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Wednesday, Sept. 29, 2004 / 9:52 p.m. ~Seven Years, Or I Hate Virgos~ I suppose I'm only here now because I'm trying to get back into the once a day thing. Here it is then, once, today. Today I lost a friend I never felt I had, and surely I'm better off, but because she is also a coworker everything is awkward. I don't look forward to going in tomorrow. I dread it in fact. I washed her out of my hair after work, or rather I let someone else wash my hair, and I let him condition it, and cut it, and dry it and style it, and it's movie star hair, and in a way it suits me. It's not quite short enough, but it's good for now, and the experience was wonderful. A friend of a friend did it, after hours, luxurious and fun just the two of us bullshitting and talking non-stop. I went shopping at Publix after and felt like everyone should be looking at me and my fabulous new hair, but they didn't know it was new. Pity the fools. The moon rose yellow and waning, and I called Hermione Out West on my cell, my first fading signal yet. My first disconnect due to fading signal, my first time having to step out on the porch to access those waves. She'll be here next week, and I can meet the baby. Fun, but she sounds depressed, admitted she is, and I know I'm being squeezed in where she can fit me, a high priority, but not the highest. How fantastic it would be to be the highest priority, to someone, to anyone. Imagine, if you will. I hate that I need glasses to see well. Lately they're so uncomfortable I nearly grab them from my face and throw them to whatever flat surface is nearby, any except the floor. Now they're not on my face, but it's all blurry and it hurts to have to squint so much. Further meandering here, I'm not watching "The Bachelor" this time around, but I tuned in tonight, just because I need to calm down, I need to relax and find my center, and bad reality television can suprisingly help in this quest. This season the women are older, the bachelor is older, and this is nice. I feel I've not paid enough attention to the cats, I've still not finished my household chores, and things are just happening, beyond my control. People in the building, different people, empty apartments, people stealing the electricity, the creepy neighbor moved, but I saw him from the porch, and a man with three young women, all wearing belly shirts and low rise jeans. Who? What? I told Hermione I am thinking of moving, I am, and she asked where I'd go. As I write that it pops in my head, like a lightbulb over my head actually: 7 years, 7 year cycles, the dentist, the cats to the vet, the haircut/salon, the apartment... it's been 7 years. No wonder I'm feeling wonky. I need to go to bed early. I need to sleep, I need to get away inside myself here. Tomorrow? THE DEBATE. Watch, please, watch. I'll invent my own drinking game: each time Bush says we 'liberated' the Iraqis, drink a shot, or a big gulp, of whatever is on hand, even orange juice. Have fun! Cost of the War in Iraq
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