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Thursday, 30 September 1999 (good advices) 10:11am I finally put two and two together and realized that both Dana's birthday dinner and the opening of Fernando's new club are Saturday night; I, of course, am getting zapped Saturday morning, so I'll be missing out on both. Damnit. There's no way in hell I'm cancelling the appointment, though. The more I can get done before going to Kansas in a month, the better. Maddy's going to be showing me off, and I wanna do it right. The other thing that kinda sucks about the timing is that Leigh starts on Monday, and I'd been hoping to be made up for that. Alas, quite the opposite. Ironically, she sat next to me during the worst of my deforestation last year, when the swelling and redness and remaining growth was much thicker than it ever is these days. So that's something, anyway.
I wrote Tom. Kept it very simple, just saying that Mom has requested that we end
the discussion, and that I'm doing so in accordance with her wishes. Badda-bing,
badda-boom. She'd asked me to keep her name out of it, but that struck me as being
dishonest somehow. It was obvious she felt very strongly about us stopping
the conversation (the last time she'd been in such a lather about something was when
I cut and colored my hair), so I reckoned it was only right that she get credit
for her peacemaking efforts.
And yet...the PII/265 I'm on right now isn't a bad machine, not at all. Leigh would be getting an exceedingly efficicent piece of equipment, no question there. But that PIII/450...a hand-me-down, yes, and surely less damage has been done to my machine (which I received new, if memory serves) than the other, the former owner of which having been notorious for, shall we say, "modifying" things... I want it, though. I really do.
Shoot.
Anyway, the first thing she did was look at my hair and say, "Roots, girl, roots!"
Yep, I've missed her.
Wow. Deja vu.
That's the way it seemed tonight, anyway. I didn't leave work until past six, by which point the L line made more sense than the 71. It was the usual mad rush to get on, and filled up very quickly. Now, if you've ever had the misfortune to get on when it's already crowded (which I do my best to avoid), you know that the stairs by the driver—the side that the driver isn't on going in that direction, duh—is the most cherry spot, because it's essentially the last place left to sit, and you can sit there without feeling guilty.
So tonight I figured what the hell, went straight to the steps
and planted myself. I was one of the first people on at the first
stop, but I sat there anyway. Oh, the looks I got. I think some
people were genuinely unnerved. And, best of all, I was able to
read with a clear conscience.
Action!
We also discussed the cat issue. Though still not at all crazy about the idea, the fact of the continuing rodent incursion helped my case. Fortunately, I caught myself before I said, "I never had this kind of a mouse problem when Mary was alive," but of course telling them that I actually had a cat here for nearly four years without them knowing would have been tactically unsound at best. So I amended it to "back in Fresno," which is completely true. My reassurance that as a rule my cats are always declawed, fixed and remain indoors seemed to help. Part of their objection was one of the upstairs neighbors allegedly being allergic to cats. I pointed out that there's no kind of connecting ventilation between my apartment and theres, and they're at greater risk from the neighborhood cats than they would be from I have inside here. It's not as though the neighbors ever come in here, after all. Besides, we'd already established that part of the reason for all the pests was the clutter in the garage and entryway, none of which is my responsibility. When you consider it's like that because they're never home anyway, then the danger me having a cat poses to their health seems even more miniscule. Besides the logical arguments, I could tell they sense the genuinely pathetic tone in my voice as I described how much I really want one. They said they'd give it some more thought. So I left and took care of some shopping, and returned home to a message from my landlords: they talked it over, and I can get a cat if I agree to the conditions I'd mentioned earlier (fixing, declawing, etc, all of which is a given) and if I don't mind a slight raise in rent, of about forty dollars. Their logic was classic: "because that's what you do when a tenant has a pet." From almost anyone else it would have been somewhat insulting, but in this situation I had to laugh. Haven't called back yet, but I'm almost definitely going to say yes. This place is still dirt cheap, and they're quite right: petowners are regularly screwed over in this city. It's among San Francisco's cruel ironies, that a city filled with cat people, most places don't allow pets. Managing to overturn a rock-solid, five-year rental restriction is no small feat.
Wouldn't happen for a while anyway. As much as I dislike the idea of
letting the Blair Witch Mouse continue to make its spooky noises in the
dark, I'll be gone for nearly a week at the end of October when I go
to visit Madeline, and with the possible exception of my brother I don't
know anyone who can keep an eye on her. Yes, her. I've already decided on
getting a female cat. It's as much of a given as the other parts.
The real question is, Mary's breed or not Mary's breed? Just how wrong
would that be?
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Wednesday, 29 September 1999 (funeral parlor) 4:45am ...an overly vivid dream involving being caught spying on my neighbors and them then starting to do the same on me in an remarkably elaborate fashion and it quickly escalating into some kind of war except that I just give up very quickly but still it seems to continue because I know I'm getting what I deserve and so I let it happen and... Okay, fuck it. I'm awake now. And I see that the window is open, which is why it's so fucking cold; it's been extremely hot in the city the last few days, and even though it tends to be ten degree cooler on average where I live the apartment was still very stuffy when I got home last night so I cracked the window, and it would appear that I forget to close it...
The creepy feeling is still with me, and probably won't go away soon. The fact that I
probably slept, at most, three hours doesn't help. I'm going to feel disoriented all
day long. el toro rojo will no doubt be in order. Artificial stimulation will
keep me focused on my job and hopefully keep out of my head this leftover sense from the
dream that I've done something horribly wrong and still must pay penance. It was just
a dream, nothing more, I realize that, hell, I don't even live in a place that remotely
resembles the one in the dream (is that the Lower Haight? is that on my mind because that's
where Imani lives and where Brian is possibly moving to?), but I can tell that no matter
what I do this sense of wrongness isn't going away, so since I'm up now I'm just going to
hop in the shower then go to work...like that'll help, like that ever solves anything but
I'll be goddamned if I know what else I can do at this point...it's not fair, though,
Madeline say she dreams about me, or at least feels my presence, and yet she couldn't
have been more absent, why is that? Why don't I get to see her when I close my eyes?
It's not like she's hypothetical anymore, I know how she looks and sounds and feels and
tastes, the sensations are receding somewhat but still there, but no, my brain can't
allow that to happen...
It's only barely begun, but damnit, there's something there.
So a stop by the shower room to fix the makeup, then I must go and kick ass. And, between lack of sleep, lingering
aftereffects (is there any other kind?) of the dream and assorted personal issues, I'm feeling quite motivated to
do so. I only hope I can keep my proverbial dander up.
Enemy sighted, enemy met 3:58pm My body's unhappiness increases by leaps and bounds. I'm feeling much more tired than I should be, even for the considerable lack of sleep; three hours didn't use to affect me quite this badly. Of course, that was usually before or after working out. That's the element which is missing from all this.
On the way home last night, my plans for the evening mutated from Trannyshack/Roderick's to going to the
gym, a habit of which I guess I'll never tire of swearing my return. By the time I got off the phone
with my mother, my heading was pounding something horribly, and it was quite clear I wasn't going anywhere.
Always an excuse, huh?
Costanza's also been continuing to aid me as I learn my way through the brave new world that is Linux. Remembering to enter "root" as the username rather than "Sherilyn" was a great start for me. It's also a good thing that I gave Maddy an account as well. I swear, I am a geek, I am I am I am...
Maddy's doing a little better now, I think, than she was this morning. The combination of the sheer
distance between us, my social situation (I'm good friends with a number of very cute goth grrls),
esteem issues stemming from the psychological abuse heaped upon her by her worthless rat bastard
of an ex-husband, and a sense of abandonment from family members to whom she once felt very close
but now who seem to have turned their backs on her for the crime of living her life against their
expectations...well, sometimes it gets to be a bit much. But, as I said, she's doing better now.
The Blair Witch Mouse (am I zeitgeisty as fuck, or what?) is in the wall between
my bedroom and my bathroom. And it ain't a particuarly thick or solid wall. Oh,
it's going to be tough to sleep tonight.
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Tuesday, 28 September 1999 (maps and legends) 8:18am It's a given: no matter when I leave the apartment, I always miss the 71 line by about minute. Without fail. I'll be a block away (I only live two blocks away, which is even more frustrating) and there it goes. It's been like this for five years. Might have been different this morning if I hadn't spent so much time debating whether or not I was going to drive or take the bus. I actually got out at a decent time for a change (5:30am) and I could very easily have driven and parked on the super-secret no-fee street. But no, damnit, I promised myself I was only going to drive when I absolutely had to, and I did not absolutely have to. So. So after about ten minutes of waiting at the corner, I notice movement in the street. When you notice movement it's never good, but I looked anyway. It was a rodent of some kind—mouse, rat, I really don't know what. Large, whatever it was. I'm leaning towards rat. It's scurrying in my direction, and I take a few steps away. This is my second rodent encounter in as many days. Last night when I got home from work, I made my customary trip into the chamber of horrors which is the garage, for that's the only way to get to the mailbox. It's an absolute sty, thanks to the upstairs neighbors, who use it for storage. Well, "storage" is too formal a word; they pretty much just dump stuff in there. There's a lot of junk food in there, including a conspicuously ripped bag of potato chips. I'm exceedingly tempted to do some cleaning, but goddamnit, that's not my stuff. Worse, the aforementioned hanging cable is still just as exposed and dangerous as it ever was. Much more tempting than cleaning is the urge to just tear the damn thing down. Anyway, I'd been making my way to the mailbox when the Blair Witch Mouse (because it usually only makes its presence felt in the dark) dashed in front of me. I yelped and jumped back. It disappeared very quickly; the "they're as afraid of you as you are of them" adage seems to hold in true in the case, thank Bob. For whatever reason, though, the mouse/rat/tiny opossum this morning didn't freak me out quite as much, probably because I was outside. That's where nature is, and you have to expect these things. Not quite as much a part of nature was the bus, which just then came barrelling around the corner at the other end of the block. As it happened, the little guy was right where the bus pulls up, and he wasn't moving anymore. Just sitting there. Y'know what? Rodents, at least the untrained variety, appear to be dumb. This wasn't like a bird playing chicken with a car (and I've never once seen a bird get hit by a car, though I imagine it must happen); the furry beast either didn't notice. Great, I was thinking to myself. This morning, which has already been questionable, is going to get off to a perfect start: watching a mouse get squished by a bus. If omens exist, this is surely a bad one.
Near as I could tell, the bus missed it. The sense of forboding hasn't quite gone away yet, though.
Repeat as necessary.
On a more interesting note, my uncle has suddenly developed an interest in geneaology. This was something I'd discussed with The Doctor when we had dinner a few weeks back, actually, that I don't know shit about my family history beyond my grandparents. I've never really cared before, but I find my curiousity about the subject has been growing. Thankfully, someone else is doing the legwork. Turns out I have ancestors who fought in both the American Revolution and the War of 1812. That's even weirder than the Mennonite connection.
I know I'm quoting someone when I say this, though I'm not sure who it
is: if my ancestors could see me now...
Mark my words: the next big thing from Japan, surely to be the millennial
craze in the adult world, will be Japanese lesbian vomit porn. Just you wait and
see.
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Monday, 27 September 1999 (nothin' is perfect) 9:41am Oh, I miss the way it was here yesterday...so quiet...well, except for the Rasputina I was blasting for most of the day. But nobody else was around, and that was very nice. No doubt if I asked around I'd find that Rasputina has fallen out of favor musically. Too popular or too goth or something. Y'know what? I'm a sucker for strings in pop music. I don't mean syrupy orchestration in ballads, either, but when it's actually used for melody or rhythm. Take the Beatles, for example. "Elanor Rigby" or "Don't Pass Me By" are perfect examples. ("Yesterday" pushes the limit.) That's also one of the reasons I love Lisa Germano.
Rasputina? Cellos. Cellos, cellos, cellos. Oh yeah.
I am so sick of title politicking. Leigh would have been here by now
rather than next week if not for it;
as near as I can tell, an entirely new title was created for her so she could be
hired on at an even remotely competitive salary. Her title, which would otherwise
have been the same as mine, doesn't pay enough to begin with to lure her here, and
you can't pay more than what the title's supposed to get. God forbid. Never
mind how much the position needs to be filled, and how much I've been working lately
is a testament to that. Aargh. The whole thing gives me a headache.
It was briefly tempting to see if Phil had any openings this week, say on Wednesday or Thursday, but I figured that would be pushing my luck a bit. Saturday morning has proven to be perfect, since it gives me the rest of the weekend to recuperate; by the time I have to really (ahem) face the world again on Monday, most of the ickiness has gone away. Most of it. I must admit, it is quite disturbing to think the last two times I've gone I've cried at some point. Indeed, those might be the last two times I've cried, period. I'm at a loss as to why that is. Used to be I couldn't go more than a few days without something setting me off. Granted, I'm much happier now than I was earlier in the year, but still...in a very strange way, I kinda miss that sensitivity. I'm not sure how to explain it. Yes, quite often it was pain from the breakup, and I genuinely believe I've gotten past it. Every so often I feel a slight tug, but nothing like it once was, and almost never when I'm actually in contact with The Ex.
Indeed, it's nothing compared to when I think about Maddy and I breaking up. We've occasionally
discussed the possibility—in the most hypothetical of terms, mind you, attempting to
determine what might result in it, what either of us would have to do to drive the other way.
And those times...when I really think about what it would be like to lose her...so strange
to think that six months ago we didn't know the other existed, and now...
Oh, shit.
In her defense, she may or may not be told tomorrow that she has cancer. It's understandable that she'd want her children not to be fighting while she's on her way out. To that effect, she made me promise to drop it entirely. Even if Tom responds, which he probably will, I'm not to continue the discussion. *sigh* On the one hand it's rather insulting, but on the other hand, it might be liberating. If he does write, I don't even have to read it; I can just reply and say, "I promised mom I'd drop this, so I guess I'm going to spend all eternity in Hell and there isn't a damn thing you or your fucking god can do about it." Well, maybe not quite like that.
I also did something a little silly: I asked her what her Thanksgiving plans are. Nothing at
all, it seems. I can't explain why, but I'm beginning to toss around the idea of going to Fresno
for Thanksgiving. I have an open invitation to spend it with my brother and sister-in-law, and
yet...there's somthing oddly compelling about the idea...
Of course, this is me. I'll probably just stay home. Since that means talking to Maddy it's hardly a bad thing, but I simply need to get out more...if my mood today at work (very black, and I raised my voice on a few occasions wherein it may or may not have been necessary but GODDAMN it felt good) was any indication, the work-home-work-home rut is not doing me any favors. Then there's the weight...
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Sunday, 26 September 1999 (ask for it) 1:49pm Beautiful day outside. I'll bet the Folsom Street Fair is a lot of fun, though the smell from all that sweat mixing with leather and PVC must be pretty nasty.
I'm seriously considering calling Phil and making an appointment for
next Saturday. It's questionable whether or not capping off thirteen straight days of
work with electrolysis is wise, but I need to get some serious maintenance before
I go to Kansas. The fact that I've been cutting myself is reason enough. And who knows, maybe this
will be the time when...no, I'm not even going to think like that.
the long distance thing was the hardest and we did as well as we could
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Saturday, 25 September 1999 (metallic icing) 11:07am Without anyone else around, this place isn't so bad. I guess you could say that about the entire world. 2:07pm Half the string of xmas lights under my desk has gone out. That sucks. 2:10pm Uh-oh. Now Shulgin's not happy. All I did was start typing without remembering to switch the keyboard from him back to Oméga, and all hell breaks loose. Whoops. Jeez, he's so sensitive sometimes. 4:47pm God, I miss Madeline. 5:22pm Oh well...I really don't know what I would have done with myself today if I hadn't come into work, so it's just as well. At least I was productive and got caught up, sorta. Actually, I don't know if I should find that comforting or not. I have no idea what happens next. Home to more of the same, I suppose. Maddy's been at her mother's all day long, and though there's been some email activity we haven't really talked much, so that would be nice. She should be home soon.... Oh, it turns out my lights weren't dead, they were just sleeping and required a jostle. That can't really be a good sign, but hey.
Right. Anyway. Leaving now.
As has been the case for the last few months, I spent most of my time at a booth in the bar, with the same group of perkygoffs, and it had the desired effect of cheering me up. How many stereotypes does THAT break, huh? You're supposed to go these places to mope and be depressed, not to get over it. Granted, I'm still not quite right (Maddy's distance hasn't changed, after all), but I'm better than I was.
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