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Monday, Apr. 14, 2003 / 10:45 p.m. ~You Can Count On It~ I barely made it this far. I barely clicked on the words 'Add an entry'. I didn't want to, but I felt compelled, or obligated, at least to write that I'm tired of this diary. I'm tired of reading diaries, I'm tired of writing one. I'm incredibly embarrassed that I have written everything I've written here. And that people read it, and obsess over it, and hassle me about it, and harass me, and stalk me, and write to me, and keep coming back to see what I'll write next. Why? Whether temporary, whether affected by a sudden bad mood, or perhaps permanent, I'm 'over it'. It seems people always ask how my weekend was when I've done nothing more than lie on my sofa watching some Food Network marathon, or reading entire diaries on this computer. I have no answer then. Today I had answers, I had a sunburn fading into a 'tan', I had stories, I had a lot to say, and no one asked. I kept to myself, as is the usual lately. I read EW and listened to the rest of "Trainspotting". I answered the phone when it rang. I came home at lunch to find a new a/c unit outside, awaiting installation. I left my apartment because I didn't want to be here when maintenance came back in. I didn't want to be here, for a change. Death and taxes. And hairballs in Spring. Expensive special hairball prevention cat food does not prevent hairballs, nor does Vaseline, nor does Petromalt. Nor does brushing, unless perhaps done every day, the brushing that is. I should consider renting a steam cleaner - the carpet looks horrible, little wet spots everywhere. And tonight Norm threw up apparently just to throw up. I think she's gotten so accustomed to it she just does it, like some binge and purger. Poor thing. And no couples got married on the America Marries People show. The camera zoomed in on the one woman's face, scrunched in anguish and pain, tears streaming down her cheeks, landing on her freshly lipsticked lips. She was exploited, and we got to watch. I started to cry when she was bawling on the floor of the closet, her wedding dress in a puddle around her, her friends consoling her. What a concept, what a show, I almost feel dirty for having watched. But I'd do it again. Note, I said I "almost" feel dirty. Hermione tried to call me again. The ringer is off, I saw her number, or the number of her calling card (she'd never call if she had to pay for the long distance, she only calls if her family gives her calling cards) on the caller ID, and this time there was no money wasted, no message left, unlike on my birthday when she took the time to sound happy for me. She's coming to town in a week or so, wants to squeeze in as many of her fans, er, family and friends as possible, but I don't want to be squeezed. I don't want to be one of many. I'm tired of the mass emails, the emails with the addresses of everyone listed. I hate being on a list of her friends and acquaintences and family members. She's out of my life, even if we've had a good conversation or two since she moved Out West. I feel I exist to hear her, to console her, to make her feel better, and to entertain her, but to her I am nothing. I'm re-evaluating, as I am wont to do. Death and taxes. And hairballs in Spring. I owe money. More than last year, because I make more. Fuck me, don't bother with a raise, what's the point? I make more, they take more. Have the company take more out so I can get something back? Have my money sitting somewhere, out of my hands, until the first of the year? To fool myself? And where does the money go? WAR! Look where MY money is going and tell me I have no right to bitch about the WAR. I'm pissed now. I was mad when Norm purged. It wasn't the purging, it was owing money, it was owing $30 more than last year, it was Billie Jeanne crying because she was so hurt, and allowing America to watch. She opened herself not only to Tony, but to humiliation, which is even worse. The "I have feelings, but I'm not in love with you" crap. Not good. Been there. I dreamed I was going to have sex with someone, and I was really excited, I could imagine the passion, I wanted to be perfect for him, I wanted to shave my legs for him - must've been some helluva guy. I don't know who he was. I'm going to watch the Cirque Du Soleil behind the scenes show I taped from Bravo earlier this evening. Now that I've seen the most recent production I'm dying to watch these folks rehearse. What amazing bodies, what amazing costumes and music. No song to stick in my head like "Allegria", but just the same. It would've been nice to tell someone about my weekend, but I realize there is no one I like at my job. I really, really, don't care for any of my co-workers. And I detest my Supervisor, and my Manager. I relish being able to sit and read and listen to music, for money. And hopefully I won't get another raise, especially not after all the recent events and 'writing up' - the government would just take it away from me anyway. Is filing one's taxes supposed to be so depressing? Is it the Tele-File system? Is it fallible? Is a double checking in order? Cost of the War in Iraq
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