too caught up, having long and detailed and involved and exhausting dreams, and I cannot remember a one. But I woke so tired, and today was so hard compared to yesterday, so busy. And we had minor controversy and we had meetings, and it's about terrorism and rumors and the big corporation that is our CUSTOMER, and we had to get it all straight, but I like to believe in the rumor because it's a big conspiracy and I like conspiracies. How was that paragraph for enigmatic rambling? The girls and I played a bit. Norman is extra special good at jumping into the air to catch her new feather-y toy thing, and she spits at it when it eludes her. Evades her. "SPACICIK!", or something like that. It sounds Polish. And she sneezed, a big sneeze, and I automatically said, "BLESS YOU!" and she looked at me. My mom always said, "Jesus!", short for "Jesus Christo!", but it always sounded like, "KaySeuss!", which was how I said it as a kid. Oh, something else to ramble about briefly..... I am, quite proudly, the instigator/creator of the Reality TV diary ring (feel free to join!) here on Diaryland, but last night was a sad day in the land of Reality TV, the Hey, America, Choose Someone For Me To Marry So I Can Get Some Cash and Then Divorce Him/Her show was pitiful bad. Bad, bad, way bad, bad. And I sat and watched it anyway. The highlight, for me, was the one's gay roommate asking the silly questions of the prospective grooms, and of course the French dude, Xavier. Oh, sure, he may not have invented French kissing, but he is the expert, or whatever he said. It's all in the accent. I feel like I really really really, one more, really, don't want to watch it again, I hate the format, the Who Wants To Be a Millionaire lighting, the stage setup, etc., and the people, and the concept, and etc., etc., so I hope I don't give in, just to see how it ends up. I really hope I don't. Really, I'm tired. "24" is on in an hour, I have to tape the Celebrity Survivor Fear Factor show on account of it's on at the same time, and I think that "The Family" show is on after that (more "Unscripted Television", aka Reality TV, aka SCHLOCK), so I must be on my way. My life is so full, so fulfilling..... You think I'm being sarcastic, but I'm happy. I feel really good inside myself lately. I know exactly what I want. And what I don't. Cost of the War in Iraq
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