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Sunday, Sept. 01, 2002 / 3:10 p.m. ~There Is An Order Which Must Be Followed~ Whoa, couldn't access the members area for a second there. My wrist hurts. I have no idea why either. If I look at it a certain way, at a certain angle, I think I see a bruise, but I'm not sure. I have no recollection of injuring it. Is it mouse related? I wrote a long letter to Hermione today. She wrote to me asking how Moby was, as if she'd just remembered I told her I was going to his show. I could start here talking about my friendship with Hermione and I could talk about which of us is the better friend, and who is selfish and who is not, but there is little point in that. It was nice she did remember and it was wonderful to recount that evening, once again. I sent her the picture of Stephanie with Moby and the goofy picture of me with Moby (though not the black and white version, the original in color), and again, it was fun to remember it all, to write it out again, to tell someone who hasn't yet heard the story. It hurts to type, the wrist thing. Feels like I slammed it into something, or I twisted it, or I spent too many hours clicking. I slept with the fan in the window, the air conditioning turned off, first time in months, and it was nice, but I was a bit hot, woke up with covers twisted, thrown off me. Cats all around. Sometimes two cats can seem like very many. I slept late, dreamed and dreamed, and of course I remember none of it, yet. Yesterday, fairly late in the day, I suddenly remembered dreaming of an apartment I was going to rent, and the fact that it had more rooms than I originally thought. And it popped in my head, there it is again! The theme. I dream of houses, or apartments, living spaces, with extra rooms. What does this mean???? It was a great apartment. Really white inside. Old, character, details in the woodwork, the walls, the moldings, white, white, white, terrific and light, airy, windows, rooms, rooms, rooms, and the kitchen was small, but once I walked to the back of the apartment (which was more like a house) I found a whole other section with another kitchen, much larger, really nice, and I asked if I could use that space, use that kitchen as my main kitchen, but I was thinking what in hell will I do with the other kitchen? How will I have enough furniture to fill this place up? And whoever was showing me the space indicated that the back portion was another apartment or belonged to someone else, or something which made it basically off limits, not part of the deal. Rooms and rooms and rooms. Not even opening doors, but walking through and finding more and more. What does this mean? Would Freud think it has to do with penis envy? !! Again, my fingernails have grown, time to chop them off before I can do anything else. Which keeps me from washing dishes, and there aren't that many so that's okay, cleaning my bathroom, dusting of any sort, and that's about it. Obviously it does not keep me from typing, not yet. I get in these obsessive states wherein I prevent myself from acting because there is an order that must be followed. This must be done before that can be done, and if this is not done then that most certainly cannot be done. Therefore, it's best to log on to the Interweb, check for email and read diaries and BB3 live feed recaps. Turn on said live feed and listen to the hamsters try to survive, trapped in that house with only each other. Time to listen to them, watch them, study them, as they try not to have nervous breakdowns. I was thinking about the computer, about how it doesn't need 'maintenance'. Occasionally I clean the monitor screen, grab a pair of dirty underwear or something else soft from my dirty clothes pile and wipe at the screen. I might de-frag once a month or so, but other than that, it runs all on its own. No muss, no fuss, unlike everything else. This is one of the many perks of being online. Not worrying. Still, and besides, and in addition to, I love having this time to do as I please. I drove to my old neighborhood in town yesterday, got takeout from my favorite Chinese restaurant, instead of shopping for fresh food, and it was a joy to drive to town without the usual throngs of cars. There was traffic, but it was light, it was easy, and the weather was lovely, dark gray skies, threatening skies, but low humidity, only 70s, low 70s, breezy, nice. And I pigged out, on Spring Rolls, Fried Stuffed Tofu with Roast Pork and Shrimp (sounds weird, huh?, but it's good!), Moo Goo Gai Pan (horrors, without water chestnuts!, I should add some to the leftovers - and too much chicken, is this possible?). I still have leftover Hot and Sour Soup, and Mongolian Beef. I always buy a lot so I have leftovers. Mmmmm.... I was eating the Stuffed Tofu again at 2:30 in the morning, couldn't stop eating it, cold from the fridge. There was a French movie on too, "Post Coitum", in which a 40something married woman, an editor at a Publishing house, falls dangerously in love with the young flatmate of one of her writer prot�g�s. They have a torrid affair and he dumps her. I understood his many reasons, but he didn't do it well, and she was quite ruined by it. Until the end where she takes a dive from a famous cliff, a cliff attached to a famous legend wherein there, on Sappho, in Greece, lovesick suicidal lovers take the dive only to survive, and be cured of their lovesickness. As she was. Interesting. I did want to turn it off at certain points, but the ending redeemed it. What else? I just wrote in my paper journal too and it was hard to recount the past two days. Only a few key elements stood out at all. Perfect. I think now I'll eat leftovers, and consider being productive. Consider. Remember, the nails must be chopped first, then anything. Must catch up on the live feed recaps as well. Gladys sits leaning her weight on her crinkly green frog. Norman has given up on me temporarily, but I must say they love this time as well. Their time to have me, here, for them. *We'll amend this, here, to add a couple photos to show I am not as horrible looking as in that photo of Mo and me in July. Here are a couple photos I took of myself in my kitchen last Thursday. They're weird, I admit, I'm still getting the hang of my digital camera, but for fun, here goes:   Is it a bad idea to put pictures of one's self in one's diary? It sort of takes away the anonymity, the importance of the words, yes? It changes the whole dyamic, right? And of course anything posted is always up for grabs, which always means anyone can take my photos and do with them with what he/she pleases.....yikes. Okay, so I made a grave error putting these, and other photos in my diary. I like to take a risk. Cost of the War in Iraq
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