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Saturday, 20 November 1999 (sitting still) 12:58pm Wow. Yesterday was just like the old days, huh? Several entries (including one big long rambling one), links, an extremely cryptic one-liner (Nicole?), and even decontextualized song lyrics. I'm feeling practically nostalgic. 7:33pm Another Saturday night, and I'm at home cleaning my apartment. That's okay, because this place needs it. Badly. 11:37pm Ewwwwww. Tom Cruise and Kelly McGillis sucking face was extremely gross in the eighties, and it isn't much better now. sometime after midnight Oh my god! They edited out Captain Howdy! You bastards!
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7:26am Left work at 10pm last night, got to bed at about 1am, up again at 4:45, and back at work by 6:15. Because I care, goddamnit. 7:32am So I'm waiting in the doctor's office yesterday, and in walks an American archetype which I'd thought had long since died out: the travelling salesman. Strictly speaking he was a represntative for a prescription cold medicine, but I know a Dale Carnegie zombie when I see one. He was like Willy Loman back from the dead and not having learned a thing. Neatly trimmed and manicured, dressed smart, all smiles, taking a genuine interest in the staff behind the counter—all things considered, it was a very convincing performance. He played his part like a pro, never missing a beat, the sheen of his plastic attitude so bright it might have even seemed genuine to someone who didn't recognize it. Since anyone living on American soil seems ot love the word "Free," he was very generous with the samples. And not just of his own product, either; he offered the staff free hand lotion. Because he was genuinely concerned about their hands, you see. His entire reason for being there, his raison dêtre, the thing that would ensure he can sleep at night is the knowledge that he's made their lives easier. Though classically smarmy, he still had a slightly modern edge to his approach: "Now my job is to get in and talk to the doctors, and your job is to keep from getting in, right?" [pause for laughter] Back in the old days, acknowledging the inherently adversarial position was surely a major no-no, because it detract from the concept of the salesman as Your New Best Friend. It's almost more clever this way, putting the victim (yeah, I'm biased) at a false sense of ease. Surely someone so easy-going must be trustworthy, right? Right. No heavy sales pitch here. He's not trying to sell anything—it's all free! Rather, he saved it for the actual doctors, going into a spiel even more preprogrammed than his Eliza-like repsonses to the staff. This pissed me off the most. In case you haven't noticed, I dislike salesmen, not to mention the very concept of attempting to persuade someone to buy something they don't really need by making it sound like they can't live without it. Call me Unamerikan if you want, I don't care. I HATE sales pitches, in all forms. (Spam is the spoo of Satan. If you're a spammer, do us all a favor and kill yourself now, because you're just wasting precious oxygen.) Don't ever fucking try to sell me something. If I really need it, I'll get it on my own. Anyway, besides the fact that he was taking up time that the doctors could have been spending with their patients, he had the nerve to actually explain why his product was necessary. "The cold and flu season is coming up, and the abundance of mold spores results in a greater..." This yutzoid is telling the fucking DOCTOR why people get sick. Worse, though not surprisingly, he was using the standard fear-of-the-unseen tactics favored by purveyors of quack medicine and questionable devices like air purifiers or magnetic therapy. The Evil Mold Spores will get you! Watch out! Maybe while you're at it you should pray to your god, The Ultimate Big Scary Unseen Thing, to protect you from the Evil Mold Spores. (The difference, of course, is that the Evil Mold Spores actually exist.) I kept to myself, though. He was just doing his job, however distasteful it might be to the likes of me. And, as wrong as this sounds, it made me glad to be me and not him. *sigh* I confess, I was a salesperson once. I worked for the Good Guys for roughly a month, between video stores. (Literally. I started shortly after I left Diamond Video in mid-95, and got hired at Le Video quickly thereafter.) It did not agree with me at all. For as much as I hate attempts to sell me things, I hate trying to talk other people into it even more. Never again. In any event, he didn't seem to make a sale, and my doctor—in spite of the fact that she was sneezing frequently—made no attempt to write me a prescription to help fend off the Evil Mold Spores. The appointment went fairly well, and it seems I'm doing just fine; after over a year, my body is handling the hormones with no ill effects. She showed a renewed interest in the blood test I took four months ago, the results of which she gave me at my last appointment in September. The gist of her report at the time had been, "Your thyroid levels are fine. I guess you're just jumpy. Oh well, it was a hunch, never mind." Now she went into a lot more detail, and also said my lipid levels showed my hormone levels were at the level they should be. Which, while good news, was somewhat surprising since the only kind of blood test I've had done recently was for the thyroid only. Didn't realize they checked anything else. Nice of her to tell me now. Her specialty is ultimately endocrinology, not just hormone therapy, so perhaps the blood test had simply been an excuse to indulge herself a little.
My next appointment is scheduled in three months rather than two, which will give me a little more time to possibly
find a new endoc, perhaps one without such a tendency to forget everything between meetings. Yes, I know, she has
dozens of patients and I can't expect her to remember every little detail, but maybe writing stuff down would help.
When I had to remind her about my Meridia prescription, she looked at me like I was asking her to prescribe crack.
And, just like the last few times, she commented that I haven't lost any weight recently, so why should I continue
on it? *sigh* It's getting very tiresome. Oh, she wrote me the prescription, but it was much more of a struggle
than should be necessary. So, I just need to track down the endoc that Phil was telling me about...
The best part—and this is very very wrong of me—is that I now know I'm not the only one who feels the way I do about The Fidget Queen. If I'm going to be stuck with this bitter distaste, at least I know I'm not alone.
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Thursday, 18 November 1999 (1,000,000) 9:09am First mission accomplished. My trip to AAA went much quicker and smoother than I expected it to, and I left with an armload of maps and travel guides, covering all likely routes that Madeline might take on her drive out here. They also have copious listings for motels and campgrounds and various sights along the way. Not that it's a sight-seeing trip by any stretch of the imagination, but what the hell, it can't hurt. Her current estimate makes the trip roughly four days (rounding up). Which means it'll likely be closer to five in actuality. Still, that puts her on my doorstep—well, inside the door, since I'll likely be at work when she arrives and she'll have the key—in just under three weeks.
Wow. This is, as I have said, a very good thing.
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Wednesday, 17 November 1999 (carnival of sorts (boxcars)) 11:07am It's very simple, really. Cats do not respond to a gentle question of "What are you doing?" when they're standing on your keyboard. Their grasp of the English language is NOT that strong, and they will not answer your qestion. They need to be removed, and in doing so informed that it is a bad place to be, particularly when their presence on said keyboard has caused the computer to malfunction in the past.
Not much to ask. Not much at all.
Back into battle tomorrow. Today was near-constant warfare with the marketing department, and I'm not sure if I'm up to it dealing with it again. But it's not as though I have much choice. First, though, I'm going by AAA to pick up maps for Madeline's trip, then I'm seeing my endoc. Hopefully my last visit with this one.
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Tuesday, 16 November 1999 (gardening at night) 7:17am I awoke at a quarter past four this morning, and stayed awake for a change. Imani having just recently gotten home from work helped a bit; mind you, she hasn't had any negative impact on my sleeping habits that I can detect, or at the very least isn't responsible for my currently odd sleep patterns. She wasn't even around during the worst of it last week. As it is, she's a daysleeper, usually going to sleep just as I'm leaving for work. I left the house sufficiently early to dare taking the train, a risk which paid off this time. Of course, the more clever I try to be the more it's likely to backfire on me, and this morning was no exception. I decided to wait until I got to work to get made up, rather than before leaving the house as I'd been doing lately. Because, you see (this is how shallow I really am), this early in the morning I wouldn't see too many people...or, more importantly, they wouldn't see me. So I could wait until I got to work, and thus catch as early a train as possible. Except that I got to work to discover that the light in the shower room, where I usually do my dirty work, was burnt out. I'm tellin' ya, this fuckin' building. So I went ahead and used the men's room. Hell, people are frequently shaving or brushing their teeth in there, so why not putting on makeup? That's the same thing, right? Sure it is.
Meanwhile, at long last, Madeline's diary is finally back online.
Oh, don't tempt me like that...
All I wanted to come home to was a little rest. But that was not to be. I haven't even eaten yet, and it's a wonder that I didn't miss Maddy altogether. i can't accomodate everyone. i wish i could, but i simply can't. and sometimes all i want to do is just sit down and play "country feedback" over and over, the one from hamburg where he does that cool Van Morrison thing, that's what i really need, can't i even just do that? sometimes i need to just choose what seems like it'll be the path that will upset the least number of people—never mind relative personal importance, we're talking pure mathematics here. god, my back hurts.
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Monday, 15 November 1999 (wolves, lower) 2:43pm i will try not to breathe 10:53pm I went to bed at 11pm last night and wasn't able to drag myself out of bed until nearly 7am, feeling very disoriented. Eight hours of sleep is apparently far too much for me, and I have no idea why it's so difficult to wake up lately. Correction: why it's so difficult during the week. It's been cold and dark when I leave work, in that distinctly autumnal fashion. I've come to realize that I'm fighting back a major depression, one which would surely overtake me were it not for the fact that Madeline will begin her westward journey two weeks from tomorrow. Even then, getting through the next few weeks will be very tricky. This is the wrong time of the year to be alone. It isn't even necessarily to do with the xmas season, which now apparently begins when the pumpkins start rotting. There's just something about this time of year, the weather, it reminds me of a long time ago. Madeline moving out here is the best thing that could be happening, I'm quite certain of it. I've been through enough this year, we've both been through enough, and neither of us deserve to be seperated any longer. Living together will not damage the relationship, certainly no more so than being 1800 miles apart has. The time is right. We've been away from one another for what is ostensibly the best part of a relationship, and we have a lot of lost time to recover. As Dylan put it, I've paid the price of solitude, but at least I'm out of debt.
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Sunday, 14 November 1999 (weeping will) 8:55pm Today's lesson, dear ones, is quite simple and intuitive. Save your work. Constantly, as you go along. That way, when your computer decides to crash, you won't lose the journal entry you've been working on for so long. The one you may or may not be able to rewrite, the one not dissimilar to the way they used to be, the way you feel guilty for not writing anymore, for the way you've gotten complacent and lazy and perhaps even content, not knowing when to call it quits...
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Saturday, 13 November 1999 (poster torn) 9:10am Got my customary four hours of Saturday morning sleep. I wonder why it is that I'm sleeping in so much more on weekdays. Many errands to run, including AAA to get maps for Maddy's drive out here. I may or may not stop by Foot Worship on Sutter to look at boots; probably not. I'm entirely too conscious of the bills I'll be having to pay in the near future. New York Apparel seems more likely, as I require new stripeys, and their velvet leggings have been recommended to me. Since I'll never get another Belladonna Arcana pair...*sigh*...
The Ex should be by at some point today to pick up (the remainder of?) her
stuff, including some furniture that didn't fit in her car last time. I
have no idea when she'll be by. I haven't seen Imani since Tuesday night,
and equally do not know when she'll be back. She left a message on my
voicemail the other night to check on Isis, but that's all I've heard
from her. Wasn't even at Shrine last night, surprisingly enough. Probably
when she gets back she'll sleep for several hours, which will likely
coincide with The Ex getting here. Oh well. With any luck, I'll be
elsewhere altogether, including going into the East Bay (pig latin for
"Beast," y'know) this evening for my brother's birthday. As it happens,
Maddy is also going to family birthday function today. A dry run for
Thanksgiving, perhaps, and hopefully a chance for her family to realize
that she's going to do want she wants to do regardless of the guilt trips
and headgames they lay on her, so it might be for the best to enjoy
their remaining time together. One can only hope.
I'll be seeing her next weekend, and I'll tell her you said that. There was a definite improvement over the course of the night.
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Friday, 12 November 1999 (chronic town) 11:09am Every day this week, my alarm has gone off at 4:30am and I've gotten out of bed around 6. Clearly, the system is not quite working.
Although it means leaving later, dealing with more of a crowd on the bus
(I don't even consider taking the train between 7am and 6pm) and getting
to work later than usual, at least I'm sufficiently rested so I can stay
awake on the bus and read. To that effect, I finished Poppy's
Lost Souls this morning. Wow.
Summer informs me that Drawing Blood is even better.
It wasn't my original intention. Initially, I'd decided to go with my hair down in full Betty mode, no pigtails or beret. I also dressed a bit more self-consciously feminine than I have in a while for Shrine: fishnets with pumps and a slim, black slit skirt. I hadn't worn fishnets or my pumps for months until I resurrected them for the party in Kansas. Tonight, they just seemed right. The problem was with my hair, however. Arriving at Shrine I oberserved a phenomenon I'd never seen before: my hair, after sticking to my lipstick (happens all the time), then left a mark on my cheecks. Considering that my makeup wasn't any different from how I've been wearing it for weeks I'm not sure why it hadn't happened befrore. But there it was, and I was at least able to fix it in the legendary women's room. The bar at Shrine has always been hurting for decent circulation, and it seemed particularly stuffy. Eventually I realized that it was just too warm (although I danced a bit, which didn't help), and put my hair up in a pigtail at the top of my head with a generous amount of strands on the sides. Naturally, after that quick fix, I started receiving compliments on my hair. Hair which, when I got a good look at it when I got home, was much messier than I'd realized. Maddy would have been proud, I'm sure. If nothing else, she wouldn't have let me take off the fishnets quite so fast...
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Thursday, 11 November 1999 (drifter) 8:28am Ow! Papercut! Fuck!
Isis is probably the only adult cat in existence that doesn't go
nuts when a can of tuna is opened. She doesn't even seem to notice,
and I know she can smell it. It's very, very odd.
I once knew how to relax. Many, many years ago. What happened?
What more can I ask than that?
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