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Friday, 24 September 1999 (i am stretched on your grave) 9:52am Linux-Mandrake, baby. 10:11am As will often happen, it took much longer to get to the gym than I'd originally anticipated. Even with not getting out of the apartment until nearly 10pm, the one on Ocean Street was packed. I could tell this just by driving by. So, rather than just brave the crowds, I hopped on the freeway and went to downtown to the 2nd Street location. It's always been my favorite, although I haven't been to it in at least a year and a half. But it's still my favorite, and for good reason: it's much cleaner, the employees don't drag their knuckles behind them when they walk, and best of all, it was dead fucking empty at that time of night. Which is precisely how I like it. I was a little dismayed to discover they no longer offered magazine racks either. Is the whole goddamn chain bowing to the pressure from their largely illiterate clientele? ("We don't like to see the magazine racks, because it reminds us of how stupid we are, and then we just get angry. You don't want us to get angry. What are you, a fag?") Fortunately, I had mine with me since I the one on Ocean has been without for a long time. I didn't need it, though, as I only used a treadmill for 45 minutes because of the late hour. In '97 I would frequently work out until around 1am, but of course I wasn't having to get up until seven or eight the next morning, and that made a lot of difference. So, I have to start getting out of the house earlier.
I spend at least 14 hours a day sitting (between work and the commute). At home, it's more of the same; yes
I'm generally talking to Maddy and that's the high point of the day, but it's not doing my body any favors.
While the walking to and from the assorted muni stops probably adds up to a couple miles, it's not enough.
It simply ain't enough. I did this before; I can do it again.
It's amazing enough that she's here at all, for it's tantamount to The Big Boss admitting defeat. Part of his rhetoric towards Summer was that she was worthless to him and he didn't need her anyway. This is why it took so long to hire someone new when the replacement should have been here immediately. I would guess the other managers were able to pull of that most remarkable feat of talking sense into his obstinate little skull.
The greatest challenge for me will not be giggling whenever I see him...don't need her, huh? gonna just divide her
responsibilities amongst the rest of the overworked staff, huh? suuuuuure....great plan...
Now I have to call around until I find a Good Guys! that actually has them in stock so I can get a replacement pair—for
things like this, paying the extra $10-$15 for their coverage is an extremely good idea, because it gets you new pairs for
years without shelling out another dime. Of course, it helps if they actually have the model in stock, which is seldom
the case....
Oh, please, don't do this to me...I'm not a very good person, but I'm not bad enough to deserve this...
Must venture out into the world once again. Replacement of headphone is top priority. Then probably some grocery shopping, as the fridge is quite bare. Aaargh. Too much contact with other people, but it must be done. Then, I don't know. Shrine, of course, is way up in the air. I'm working tomorrow and possibly Sunday, so getting a decent night's sleep sounds kinda nice. Looking like no Folsom Street Fair. ...he was talking to his 12-stepper before I left. They usually talk in the afternoon, and today was particularly bad because I couldn't drown him out—my right ear points in his direction. Oh, it was horrible. The last thing I needed was to hear was that man talking about biological processes, how imbalances of dopamines lead to depression, and other things even more icky. I almost feel like I'm being punished because he wasn't given an office, and I know he wasn't happy about getting stuck out in cubicle country. (The distribution of actual offices quite uneven. I'd daresay that certain people who deserve them aren't getting them, and vice versa.) It's not my fault that he got shafted (we all got shafted, the only reason we're in that building at all is because his corner office makes The Big Boss feel like his shaft is bigger), and I'm not sure how much longer I can go on having to listen to his every sound and feel his every vibration. It's a unique form of torture.
The rest of the office isn't any better, and indeed the saving grace of my exact location is
the lack of overhead lights. When I'm in the brightly lit areas I feel unwelcome and exposed.
The people there don't like me. They don't think I belong amongst them. They're right.
So I guess I'm going to Shrine.
Of course, a corset won't help the pudginess of my face,
now will it? Nope.
Oh, I'm glad I went out tonight. I needed it.
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Thursday, 23 September 1999 (creatures of habit and will) 8:55am Still no reply from Tom, and I've finally figured out the obvious reason why: because he's on his honeymoon. I mean, duh. He wrote from probably either Mom or Dad's as in surely down south somewhere by now. On the one hand I don't feel right getting into this sort of thing during what is supposed to be a pleasant time for him but A) he fookin' started it, and B) I reminded him that he's still welcome to come up here; if he chooses not to, that is entirely up to him. Much like me not attending his wedding was entirely up to me. And, if he chooses to play it in such a juvenile manner, that is also up to him.
It's not that I'm looking forward to it. I'm really not enjoying this discussion very much. I think
I'm holding my ground fairly well, but that doesn't mean I like doing it. Then the thoughts of how
much I stood by him during his dark years; I defended him as best as I could, and tried my best to
keep our mother from completely losing faith in him. Counts for nothing, apparently, though he most
likely thinks he's doing me a favor.
I didn't like myself when I started, but my opinion had improved greatly by the time had stopped. Well, sort of. That awful night I spent at Summer's last January, one of the single deepest low points of my life, I spent way too much time just looking at myself in the mirror. However I felt about myself emotionally, I was able to take some comfort in the fact that I'd managed to lose so much weight recently. If absolutely nothing else, I reckoned, I'm taking care of my body. (If I can't save my soul...) I'm not entirely certain how to phrase it, but it's always been a sense of, how can I expect anyone to take my ideas or feelings seriously when I clearly can't take proper care of myself? Which is far from healthy, I know... 5:05pm Every so often, a little heartening news comes along. For one, the building security system is changing, meaning we have to turn in our old photo IDs and keycards for replacement. The photos will *not* be replaced, which makes me very happy because I hate hate HATE the picture. Easily my worst of 1999. The other is more promising, though still hypothetical: Brian is looking into moving our little niche of the department (currently consisting of him and I, to be joined by Leigh shortly) back to my beloved old and overly romanticized building and making us part of the Marketing department. While I'm not crazy about diving into the belly of that particular beast, it would mean being where we can do the most good. Over here, in this dump, we're far from where most of our action is. And, if his guess is right, it would involve a change in our titles and possibly...well, anyway, it would be a good thing if it happens. I'm not holding my breath at all, but the fingers are crossed tightly.
It had occured to me this morning how completely my work situation
has changed from when I started here in January. Aside from my title
and certain duties, almost everything is different. This isn't a
complaint, mind you, and I rather like the idea of the gears shifting
once again. Change used to scare the hell out of me; now I realize
it's what life is all about. Sometimes it can be very bad, but
that risk is just part of the adventure.
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Wednesday, 22 September 1999 (awful) 7:45am Could someone please explain to me why, when I'm already stressing about my weight as it is, I then wear stripeys (hello! horizontal line rule!) to work?
Oh, that's right.
So I'm walking towards the bus stop this morning at 6am, and from a block distant I see the bus pulling away. Shit. Oh well, there'll be another one in ten or fifteen minutes, so I keep walking. Flash of lightning. Lightning? Again? I take off my sunglasses (yeah, it's still dark out, bite me) and look around. Hadn't noticed before that the streets are wet. Missed the bus...lightning...recent rain... Fuck it. I turned around, walked to my car, and drove to work. Seemed perfectly justifiable. If there's going to be a storm, I'd rather have the car. Driving in the rain sucks, but dealing with the muni in those circumstances is usually much worse.
Besides...I may have lucked out and found the perfect street on which to park
in this otherwise heavily metered area. No meters and no posted time limit,
so I feel confident that if I go back out there tonight and find a ticket,
I can successfully contest it. If I'm right about this, I should certainly
tell Summer...well, probably I'll tell her...most likely...
I suppose it must have been. Oh, the ground underneath me shakes plenty, between the loading dock downstairs and the previously mentioned rotund gentleman sitting on the other side of the wall from me. My desk literally rattles when he sits down. It's very unnerving. If a massive quake did hit, among the many things that would suck (besides not having the first clue where the stairs are in this dungeon) is you can bet the millenials would start going nuts. "It's the end of the world! Jesus is returning like he said he would!" Et cetera, et cetera. Yeesh. The quake was over before it started, as most are, but TFQ practically pulled a Chicken Little on us. He's not a California native (who besides me is these days?), but I've never seen someone get so panicky so quickly. Not the kind of person you want to be around in a crisis situation...or at all, but particularly in a crisis situation...
Yep, it happened.
And now, to discover the result of the experiment. My car is either
fine, ticketed or towed. This should be interesting.
Sometimes, I think I'm just intelligent enough to get myself in trouble. It occured to me while I was driving home that this would make going to the gym at night much, much easier. Just going there straight after work, night having to worry about the muni, et cetera...oh, man...
Madeline's out of town tonight, so I won't be talking to her
until tomorrow. This is the first night I've spent truly
alone at home in...weeks? Months? I don't know. This is going
to be strange.
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Tuesday, 21 September 1999 (deeper in) 8:47am Madeline is looking into the airline tickets; looks like I'll probably be heading out on Thursday, 10/28. She's doing the ticket stuff because I'm no good at it. Pager, fax machines and buying airline tickets online: three areas of modern technology wherein I'm an absolute 'tard.
Meanwhile, I'm almost done with my reply to Tom.
Date: Tue, 21 Sep 1999 09:47:38 -0700 (PDT)>————— I'm already seeing places where I should have used better phrasing and more solid reasoning; then again, is there any point in trying to use critical thinking on a zealot who won't even admit it? And I don't think I really tried to take him on regarding theolgy or the fucking bible itself, clearly two areas where he can demolish me. The closest thing was the bit about "good sense," and even then I decided not to point out that precisely that sort of logic is what has lead to such horrible atrocitities over the years. As it is, it doesn't sound like quite as much of an accusation. Hopefully. I'm thinking that maybe my next reply will be from my sfgoth account, and I'll do something I haven't done to any of my family: insist he calls me Sherilyn. I do believe in letting relatives and friends adjust at their own pace, and if some never get past calling me Jeff...I guess we'll see about that, but for now it isn't an issue I'm going to push.
Unless I start feeling extremely evil.
On an infinitely brighter note, I have my travel itinerary. Goddamn, I'm going
to Kansas.
I just realized I still have some UA passes left, and they expire at the end of the month.
Shit. The only things playing at UA theaters that look remotely interesting are
Stigmata and The Sixth Sense. I'm pretty sure that Stigmata is too
new to use passes, so The Sixth Sense it is tonight. Maybe.
The new seasons of Star Trek: Voyager and Law & Order (the original) start tomorrow. Really, I'm not that much of a TV junkie. The Ex had many more shows that she was addicted to (including the mind-numbingly boring pair of The Pretender and Profiler) than I did, and I must admit, it's a relief not having to worry about them anymore.
Maddy cancelled her cable altogether. I respect the hell out of her for that.
If you don't believe me, try calling around to gyms to find out about their hours.
Tom hasn't written back yet, which is surprising. Normally he's much more prompt than that. Perhaps he was surprised by the length and intensity of my response. And, most importantly, he's trying to find meaning to twist. Isn't that at the heart of his form of Bible interpretation? If something doesn't make "good sense at face value," treat it as an idiom. Extract whatever you want from it. Certainly this next time around he'll go easy on the personal attacks and accusations, since he knows I won't fall for it. My thing is, I love language. I love words, I love what you can do with them. I have a great deal of respect for them, and I find it almost insulting when someone tries to make them false as he did.
It saddens me that Tom and I are having this disussion at all, but
he started it. And at least we're talking. That's something, anyway.
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Monday, 20 September 1999 (thunder & lightning) 11:26am Tom has responded with a vengeance. It's exactly the kind of heated debate which I wanted to avoid in the first place, and I may still bow out since it's entirely pointless. And I don't have the time or the energy.
I'm going to see Madeline in October. She's all that really matters to me right now.
Not helping my mood any is Tom's response, spread out over three separate emails over the last few days.
Date: Sun, 19 Sep 1999 23:52:09 PDT————— This is not a debate I care to get into. Even though he insists that it isn't a debate and that he's not attacking me, he's made far too many statements about me which I cannot let slide. I do not believe in his god nor his bible, ergo I will not engage him in those areas because we lack the a common frame of reference. It would be useless. He believes, I don't, QED, period. However, I refuse to leave unchallenged the notion that just because I do not "embrace biblical christianity," I think he's in error for doing so. Uh, no. No no no. He can say whatever he wants about god or jesus or his church or lack of one. I don't care. But I won't let him put words into my mouth. "...yes, I have never actually heard you say call my church fundamentalist...but you must admit, that IS what you think." Yes, just like I have never heard him say that I am a hellbound faggot. But he must admit, that IS what he thinks.
Oh, my head is starting to hurt.
So on the bus this morning, I finally realize there's only way to remotely guarantee me working out daily (it used to be what I live for, now I have to bargain with myself as my wasit expands, what the fuck is going on?): to go the gym right across from my office building: the Evil Levi Fitness Center. It never looks too crowded, it's obviously not far from work, it opens at 6, which means I could be at my desk by 8 or 9...yeah. That's the best option. What do I find when I arrive? The place has closed. Fookin' CLOSED. They aren't even waiting for me to beome a regular anymore, now they're closing the minute they see me coming. What the fuck? Recycled Records on Haight—where I got Velvet Goldmine posters for myself and Tania, among other things—is closing at the end of the month, which I find sad. I guess between CDNOW and Amoeba, they just couldn't keep up anymore. I was in the Haight on Saturday when I was recognized by a couple Shrine regulars; I didn't even notice them, but they noticed me. I asked them, relatively facetiously, if I'd missed anything at Shrine the last couple weeks; they said it's been much better, the best it's been in a long time. The lights on the dance floor have been turned back down, amongst other things. Okay, then, this Friday for sure...
For how much we're supposed to hate hippies (and many do; Tania and Ump in
particular, and Lee pays them a lot of lip service though
I suspect it's because he realizes he's ultimately is one), the Haight
is absolutely crawling with goffs. When Maddy and I were in one of the used
bookstores, the owner mentioned that he hadn't seen me at Roderick's that
week. Of course, I haven't been there in months (very possibly to change
tomorrow), but he must be something of a regular to have observed my absence.
And it's still creepy to be recognized like that. One of these days, I'll
probably get it through my thick skull that I fall into the "hard to miss"
category...
I've been essentially out for less time than that, about nine months. I refuse to believe that glory days, so to speak, are already behind me. That in terms of my appearance (because I'm as shallow as the Fresno river, which you can probably guess is dry as a bone), I peaked in late March? No. It just seems that way.
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Sunday, 19 September 1999 (low desert) 9:02am Back into the wicked fucking world.
Somehow, something has changed...
*sigh* God, I want a cat. At Dana's last night I was bonding pretty heavily
with her cat Judas, who's the same breed as Mary. I wonder, when I finally
get a cat, would it be wrong to get one that looks like her? That's not a very
effective way of letting go, is it?
And here it is: ————— Hey. Got your call, but I've been doing a lot of running around this—————
Oh, I'm going to get in such trouble for this one...
My neck looks thicker to me now. That's scary. That utterly fucking mortifies me, terrifies me down to the bone of my shallow, vain little soul. I haven't really dressed up or gotten made up since Maddy left town, almost two weeks ago. Maybe that's it. No makeup beyond just eyeliner, and since I haven't gone to any clubs it arguably hasn't really mattered. Certainly it's a timesaver in the morning, and affords me a bit more anonymity during the day. I think it's doing bad things to my head, though. God, Brooke absolutely destroyed my already fragile ego at Dana's party last night. Shattered it into a million pieces. Oh, it wasn't intentional, and I'm sure she didn't even realize it was happening, but I can't remember the last time I felt so completely underdressed. I was just wearing my velvet leggings, a black t-shirt, black jacket, eyeliner and beret. Normal street garb for me these days. I didn't get a change to get made up, so the shaving wound was there and quite hard to miss. Brooke was wearing a simple black velvet dress, which made me realize how long it's been since I've worn any of mine, and just looked very uncomplicated and very beautiful. Very natural. It would take a considerable amount of effort to get me to look even half that naturally beautiful, and my inordinate fondness for white makeup would probably prevent that from happening. I'm on the verge of quitting the white stuff altogether, though. The pictures from Maddy's trip have been putting fear of gawd into me. Dana and Costanza have been talking about going to Death Guild Monday night, and in spite of it being a work night, I'm planning on going with them. I need an excuse, damnit. I need a reason to be beautiful. I needmaybe all I need is a shot in the armto be able to look in the mirror and say, "Yeah, you're putting on weight, but you're still doing okay." I know that Madelinesomething in my veins bloodier than bloodwill love me no matter what, but I owe it to her to take care of myself better than I'm doing. Hell, maybe I even owe it to myself, so I don't drive myself crazy. Tomorrow night, I'm getting beautiful and going out. Period.
This is what I say right now, at least.
Put simply. NEVER IN A MILLION FUCKING YEARS. Got it? Good.
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Saturday, 18 September 1999 (next motherfucker gonna get my metal) 10:58am Bleargh. Today's my dealing-with-the-public day. Granted, I take crowded public transportation every day, but for the most part everyone leaves everyone else alone. (There are exceptions.) This is different. Shopping. Supermarkets. Oh, please kill me now, anything but this: the mall. *sigh* But what's gotta be done has gotta be done. Already dealt with the supermarket (dont't talk to me about Webvan), now I have to go the damn mall to get my prescriptions filled. A visit to the Hot Topic is always in order...and it's time for me to face facts: I need new shoes. Badly. I don't even remember when I got this pair; maybe this year, more likely last year. Hell, it might have been around this time last year. Way too long ago, and if (when when when) I'm going to start becoming a gymmer again I can't do it in these. They'd kill my feet. Indeed, they already are. About eights years ago, my feet inexplicably began hurting. Every step was pure pain. Danny and The Ex marvelled at the time by how I was obviously in agony but not bitching about, and it was then that I gained a reputation for stoicism. Of course, the concept of me being stoic would probably send most people who know me now into paroxysms of laughter. Anyway, the doctor who drew the shortest straw when I finally visted Kaiser Permanente recommended I try Asics Gel running shoes. They apparently gave my feet whatever kind of support they'd been lacking, because for the most part they've been fine ever since, certainly nowhere near as bad as they were at that time. Eventually fashion will topple the best laid plans of damn near anybody. They don't make their shoes in anything resembling dark colors, and as much as I'd love to find another brand that does the same thing but makes black shoes (except for Nike, I'll never wear Nike ever, period) I just need the fucking shoes and I need them now. So, to the Foot Locker in the mall for a new pair. Haven't decided yet whether I'm going to put on jeans rather than my velvets as to not freak out the employees, whom I've noticed tend to be only slightly more evolved than gym employees. Ah, to hell with them. My money's as good as anyone else's. Is Asics necessarily less evil than Nike? Only because they're not big enough to be serious competition. I can't speak of their factory policies, but this statement in their company profile (from the above link) makes me shudder: Nowadays sports have become an indispensable part of our lives. Because sports have deep roots in society and culture, we believe that it is appropriate to speak of a "culture of sports". Sports are a from of enjoyment that cross all national and ethnic boundaries. It is our great hope at ASICS that international sporting events will help to foster world peace.Sports, fostering world peace? Oh, you have got to be kidding me. World peace can only be acheived through learning to not only accept the differences between cultures, but also by abandoning blind nationalism—and the only difference between being a nationalist ("My country's the best because it's the one I live in!") and a sports fan ("My team's the best because it's the one I like!") is a question of scale. Both demand an unswerving loyalty which may or may not be justified. However, you're not allowed to ask whether it's justified or not. Oh, sure, you can decide what team you want to support/follow/worship, but you'd better be damned careful if it's not the local favorite. In Fresno, the Raiders were extremely popular (particularly with the gangbangers), and of course in San Francisco it's the beloved 49ers. The Ex, in spite of otherwise hating all things related to Los Angeles, was a Dodgers fan. She was careful who she mentioned that around, though, because if you're in the City you're a Giants fan or you're scum. Yeah, right, how could world peace not be around the corner with sports fostering attitudes like that? You can keep your fucking swastikas and go-team-go goosestepping. I want no part of it.
Meanwhile, after buying the shoes, I'm going to get some black paint...
Returned home to a message on my voicemail from Tom, saying that he's sorry I missed his wedding because his church is "fundamentalist, whatever the hell that means." *sigh* I never did send my planned detailed description of how they're fundamentalist, since I'd decided to let that angle drop. He seems determined to keep it alive, though. Fine, whatever. I suppose I'll have to write and explain my position, and that my reason for not going had a lot to do with the timing. Emotionally, I couldn't have handled it. Period. He also said they are now strongly considering coming up here for at least a day or so, and that he'd love to see me. This changes things... Must sleep.
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