Saturday, Feb. 01, 2003 / 11:30 a.m.

~This Is Very Long~

For anyone who is finding she (or he) spends too much time online, I have the cure: Downgrade. Oh yeah, really, switch to a computer just like this one and you won't even want to turn it on.

Unless you're filled with things you want to say, you want to write somewhere, just to get it all out, then you'll lie in bed wishing you had a laptop, and in the morning you'll lie in bed thinking of what you want to write first.

I dream about riding rollercoasters at Six Flags sometimes. So I dreamed this morning, waiting in line to get on, standing on some high platform, and finally the sheer height, the waiting, began to make me woozy with vertigo. The worker, the rollercoaster dude, was cocky and aware of my discomfort, and when I finally was told to get on (and it was more like an individual chair lift at this point than a multi-seat coaster) he was quite un-helpful. He told me to hop on, to sit, and I wasn't even sure which way to face, but he told me where my butt should go, and it was a pile of lengthy cushions, like pillows.

I hopped on, as bidden, and there was a brace of sorts to hold me there, but a final strap was to be strapped, by him, the cocky rollercoaster worker dude, and he kept turning away to do 'other things', god knows what, and I was moving, the ride was starting. I was telling him to hurry and strap the final strap, but he was running after me and it was too late. I think he was laughing.

I looked to see it was less than a seat belt, just a mesh strap with a little clip and I clipped it myself. I was flying through the air, facing down, the brace held me once I surrendered to it, lay all of my weight on it, mostly being held in by my chest and shoulders. We were up hundreds of feet, way above treetops and all the leaves were golden, brown, orange and red. It was Autumn, early morning, the sun at a slanted low level in the sky, burning off morning dew in a foggy haze, it was spectacularly beautiful.

Every so often I was upside down and I got a view of the people on the coaster behind me. There was a young man sitting with a young woman. She had purple hair and it blew in the wind, glowed in the sunlight, he had on a cap which never moved, despite our turning and tossing about, the wind in her hair, not his. His arms were folded and they were having a conversation. This was clearly MY ride, not theirs.

When I got off I found my things, my backpack, my jacket, and I was telling the ride operators how nothing mattered now like it did before I got on. I wasn't mad at the guy who failed to strap the final strap, I was calm, serene, I used the word 'serene', I was filled with a certain joy and ultimate sort of happiness. One questioned me, how could that be?, and I said I'd just ridden a rollercoaster, that's how, and it was amazing, and I flew over the treetops and it was the best experience ever.

I woke then. Pictured me in that ride, that brace holding me as I flew. Hmmmm.....

We've been experiencing the calm before the storm at work lately. All calls are diverted, told to call back, beginning Monday, because THAT is the day we begin the reissue process, the reissuing of the year end tax statements for all the U.S. employees of the huge multi-national corporation, ALL the employees who did NOT receive said year end tax statements. This is a service we provide, we the Outsourcers, and every year it's the same crap. This the bane of our existence. This is why we have four temps working with us now.

I relish the quiet, I take time to read, I listen to Jeff Buckley ("Mystery White Boy") on the Walkman, I sink into myself, and I feel alienated. I notice the 'new girl' forging a flirtatious friendship with 'the new boy' and I wonder how, as he is newly married now. I see her flip her hair, I hear her calling him on his phone, across cubicles, and I feel left out. I wonder if it's jealousy, but I know I feel alone.

So we were to have a department lunch, a bonus perk for meeting our quota last quarter. Meeting our quarterly quality quota, wonderful 'q' words. We met it, I exceeded it, I got 100%, but we're no longer rewarded for that, just the cash bonus, which is highly taxed, and if we're lucky as a team we get a lunch. All the 'fixings' for submarine sandwiches. Make them yourself.

I was actually excited, and I don't know why. I do enjoy free food, but I know there is no such thing as a 'free lunch', I know nothing in this world is actually 'free', everything has its price, and eating in the gray on gray on gray conference room is enough to kill anyone's appetite. Still, I was hungry, I looked forward. And at 12:00, an hour earlier than my normal lunch, I was off the clock, ready to dive in.

I entered the room with a woman from the other of our Manager's (M) departments, as they were also being treated, we were the first to arrive, we saw the spread layed out oh so carefully, and we decided to grab plates and get started. Off the clock, my time is precious. The Manager (M) entered, told us to put the plates down, oh no, oh no, she said, we need to wait for everyone to arrive.

I was devastated. Such a child. I felt like a little kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar, and I resented being made to feel that way. This was a luncheon for me, for everyone who made the quota, and as I said, I exceeded it, it was my bonus, my free lunch, and I was off the clock, and I was fucking hungry! I had to sit, with my roll, one piece of roast beef, and packet of mayonnaise sitting on the table before me, lacking cheese, tomato, lettuce, pickles, cookie for 'dessert', while everyone took her/his sweet time getting in the room. Sitting down at the gray on gray table. Fluorescents glowing overhead. Too much carpeting.

Waiting. Then she, the Manager (M), wants to BLESS THE FOOD! And I sit and stare at those who close their eyes and say AMEN and she gives us the RULES, tells us how we need to be mindful of everyone, that there is plenty enough for everyone, but we should take only enough, come back later, once everyone has had her/his share. FUCKING RULES FOR A LUNCH.

Then they queued. Oh yes, like the dutiful sheep they are, they formed a line, so they could all stand and drool while the person ahead made her sandwich, ever so slowly choosing turkey over ham, muenster over provolone, one at a time, in a group of 15 or more people. Me, sitting with styrofoam plate containing one hoagie roll, one slice of roast beef, one packet of mayonnaise. The Site Manager and his Multi-National Corporation Liaison at his side entering the room, as they are large, large people and they smell free food a mile away.

I picked up said styrofoam plate with said hoagie roll, one slice of roast beast and packet of mayonnaise and left the room, squeezing past the large, large, Site Manager, the Liaison and my Manager (M), and rushed to my cube, grabbed my backpack and headed out to my car to go home for lunch. My Manager (M) ran after me, literally grabbed my arm, apologized profusely, begged me to stay and make myself a sandwich.

This was becoming some grand comedy of errors, and the only thing missing was the laughtrack, but there had been a live audience and they were silent. I refused, I was polite, I told her it was my fault, I was jumping ahead in line, but now I had no patience to wait, no worries, please, really, I simply have no patience, it's not you, it's me, the check is in the mail, etc., etc, and yada, yada, yada.

She asked what sandwich I wanted, she'd make it for me, please, stay, she running after me, okay, walking, but still. No, no, no, STOP, I say. And she tells me how badly she feels, and I believe her, and suddenly she is so fucking sweet and good and kind and like some sort of free lunch angel, but I tell her not to worry, and I get in my little car, throw the styrofoam plate containing the hoagie roll, single slice of roast beast and the packet of mayo onto the dirty floor of the front passenger side.

I get on the Interstate and there is a HUGE traffic jam, I start to back down the entrance ramp, but I'm too far, I'm laughing at the irony, but I want to cry, and I feel SO childish for the preceding events. I'm singing Neil Young's "I Am a Child" in my head, but I can't remember all the lyrics. I get on the highway and it's all due to a car on fire on the side of the road, it's all "Looky Lous" looking, as they do. Fucking sheep.

Home, T.G.I. Friday's frozen quesadilla rolls (have you tried these?, they are SO good!) heated in the microwave, grab the garbage and head to the dumpster. At the dumpster take the styrofoam plate with the...... and throw it away.

Saga ended. Back to work. In the cubicle, headphones on, reading EW interview with Jack Nicholson, feeling better instantly. Perhaps half an hour goes by and the Manager (M) comes by with a plate covered with foil, a little Welch's pineapple orange juice, some extra packets of mayo and honey mustard. Tells me how badly she felt when I say, "You didn't need to do that."

I still haven't opened the foil. I have no idea what is inside. I am tempted to throw it away, but I'll be hungry later, surely.

Reminds me of a time when my ex and I had some horrible fight, and I think it was about some food I'd cooked and he'd eaten, some casserole or other I'd wanted to eat when I got home from work and he'd gone ahead and eaten it instead. I think. Either way, I remember him cooking me some elaborate breakfast, setting it on a tray, and I was in the bathtub, the door to the bathroom locked. He set the tray outside the bathroom and left it there for me, thinking I'd open the door to get it so it wouldn't get cold. I left it there.

My two old cats, one Kitty, one Rocco, must've walked by that food, must've taken nibbles here and there, despite their old age, their impending illnesses and subsequent deaths, both, but I didn't care. I was holding fast and firmly to my beliefs, my scruples, my stubbornness.

As yesterday.

I felt like such shit, I wanted to cry, it had been such a fucking episode, arriving first at the buffet line, being told to wait, like some child being reprimanded by the stern mom, then everyone else gets up to get in line, and suddenly I'm last, behind 15 or more people. Pig fuck, I kept thinking to myself, what a fucking PIG FUCK! (that WILL get me Googled, guaranteed)

Sooooo, after all of this, we had apple pie and ice cream for Listerine's birthday. The server needed rebooting, the phones stayed down, we took the time to celebrate, in same gray on gray conference room, and I sat with 'the new girl' and 'the new boy', and I showed 'the new girl' my Bettie Page bracelet, the one with the racy black and white photos in little circles all the way around, and I flirted with her, and I'm not sure why. And I ate apple pie and ice cream and it was the best apple pie I'd ever had, and I got up quickly when I was through.

I didn't want to do the dinner too. 'The new girl' kept asking me, "Are you going?", until I asked her why and she said, "Because I want you to go". I went home to feed the cats quickly and met them at the restaurant, but she was at the bar, her short shirt riding up her back, that little bit of lower back exposed, and hers has a tattoo on it, and lots of fuzzy blonde hair, and I took my cold hand and placed it there. She jumped and SCREAMED! Classic.

There were nine of us at one table, and 'the new boy' only drank. Several Texas Margaritas, a fruity multi-alcoholed thing, and he sat with sunglasses on and coat. He does the same thing at work, sometimes for the whole day. I accuse him of being drugged.

Listerine loved her day, her apple pie and ice cream, the Peace Flag button I brought her back from the Demonstration in D.C., she wore it all day, and the luncheon, the sandwiches, the dinner, the big salad, the people there getting drunk and eating fried things, alligator and oysters, and crawfish. She screamed, she was giddy, she said 49 was great!

'The new girl' and 'the new boy' left to smoke cigarettes every few minutes. She downed her blue martini, he came back with another drink. She giggled, showed us the business card someone gave her, she clapped her hands together and laughed, threw her head back and cackled, and flashed her perfect smile, left to go to the bathroom, then get another drink, then flirt with the waiter, and I remembered being 21 years old, but I was never like that.

I invited her out, to my favorite club, but I thought once again that I could be her mother, I'm too old to go to clubs, everyone knows I'm older. And it was too early.

She left with 'the new boy', and she said she thought I was coming along, but I said she hadn't invited me. She said it was her way of inviting me, asking if I was going along, to the Bar nearby. But I called myself a 'third wheel', and refused. My two beers were having an effect on me, and it was vacillating between wanting to go out, all night, and wanting to dive into bed with the cats.

The latter won out. I couldn't wait to see them, my furry best friends, and I thought how alone I am when I'm with people. How very lonely the 'proximity without intimacy' is, and how it feels more than just Dante's Hell. I felt like there had been no 'me' at all. I enjoyed my dinner, I have leftover pasta with andouille sausage, crawfish, shrimp, no regrets there. And I ate a nice plate of grilled asparagus, and my urine took on that unusual asparagus smell, as I expected, but overall, no, I don't think I was even there.

I remember once being the charismatic one, the dynamic one, the striking one, the one who got noticed, the one with the hair the men loved, or the smile that was brightest, the eyes the men fell in love with, the body small and tight. But now I'm never noticed, I float by invisibly. No one sees me. And to contradict that, if anyone does I am shocked. When Listerine asked to see the bracelet I said no one was supposed to notice it, I wore it for me, because I like it, it's too risque for work, and she gasped when she saw Bettie whipping the other girl thrown over her knees......

I was in bed, belly filled with pasta and spices and asparagus and two Shiner Bocks, TV on, Norman grooming on the other side of the bed, and I fell asleep quickly.

Now I'm happy to be here, but I'm remembering a week ago, and it seems like it was yesterday, sitting here typing, coughing, trying to eat my edamame rice bowl, but choking as I coughed. Unable to eat, unable to breathe, a fever when I checked with my talking thermometer.

I feel almost 100% today. Physically. But now I'm sadder than sad inside. And I don't want to be this way. I may seek to alter this consciousness, go out, do something. I have no plans.

Here are some of my favorite parts of the Jack Nicholson interview in Entertainment Weekly (January 3 issue - I'm still catching up):

"EW: So, you weren't devastated turning 65?

Nicholson: It was much harder turning 50. That landed on me like a ton of bricks. That's when I really realized my mortality. But I'd say 42 is probably the best age to be. You've been around, you've probably achieved some of your goals, but you still have all your physical capabilities."

Why do I like that? I turn 42 in April. It made me smile, laugh out loud when I read it.

Here, EW (Benjamin Svetkey) asks Jack what's changed, now that he's a Senior Citizen:

"Nicholson: Well, I'm less libidinous. I'm not nonlibidinous, but I'm more weary and less tolerant of the dance. And it's easier for me to be alone now. I had to learn how to be alone. There was a long period of my life when I felt like I was going to run out of air or something if I wasn't rattling around in bed with somebody. But I've gotten more comfortable in solitude. I appreciate it as a luxury."

Not that I relate to all of that, but the part of being less tolerant of 'the dance', that's beautiful. I feel exactly the same. That's why I accept my aloneness now. That's why I embrace it. That's why I feel more alone in a crowd.

However, Jack is 65 and he's lived a LOT more than I have. Perhaps I'm giving up too soon..... but it doesn't feel like giving up. It feels like embracing myself. Taking care of ME.

Cost of the War in Iraq
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Run, Kitty, Run!

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