April 26, 2002
Friday

Happy Anniversary! Today is the one year anniversary of BitchPanic. Shack and I were going to write a collaborative entry and announce an official site animal, bird, flower, sand, song, etc. just like they have in Florida.

This link is brought to you by none other than Katherine Harris. I died when I found this: The Florida legislature designated a "State Soil" in 1989. Maybe they should have spent more time worrying about our voting process instead. Maybe they actually were. But enough about that; at least for here.

So, this morning I sent an email to the Powers that Be saying that I would be needing a sick day. There was just no way in the world I could have made it through the day. My constitution is pretty damn pathetic when it comes to marathons runs of staying awake. And for that matter, it's pretty bad when it comes to just getting up and walking around.

I've always had a problem with sleeping too much. When I was in seventh grade, the doctor said I might have mononucleosis. Every test said that I didn't, but they couldn't come up with a better answer and so took me out of school for a month. It would have been a nice vacation if Mom would have let me get out of bed that month.

Since the time I began working on computers for a living, I've begun to under understand the mental process when you have no idea what is wrong. People who want you to fix there stuff demand results. It's impossible to say, "Sorry, I have no idea what's wrong here. I'd stay and chat if I could, but I have other things I need to start working on."

In the realm of computers, it turns out that there is always something that can be done -- even if only a worst case scenario of rebuilding a server from scratch. The trick is to come up with the possibilities, form a plan and present it. In the medical world though, this isn't the case. Doctors can't rebuild our bodies. Though, I sure wish they could. I've needed a new one for a long time.

Later, Mom though I might have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. We even went to some support meetings at a local hospital. But when I found out that medical science hasn't put their finger on a diagnosis yet, I gave up on that route. Maybe I have it. Maybe I don't. Mom also thinks I get depressed, and that's certain enough. Though, has it ever really been debilitating? Do I just get lazy? Is it that I often don't eat right? Sometimes I don't drink enough water.

Whatever it is, we've never been able to put our finger on it. I've never been able to pull all nighters. The rare exceptions have been when I'm flying on adrenaline. When the "I Love You" virus came out, I was up for 40 hours straight with the other techies fixing the network. And of course, when Chaz introduced me to EverQuest we easily played that long. It's a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, hiding in paradox. Or something.

(On an interesting side note: A friend of mine who teaches Yoga advised that when I wake up in the morning, I take many deep breaths before getting out of bed. And to take my time. I've never had any trouble taking my time getting out of bed, but the deep breathing has been helping. It's amazing how hard it is when I first wake up.)

Friday night at the Double Meat was terrible. It wasn't as crowded as other Fridays, and when I got upstairs I found an entire couch empty. I snuggled in with my coffee, my book and my journal waiting for some other people I know to show up. But when they did, everyone hovered around another couch next to mine -- sitting on arm chairs and all. I had my couch to entirely to myself the whole night. Very depressing.

Despite being as open as possible (with a book) and having said some hellos earlier, I didn't talk to anyone. It couldn't have been body odor -- I was fresh out of the shower with hair done and everything. And probably it wasn't me at all. Clearly everyone knew each other and there seemed to be a lot of fever about something.

And here comes the mean side of me: From what I overheard, despite trying not to eavesdrop, everyone seems to have collectively misplaced their inner child and someone created a secret club to find them all again. Personally, I would go with milk cartons, but that's just me.

Maybe it's better that I did just read "Stupid White Men." And I finished it too! The book is just devastating. Right now, if I were going to recommend just one book it would be that one. It's hilarious, an easy read, and… devastating.