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Friday, Jul. 05, 2002 / 2:31 a.m. ~What is Love?~ I've just been reading my diary entries from a year ago. Good stuff, I think. Not that anyone else would enjoy it, and I can say here that I seldom if ever read anyone else's archives anymore, but I really like to go back in time and see what I wrote a year ago. I was reading books and going to movies at the FOX, just like now, and I was preparing to see Moby, just like now, except it was Area:One instead of his solo show. So there was actual preparation involved. Leg shaving. Clothes buying. Sunglasses. Sunscreen. Taking the day off work, etc. Kubrick films at the FOX, a double feature on a week night. One year ago things were happening, much like now, but very different. See what time it is? It's after 2:30 in the morning. I have to work later, but do I care? When I sleep all day I stay up all night, it's always going to be that way, and I know it, I see it coming, but I do nothing to alter it. This is my chosen lifestyle. I have little use for the light of day. When I spent several years not working, blissfully financially independent, this was my life. Sleep all day, stay up all night. The best TV is on at night. There is no traffic outside at night. It's quiet late at night. It's easier to write, to read, to do anything, but conduct business. Banks, Post Offices, any offices, those are daytime chores, going there, conducting "business". But who cares? I wish I could live like that again........ I was reading a thread on the Moby message boards, something like: "How do YOU know when you're in love?", but it turned out to be mostly one person, the one who'd started the thread, discussing her new relationship and its perfection. I felt so cynical. I wanted to add to it, but I could think of nothing good to say. I either wanted to write that it's been years since I was in love, but then how do I know I ever really was?, or that it won't last and she should seriously evaluate the situation before she moves in with this guy, or that no one really knows what love is, love only exists as some sort of biological precursor to mating and breeding, and that by its very nature it is not intended to be permanent. Its design is to bring two people together for breeding. It's based on physical attraction and lust. But that's not right, is it? No. Then I ask myself, Was I ever in love, really? Couldn't have been. It was lust. Wait, like Moby asked, what is being in love? What is it? I know what love is, but "being in love"? What the hell is it? That's the lust part, right? Okay, I love my cats, they mean more to me than my own life. Is that love? No, I used the word love to describe my love, that's no good. I care for them, their happiness means more to me than my own. Is that love? Ack! I'm so far removed from feeling love for another human I am afraid I don't know what it is. Although I've thought I was "in love" with Moby, just from reading his writing, from learning who he is, from being attracted to his talent, his intelligence, his humor, his way of looking at life, at humanity, his love for animals, his insecurities, it's all drawn me to him, to make me feel I'm "in love", but without even knowing him it must be some sort of lust, or crush, or general attraction. Anyway, right, it made me think, that's all. And it was funny that I couldn't post to the thread because I could think of nothing positive at all to say, and I wasn't going to rain on this girl's parade. No matter. Someone else posted about how horrible this country is, how he was not celebrating the Holiday, and I gave him kudos, agreed wholeheartedly, and it felt good to find someone else sharing my views. Ahhhh, the Interweb. It can be joyous. Today I hooked up the new computer. Yep. Let's see, this wire goes here, this plugs in there, don't forget where it came from, and let's hook up the keyboard, what what? What's this? Oh shit, this keyboard is old, old, old, old. Not compatible. Downright incompatible. Fuck me to tears. Ah well. I know the new one is a Pentium II, 333 MHz, and this sounds good, so far, better than what I have, but without a keyboard I can't press F1 to continue, can I? Nopers. It will wait. "Guiding Light" marathon on tape, cheesy Fourth of July/September 11th Remembrance/Extreme Patriotism montage, made me want to puke, but that's okay, I understand them doing it. But it was weird to see fictional characters in a fictional town at a fictional Fourth of July barbecue talking about the horrors of September 11th, firefighters and police being heroes, etc. Yes, yes, it's all true, but this is a fucking Soap Opera, not a talk show. It was weird. Large sigh. It's almost 3:00 in the morning. Hadn't I better go to bed? No, there's more. I'm thinking about Jon a lot. And I wish I'd stop. Our last email exchange was just strange. A strange exchange. He always says he'll write more later, he'll answer my questions later, and then never does. I want to just stop writing to him, see if he'll write back on his own, and I wonder if I'll ever even see him again. I'm afraid I'll run into him at the FOX. He's going to see some films I'm going to see, soon, and I invited him to go with me, but he's going with other people. It will simply feel weird, strange, odd, to be there knowing he's there too. Alright, I give up, I'll go to bed. One more day, a day of confusion. I wrote about it last year too, the Fourth was on a Tuesday I think. Wednesday felt like Friday this week, but tomorrow, today, is Friday, so we will be confused, but I'll have a paycheck, and the Site Manager will have been replaced by the old Site Manager, and D., the Supervisor will be out, and others I think, so it will all be very strange, and no doubt busy. Ugh. I haven't written about my tattoos and how much I love them. Well I do. And the irony is not lost on me, I think of it daily, how I am this staunch feminist, this believer that women should not be held to unnatural standards of beauty, hair removal being one of those unnatural standards. And now. And now, NOW, I want to shave my legs because of my leg tattoos. And when I shave them they are smooth and feel good and sexy. Yes, sexy! How insane is this turnaround?! I dreamed I shaved all my pubic hair. As in ALL of it. It was really weird, and I was concerned about how it would feel as it grew back. Rightfully so. Cost of the War in Iraq
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