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2001-09-14 / 7:22 p.m. ~Your real life will resume tomorrow~ What's that from? Isn't that from a song? What song? Anyone know? Well, I almost didn't write anything. I mean, I thought maybe if I wait until I'm ready to go to bed, maybe by then I'll have something, maybe I should just take a little break from writing, but I haven't missed a day in months... So, here I am. Writing. Okay. Here I go. This is fun, huh? Lulu laughed today. At some point she broke out in a rousing chorus of that "Rollercoaster" song by the Ohio Players, the one the Chili Peppers covered. Great song, they play it at the hockey games. I joined her, singing, and of course, the black girls are shocked when I know soul music. When I sing along with Aretha, or when I shout, "Get up offa that thing, and dance 'til you feel better!", or something similar. I have had to convince them that I indeed have James Brown and Aretha Franklin in my CD collection, that yes, I grew up in the '60s and '70s, listening to pop radio amongst other types of music, and yes, I know soul music, well. I was telling Lulu how I used to like "Soul Train" better because, let's face it, white folks can't dance. I loved the afros and the hip hugger bellbottoms, and Don Cornelius saying..."...Soooooooooooooooooul......train". They still laugh at me, not with me, when I start dancing up the aisle, say that I can indeed move, and they are surprised. So, I'm half Jew, I still got soul, sistah! So, Lulu laughs at herself for singing the "Rollercoaster" song, and laughs when I join her and laughs even harder when K. asks her to shut up because she can't sing! Laughter, hysterical laughter, followed by the realization that she needed to laugh. Oh, she needed it, it felt good, she says, so good not to be feeling pain for a change. And I know what she means, but I'm not there yet. I didn't feel it yet. I miss Letterman at night before I go to bed, while I'm in bed, trying to stay awake to see the guests of the night. I always seem to fall asleep during all the pre-guests hoopla. And at least once during each show I laugh so hard I almost cry. Letterman cracks me up. No Letterman all week. This has been rough. I can still hear the news in the next room, I left the set on, as I am wont to do. I guess it will be all news all night, again, maybe changing tomorrow, who knows. I told Lulu how awful for the men of this country to not have their college football on Saturday! What will they do, I asked? I answered my own question, depicting a scenario which made Lulu laugh more, and I like to make her laugh, but I was imagining wives asking their husbands to go to shopping malls, or work in their yards, or do any number of small chores and errands, sort of gleefully suggesting these things. Of course, I made it sound funny, and we both got a chuckle out of it. My hockey game, the pre-season game, has been postponed until Monday, and I am thinking that's my night to be worried about my interview the next morning. Can I handle being at a hockey game instead of home, worrying? I suppose. I have the option of cashing in my ticket, or exchanging it for another pre-season game, but I think I'll go. By the time Monday at 7:30 rolls around I'll be psyched and ready. What else? Oh, Linda came back to work, she is still very sick with whatever the gals are taking turns being sick with, some upper respiratory nastiness, I think otherwise known as a late summer head cold. Sounds so awful I hope I don't get it. Which brings up this point: I finally gave up echinacea, cold turkey. I read once again that one is not really supposed to take it more than a few weeks and I'd been taking it every night for months, MONTHS, if not a year or two. Yikes. I know, I know, I tried to quit, but I'd feel sick every time I did, I'd lower my dose and feel a cold or flu coming on, so I'd start back in. This time I simply stopped. Cold. Nada. Zip. Niente. Right, like that. I feel.....okay. It's my period (don't you all just love reading about my periods? too bad, it's my diary and my diary gets to know all about my body, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah...and neener, neener, neener, too!) too, but it's not coming along as it should. I kinda, just maybe, think I'm under a little bit of stress. Oh, speaking of stress, this morning on the radio, on the local rock station I've been listening to instead of college radio due to all their commentary, they had some psychological expert dude who was talking about how bad it is not to grieve, how we need time, blah, blah, blah, and all I could think about was my little "forced mourning" entry in which I said, hey, fuck you, I know how to grieve, leave me alone to grieve however I feel is right for me, if I don't want to feel anything, if I want to put it all behind me let me. THAT is how I grieve. So I thought he was a pompous ass to be dictating the "standard" for grief. Why oh why can't people respect our differences as humans? Even in the psychological community, they must know by now that we are very diverse creatures, and what's right for some is not right for all. One can't even define the "norm" any longer. Is there even a norm? I really just want regular televison programming to resume, puhleeze. And sports. I hate football, okay, but even I would welcome the sight of a football game on TV, just so I could say, Oh, we're normal now, we're okay, and flip past it. What are men going to do this weekend??? Pick out new draperies for the dining room? Bummer. I think that's all I can squeeze out of me for now. Just a little train of thought for the diary today. I dreamed of beef ribs last night, and I have no clue why. They looked mighty tasty. I don't eat ribs, too messy, get stuck in my teeth. I woke up all morning too, 5:00, 6:15, etc., each time wondering what time it was, turning on the light, looking at the little alarm clock I stole from work. Whatever. Tomorrow I'm sleeping. Tonight I'm going to look for fun movies on cable. Maybe I'll pass out on the sofa. Maybe my period will be normal. Maybe I'll have a new job on Tuesday, maybe we'll be bombed before then. It's always possible. Rumors now are that my town was a target too......rumors. Thought of something else, change of pace had me listening to "All Things Considered" on NPR this afternoon when work slowed to not work. Very interesting show today. Gruesome details about the forensic aspects of the recovery process, as in getting victims' families to fill out detailed 7 page (!) questionnaires about their loved one's defining physical characteristics.....earlobes, scars, nicotine stains, etc.......insert an big EWWWW right here........but then again, in "CSI" mode, WOW. They are not finding bodies, you know that, right, they are finding parts, a finger here, an ear there, stuff like that. So if they submit some found DNA from hairbrushes or toothbrushes or something they can identify a finger or a leg maybe. Or that ear with all the earrings in it. Or those wrinkled nicotine stained fingers might be dad's. Sounds sick, I know, but it's useful, it will bring closure to terribly grief-stricken folks, folks who are WAITING for something, anything. I think it will be an amazing undertaking. It's amazing what these people are doing, the whole thing, all of it, every little detail, from beginning to what may never be the end...is amazing. I keep thinking of more things to write. Hey, it really works, try writing that you don't know what to write and see if you don't start thinking of all kinds of shit! Okay, I read this little story on Yahoo, well, Yahoo took me there, but it was a Reuters story from Bogota, Colombia: There was a blind man (from Colombia) working in one the twin towers, with his Golden Retriever seeing eye dog under his desk, when the first plane hit. So, he goes down the steps of an emergency exit, his boss, a woman, on one side, his dog on the other. The dog was initially spooked, then got a grip and came for the man. They, the three, went down some 70 flights of stairs to safety. Wow. Wow, right? Fucking Wow! The man let the dog go, thinking he would die from flying glass or something and the dog could save him/herself, well the dog comes to his side instead and escorts him across the street or wherever. Add another wow here, make it big and bold, WOW. There. That's as good as the businessman Connie Chung harassed last night and got to cry. Was she getting off on making him cry or what? Leave the guy alone, Connie, shit! But he had a good story too. Good stories coming out of this. Expect some of those quickie books soon, in bookstores near you, with catchy titles like "Attack On America" or some other such original tripe. Some, okay, many people will soon see all of this as a cash cow, mark my words. Cost of the War in Iraq
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