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2001-10-22 / 7:12 p.m. ~Welcome to the Working Week~ Here's another Elvis Costello reference for you..."...Oh I know it don't thrill you, I hope it don't kill you, welcome to the working week....". Is it "ya" or is it "you"? I'm not going to dig out the vinyl and listen to it now, not right this moment, but if you know the song, you know the song. If not, Elvis Costello is worth getting to know. I feel totally lost on weekends. That's nothing new. It's been going on for a while now. In fact, when I look in the mirror and see white hairs amidst the dark brown, almost black, when I see soft lines below my eyes, when I feel the way I feel, any of it, all of it, when I look around and see all I neglect, I trace it all back to getting this job. My current job has aged me, unnecessarily, it's aged me years. It's the toxic chemicals, the copiers, the printers, the bleached paper, the FAX machines, the PCs, the Video Display Terminals, everywhere, it's gray cubicles and fluorescent lights, it's toxic people, it's hypocritical "Christians", it's catty behavior, and too much estrogen. It's made me old before my time. But I know how my day will be during the week. I must thrive on the structure, the scheduling of my life, day to day. So when the weekend comes, the time to be with "friends", "dates", "lovers", "family", there's none of that, and I can't seem to take on any of the projects I know I need to take on. Irony is that I love the idea of a weekend with no plans. Which is it? Do I want/need the structure, or do I crave/desire/need the freedom of no constraints? I'm confused. Either way, it feels good to know "Everybody Loves Raymond" is on, the CBS Evening News just ended, I know what comes next, everything is all mapped out. Not that Monday is a great TV night, but I can watch "Guiding Light" on tape, and it's a terrific constant. No matter what, aside from terrorist attacks on humanity in the USA, "GL" is on. Well, or maybe US Open Tennis, or, er, well, you get my drift. Speaking of projects I not only do not finish, but cannot bear to start, I'm taking off Monday and Tuesday next week just so I can do those things, those project things, but now I feel the need to hop a plane, to prove that I can still fly on a plane, that I won't die, and go to "Ground Zero", see the wreckage, photograph it, for me. So I can see that it's real. I don't know I'll do it, I don't know I'll do anything I conceive, but it's enough to think of things to possibly plan. I remain non-committal. How about that line in "Groove" last night, where the lovely Leila tells David, when asked what she wants to "do", "I just want to commit to something without fear". Yeah. I feel that. Hey, that's a great movie, I'll say it again. Meandering right along...it's great that someone reached out to me, wrote me a nice email saying she cares how I'm feeling. Isn't that great? No sarcasm here, that was really nice. It touches me. I feel pretty invisible mostly, it surprises me when someone notices I exist, that I feel, that I can give, that if someone would see me I'd give, I'd entertain, I'd be a friend. I am capable of having interpersonal relationships, I know I am, if only people would see me standing/sitting here, right here. (I don't mean literally, here, in front of this PC, I mean in life, here, living) Speaking of invisible - Lulu and I are not talking, and I don't know she knows why. I don't know she has noticed, not at all. In a big way, I don't miss it, her, talking all day, no, it's nice to sit and read. I'm flying through the Entertainment Weeklys, feel I'll catch up soon, and I'm going to finish The Slate Diaries, I think, or start something else. I love reading, I miss it, books, I mean. What else? Oh, lots of local protests, everything from racial profiling, to a planned march to CNN to tell them how much they suck. But I'm not sure they do. I love "The Point", with Greta Van Susteren (I'm sure I'm spelling it wrong, but I'm too lazy to look it up). I think she rocks, I do. I watched her every day during the OJ trial, and I respect her opinions, and her capacity for objectivity. They even ran an anthrax timeline recently, and I was amazed that it was just facts, just plain facts, seemingly the truth, all of it. No bias. But this is a big week upcoming, films at Emory, on the School of the Americas, peaceful resistance, women's groups, religious groups, a look at religion in what happened 9/11, the meeting of the Coalition, tonight (no, I'm not going, I'm here, at home), the upcoming march on Saturday. Organizing, organizing, organizing, leafletting, flyers, posters, you name it. I'm on the email lists so I know about all of it, but I've been so wrapped up in my own nervous breakdown I've been a bit lax in the participation aspect. I'll get to it. I haven't stopped caring. I just don't "join" too easily. Things will be easier now, Mon through Fri, getting up at a certain hour, knowing how long I have between grinding coffee beans, bathing, choosing something businessy casual to throw on, and running out the door, knowing what time my break is, how long 'til lunch, when I come home, see the girls, grab a quick bite, check email, read my favorite diaries, work, home, Publix for the always necessary milk, juice, bread and peanut butter. I'm okay. I can do all of this. I can function, and one day it won't seem so bad, I won't feel so alone, there will be some sort of fulfillment within myself soon, because I can't go on feeling so without it. H. called me at work today. I didn't know what to say. "This is Joleen", says I, "This is H.", says she. She asks how I am, I say, "..............okay." Because that's all I can muster. Because the answer to that question takes more time than anyone has. And I ask how she is and she says, "Tired, as usual, tired", and that's it. She says S. told her I called (that was FRIDAY, hello!!!!), and that I felt like I was the last to know they're moving, and she's sorry I felt that way. Not sorry it's the case, the truth, but sorry I feel that way, knows I can't talk, I'm at work, I should call her, when I have time to talk. Why do people call me at work, tell me they know I can't talk, that I should call them later? Why doesn't that person call me later, at home, when that person knows I can talk? What is the point of calling me when you know I can't talk just to tell me that you know I can't talk? I'll tell you. It's the fulfillment of a perceived obligation. Done. She called me back. Done, that's out of the way. Now I call her back, when I have time, she answers and says she doesn't have time. A few perfunctory words and we're good. Is this even a friendship I need? Yes, I have outrageously high standards. I'm sorry. I know the kind of friend I want to be, and I expect my friends to be the same. Again, I'm sorry. Am I going to call her? Tonight? You kidding? I'm tired, not in the mood. It's too complicated. Final word, promise - the sex scene at the end of "Stealing Beauty", although PG rated, is very, very erotic, very arousing, very nice, I think. I thought so the first time I saw it, I thought so last night as I watched the final 1/3 of the film. God, Liv Tyler is beautiful, and that Italian boy, whoever he was, wow, it's a great scene. Only thing I'd change, take the guy's fucking jeans off already! What's the point of fucking with your pants on??? That only works in the movies, believe me, a penis needs freedom, one can't fuck properly poking out of a pair of boxers and a zipper. Only in the movies, folks. But still.....mmmmmmmm..... Oh, wait, one more final word, and really it's not just a word, it's a few - I logged into Yahoo Messenger over the weekend, and there was Robert. I think he sleeps logged in. I know he works for IBM, but is it a job requirement to be on Yahoo? Anyway, he said hello, asked when we're going to another movie, and I had to say I don't think we are. Of course he wanted to know why and I said I believe he wants something physical with me and I don't feel the same. So, of course he then denies he does. He's gone from "I can't wait to kiss you again", to "I don't want that". Right. I know rejection all too well. I know what he feels. How else to tell him? I'm supposed to be honest, right? Why is it the only men attracted to me are men I could never be attracted to in turn? Is there a specific reason for that? I agreed with him that we have fun together, and I mean that. He was great to talk to. But if every time I'm with him I think he will want to kiss me, to touch me, to try to get me into bed, forget it. I told him it would be awkward, and he said he enjoys making me feel awkward. We can assume he was joking. So, he stopped sending me messages, and I him. Shall we assume that is the end of that? Whatever. I'm tired. I'm Audi 5000 (but have you seen the Audi Roadster? God, I love that little car!)...... ~~~HEY!!!! Amidst no fanfare, this has been Entry Number 200. Thank you, thank you very much. You may all take your seats now. Thank you.~~~ Shhhhhh.....quiet here, but as a little extra something, a little bonus, here is a picture of me from the day of the march on D.C., 9/29/01. It's not real clear, the flash didn't go off, or something, I was backlit, I almost stopped Stuart from taking it ("No, forget it, I'm backlit, it won't turn out, don't, no, wait......"), my hair is flying in my face, I've got my big bulky sweater on, etc., etc., okay, so it's not a good pic of me, you can't really see me (part of the reason I'm sticking it here, hehe), but I was reading Soleil71's diary, the part about the Capitol steps, and I thought of this picture. It was a beautiful day, it really was, and I'll never forget wandering around, horribly sleep deprived, with Carlos and Stuart. Nope, I'll never forget how great that day was. The last great day. So, enjoy the picture of me you can't really see - I'll remove it soon!! Tra la la. Cost of the War in Iraq
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