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2001-10-14 / 3:02 p.m. ~Trying to Decide Everything~ Out of sugar, and honey is not good in coffee, Starbuck's Frappucino instead, not hot, it's cold. Dishes piled, so creatively, but how long can I live like this? Dust so thick I can write poetry atop every bookcase, if I so choose. The sun is finally shining again after a night of rain, after heavy wind to blow it all away. And we slept last night, us three Aries girls, the cats and me. We really slept, and I awoke at a decent hour, no longer tired, wanting to get up. "Marathon Man" on Turner South, the channel that shows my hockey games. Never seen it all the way through, just the "dental torture" scenes, and the parodies of Dustin Hoffman running, turning to look behind him, in those pajama bottoms, running for his life. What an intense movie, even edited for television, "time compressed", "edited for content". Two and a half hours, and this was after the "time compression". How long was it before? And flipping to CNN, knowing their bias, knowing they are slanted, heavily, one way, so slanted everyone is falling to the side, you can see them leaning, grasping to stay upright. Tommie Thompson, and does that Tommy have a "y" or an "ie", I don't know, but he is the Secretary of Health and Human Services, or Health and Human Welfare, or something, and he called our enemy "O'Saddam Bin Laden", I fucking swear to you. Maybe the guy is Irish: "O'Saddam McPherson", or "O'Saddam McDougall". He is Irish/Iraqui/Afghani. And we need to kill him. I love the latest report that Iraq is probably really the country behind all of this, 9/11, etc., and oh, stop me if I wrote this yesterday, I don't remember any more, but looks like we may have been bombing the wrong fuckers, er, civilians, after all. Wouldn't that be too funny? No? I don't think so either. I thought one was supposed to gather evidence after a crime, then seek to convict, then try before a jury. All CNN wants to say is they've been phoning people up, asking them if they want us to bomb the fuckers, and 87% say, "Hell yeah! Bomb 'em!". Do they want to tell us how many hundreds died in that village we bombed yesterday? A village, an ENTIRE village. And they admit to the mistake - Oopsy! Er, damn, someone punched in the wrong coordinates - Bad, very bad! Um, sorry. Come on. This is so ridiculous I may even stop laughing. Gladys threw up, yellow acid from her stomach, no hair, no clear reson why. This was after she slept with me, cozy and cuddled while I watched Dustin Hoffman run, and grimace in pain for hours. And didn't Laurence Olivier get his! The meeting is in hours, and I don't want to go. I don't want to have a meeting in a coffeehouse, I want it in a meeting place, someplace where it's just us. But what will any of it accomplish anyway? When will the number drop from 87% to 20%? When will CNN call ME? I want to tell them what I think! I can't do any of it, I can't clean, I don't know how anymore, I feel totally incapable of being the head of my household. It's a wonder I even pay the bills, it's a wonder I get out of bed five days a week and go to work, earn money, buy cat food and litter. It's a wonder I can feed myself. I wonder what movie is on now? Can I use my menstruation as an excuse? Because I got crampy today, and saw a bit of color in my vaginal fluid. I want to say "effluvia", but I just looked it up and it has a negative meaning, "foul smelling", etc. Here I thought it was just body fluids. It even sounds pretty....Effluvia Ricardo, famous lounge singer. Once married to Ricky Ricardo, his third wife, after Lucy and Ethel. Oh, you didn't know he married Ethel after his divorce from Lucy? He was always hot for her. No, I'm not going to any meeting. No. Let me read the minutes via email. In fact, if we could have the meeting via a large chat window on ICQ I'd be all for it. Maybe I just don't want to be around people before I have to tomorrow. Maybe I just want to relish being just me and the girls, the TV, the PC, just for now. Maybe I can't imagine getting dressed, or driving, seeing people I saw on the van, in D.C., people who wouldn't otherwise see me at all, ever. Not friends, people. Just people. What can we accomplish? It's being done, there's nothing we can do. We are foolish to be idealistic. Now is the time for education and intense cynicism, sarcasm, not hopefulness, not optimism. It's too late to be naive. I think the sofa is calling me....."Joleeeeeeeen, come baaaaaaack to meeeeeeeee, I need to feel your warm body upon meeeeeeeeeee........". The time to wash dishes is when the accumulated water begins to take on an unpleasant odor, or when one runs out of clean flatware, or when one can no longer find a utensil to flip the bacon. I still have time. If I accomplish nothing, if I only lie about, trying to decide, I can blame it on lethargy, menstruation, being a woman, being an American, being ashamed of my country, of being in an isolationist atmosphere, a land where the people forget there are other lands outside. I can be tired, I can be listless, because my hockey team reverted to sucking last night. Pick one, any one. Go with it. Cost of the War in Iraq
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