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Tuesday, 31 August 1999 (home stretch) 8:26am Goddamnit! I really have a lot of work to get done today, since I'm gone after tomorrow, and yet I'm obsessing on responding to Tom's letter. He says they're "supposedly" a fundamentalist church, "whatever THAT means." If I have to educate him on his own church, so be it. 9:54am As I knew it would, the "Hey, if you're gone later this week, who's going to do [some random task]?" panic is starting to grow in certain circles. I wish I had a better answer than "I guess it won't get done," but I don't know know what it would be. 12:39pm Just resurrected my computer from a Windows crash. Don't ask me how I did it, 'cuz I'm really not sure. Exactly what I needed right now, that's for sure. 12:51pm I didn't get to see it, but Tania tells me that Kenya took the piss out of The Leader on the list. A lovely, lovely thought. That's the kind of thing that restores my faith in humanity just a little. 1:43pm Ack! Cultural osmosis in reverse! I drove today. In spite of now being the sole owner of the car, I normally take the train for financial reasons. Even beyond the cost of gas, I view a car as a limited resource, one which is to be respected and preserved as much as possible. I was talking to my mother the other day, and she said that having the car to myself means I have a new sense of freedom and independence. Damn, how American is that? I view it as a greater responsibility (the registration due date just happens to coincide with Maddy's visit, for example) and one not to be abused. Particularly since I know so little about maintenance. Not a damn thing, in fact, and I really need to learn. Anyhow, today I drove to make sure that I'd get to Dana's tonight in time for her to do my hair. So I just went and moved the car, since around here you can't park in a single space for more than two hours. (You may leave your heart in San Francisco, but if you're wise, you won't bring your keys along in the first place.) Found a spot right across from the building, and I started to pull in— Here's the thing. This town is composed almost entirely of out-of-towners. Hell, most of them aren't even from this state. I was born in Fresno, two people were born in SF, and everyone else is from the East Coast. (The tourists are exclusively German, but that's another story.) Indeed, for some reason I find I keep ending up driving with people from Boston. There's a lot of 'em out here, and lemme tell ya, they can't parallel park for shit. It must not be allowed in the state of Massachusetts or something, because these people clearly have no idea how. The East Coast transplants who do know how to parallel park (like Summer when she isn't making death threats as other drivers), do it very oddly. Worse, I found myself doing it. I was pulling in backwards.
I must be a native Californian, because parallel parking backwards makes no sense to me.
Driving backwards sucks ass, so why would you do it unless absolutely necessary?
I was parallel parking the normal, healthy way—facing forward, thank you
very much, the way God intended it—until these damn foreigners came in
and started poisoning our driving habits with their strange and confusing
ways. There oughta be a law. Preserve our heritage! Before it disappears
entirely!
For how much reality I've had to put up with over this last year,
I'm quite happy to have something to look forward to...it'll be so
nice to be able to feel again...
10:10pm At Dana's, with a freshly blackened mane. Dana is currently wrangling Linux onto my computer, although the aggresively 640x480 screen is giving it a certain pearls-before-swine quality. It's not going too smoothly. Then again, what does? Maddy's trip begins tomorrow. And so does mine.
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Monday, 30 August 1999 (reset) 9:12am There. That wasn't so bad, now was it? 11:09am So I received this on Friday from my brother Tom, who as I may have mentioned before is part of the Assemblies of God. He used my hooked address, of course. ————— my brother, I spoke with mom last night and she confirmed my hunch that the real reason you may not attend my wedding is fear of what people might think of your appearance. We are supposedly a "fundamentalist church" (whatever THAT is....pardon my ignorance) and therefore intolerant toward anyone who's different. Wrong. We are christians, folowers of Christ, the same one who, when the religious leaders of the day brought a woman caught in adultery to him to be executed, said "whichever one of you is without sin can throw the first stone". It would be very sad to us if you stayed away. You are most welcome to join us in our celebration and we hope you will.—————
I so don't want to deal with this right now. (Suuuuuure he doesn't know what
a fundamentalist church is. And, for that matter, why do people keep calling me goth?)
But I suppose I'm going to have to eventually.
3:06pm You're in Bolinas, sitting around a campfire. It's 10pm. Beyond the illumination of the fire it is very, very dark, so even if you were planning on driving back to the city, you'd have a hell of a time finding your way to the highway (no streetlights), never mind negotiating the mountain roads, which are tricky enough during the day. Besides, there would be nothing but an empty apartment and its emotional ramifications to greet you. Here, at least, you have the offer of both a spare bedroom or a tent, depending. Either way, you are welcome to stay. Even without all that, the rather potent local bud (it's a town full of hippies, after all, ex- and otherwise) has made it clear that operating a motor vehicle is not in your immediate future. Finding a place to urinate is enough of a challenge. Mushrooms are offered, and you accept. The stars are out, the moon is rising, the fire is well fed, you're in good company with great music and a very pleasant vibe. It's a wonderfully organic vibe, the epitome of escapism, away from everything troublesome in the real world. Venison and abalone were consumed earlier, and cow is now being grilled. You're bundled up nicely, with a record-breaking five layers covering your bottom half: underwear, stripeys, bicycle shorts, velvets, skirt. One of Lee's thick plaid workshirts on underneath your jacket, rather nicely complementing the GrungeGoth look. If Maddy could be there it would be perfect, but for what physics will allow, it's pretty damn agreeable, for it's still away from the bad people who are doing bad things and fucking up the world. An all-too-brief haven, (symbolic? metaphoric? appropriate?) somehow of the turning point in your life, as though for you to really survive it all you need to just step back from it all, if only for an evening. You'll be back in the real world entirely too soon, and though wonderful things happen there too (WednesdayWednesdayWednesday), sometimes it all needs to just be circumvented, ignored, ran away from. For a little bit. The responsibilities therein can take care of themselves for a night or two. 10:20pm Okay. The apartment's going to still be a disaster when Madeline arrives. Frankly, I don't think either of us are going to care. 48 hours.
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Sunday, 29 August 1999 (dead air) 9:18pm ...*bzzt*...*pop*...are we transmitting?...
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Saturday, 28 August 1999 (dispatch) 6:20am If you're reading this, I'm already dead. No! Wait! That's not right. I'm actually at work right now, after having allowed myself an oh-so-generous four and a half hours of sleep. I went to bed at 1am, and slept until my conscience felt clear enough to get back up. I'd almost come out here right then, but figured that a little sleep was in order. Since I'm going to doing a lot of driving today. The reason I'm here at all is twofold. First, to fill up a couple zip discs with stuff that I would otherwise have to download from home, a process which would sure take something in the "forever" time range. The second is to actually be able to check my mail...and...er...well, you know. You're reading it right now, aren't you? Okay, there's a third reason, too. Comparing keyboards. Keyboard jacks and ports, that is, to see if I'd missed anything. Because, you see, the new computer doesn't have a keyboard port. I don't understand it either, and it wasn't something I'd noticed last night while The Ex was there. Not that she could have done a damn thing about it if I had noticed at the time. Her boyfriend will be there this afternoon helping her move her stuff out, so he'll fix it then. The really weird part is, it appears to function—Windows is installed, among other things— and surely he must have had a keyboard to do so. I can only assume that actually putting everything in the case was the final step in the process, and he fiddled when he should have faddled and covered up the keyboard port. I have just enough experience with this sort of thing to where I could probably take care of this myself, and I'll give it a shot when I get back home, but it'll probably just as well to wait and let him do it. I've waited this long, another day won't kill me. And the apartment still needs more work. So things went well between The Ex and myself last night, all things considered. She's being much more reasonable about this than I'd expected. Yes, I'm paying for the computer, but I'm getting a very good deal (granted, all I'm getting is what's contained in the case; the mouse, keyboard and everything else are being scavenged from my old one) on it, and despite my previous fears she's not demanding a steady payment plan or anything like that. Yes, there'll be a contract of sorts involved, and she showed me a very basic, non-specific template of "Buyer agrees to this and Seller agrees to that and everyone lives happily ever after" last night, but she says it's a necessary evil because she's becoming a business partner and all transactions must be tracked. I don't pretend to know much about business, but I can't deny there's a logic to that. The timeframe of my repayment to her will probably be listed as indefinite (she said it could be months, years, whatever); I pointed out to her that I hate owing money almost as much as I hate being owed money, hence I'll want to get this particular debt off my back. She acknowledged it was true. Of course, she's been going through mood swings which make mine look like child's play, so I suppose there's no telling what happens when things actually get put down on paper. I'd like to think the fact that she brought it over without us actually signing anything is a positive sign. That the ugly quasi-legal formalities are just that, a formality.
Hope springs eternal.
This is precisely where I should be right now.
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Friday, 27 August 1999 (penultimate) 8:08am Turns out my old employer, Autodesk, is having some layoffs because of low profits. I guess Leigh's lucky to be getting out while she is, if she does in fact get hired here.
Although, now that I think about it, they weren't my really my former employer. My employer, strictly speaking,
was the fucking temp agency. Nothing against temping, but Wollborg-Michelson screwed me over quite royally. On at least three occasions I didn't get paid, because
my hours got lost in their system. It wasn't my fault—I reported them correctly, and they even admit that much. The
errors were on their end, but they never accepted responsibility for them. My agent acted like I was being greedy for wanting to
get paid on time. And for the first six months of this year I kept getting calls from them, asking if I was available. I
explained to them every time that not only was employed with a real company now, I'd never go back to them if my life depended
on it. I still don't think they've gotten the hint. Whatever.
What of all the things that you've taught me? 1:37pm So no Shrine tonight. I'm hoping to be out of here at 5pm by the very latest, which given Friday night Muni traffic should get be home by 7. Then it's all about working on the apartment. Really, there's only so much I can do; as much as I'l like to have the various pieces of furniture and whatnot completely cleared off to make the move simpler, the fact is I have nowhere to put most of the stuff in the meantime. The closet is filling up rapidly, and there isn't any other storage area to speak of inside the apartment. For my own conscience, though, I have to do as much as I can. The other project is bidding a sentimental if not entirely fond adieu to my old computer. It's been doing little else than collecting dust for the last year, granted. What I'm doing tonight is going through it with the zip broom and making sure everything of an even vaguely personal nature is gone. Not that it really matters too much; what, I'm going to damage my relationship with The Ex? I guess maybe it's like a link to my old life, because the day it bombed out on me was my birthday last year, my first day of therapy. Another of those meaningless connections that I for some reason like to pretend is relevant somehow. What remains to be seen is whether or not I'll be getting the new one, which has long since mutated from part of The Ex repaying her debt to her graciously selling it to me. Someday I'm going to look back on all of this and be extremely angry. Whether I'll be angrier at her or myself, I can't say. After today, I might not have any internet access again until Monday, and even then only at work.
I just gotta be zen about it.
Brian was kind enough to point me towards The Monitor Guys. It's a start.
Oh, sure, why the hell not?
Got home to find a message on the voicemail from Madeline. Somehow, she just knows. Time, now, to erase from this Macintosh any evidence that I was ever on it, then do the same to my old PC. Later this evening I may well be back up, and on my new computer, assuming my old monitor sticks with it. I have received offers of other monitors for both borrowing and keeps if need be. Sometimes just having friends is the greatest thing in the world. Everything is changing, again.
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