March 3, 2002 through
Monday, February 25, 2002

Wow. Another week. At the moment, it's Saturday night. Tomorrow is the writer's group, and I have terrible writer's block. That's what I get for not updating the journal, maybe.

And, I'm in a foul mood. As I sit here at the coffee shop, everyone is irritating me. Not that they are doing anything terribly wrong. Two guys came into the room I was using and started coughing. No big deal. Except for my germ phobia and my bad mood. Two other guys sitting by the wall are pretending that they know something about chemistry, psychology and military black ops. Oh, and here comes the "freedom of information act." That has something to do with the Mars probes supposedly. Quit listening to them! "Shut up!" Quit listening! Sometimes I hate coffee shops. I'm in a foul mood.

My neighbor was kind enough to provide my subject matter for today -- and to start off my foul mood. Toward the end of a two or three hour conversation with one of my best girlfriends, my call waiting started to go crazy. For some reason, I thought it was Paul's number. "That fucker," I said. It persisted. Eventually we ended our conversation so I could check my voicemail. It was my neighbor.

His voicemail starts off, "This isn't Paul." What a strange thing to say. The voicemail continues to say that my phone is bleeding into his phone, and possibly every other cordless phone in the complex. And as proof, he notes several of our conversation topics over the last hour or so. Holy shit.

So, this isn't the worst thing that has ever happened me, or any one else for that matter. But for lack of any other immediate personal disasters, it will have to do. There is a feeling of shock and powerlessness that comes with catastrophe. It's a fluttering of reality: But that can't happen! / How did this happen? / That couldn't actually happen! / Could it? / Oh my god!

[[Coffee conversation update. Here's the deal. You either know what the fuck you're talking about and you're damn good, or you don't and you're not. If you do, then you can have a normal conversation it will be apparent that you know what you're saying. If you don't though, of course you can even still have a normal conversation -- most people do. But it is a crime against humanity to sit in a public place, talking loudly, in an authoritative tone, when you are a fucking idiot.]]

So this is my life on parade. It's one thing to have an online journal site -- as far as I know, this one is anonymous; and that works for me. If I knew family and friends were reading, there are things I just couldn't publish. It's another thing, to confide in a friend and have an intimate conversation the way that close friends do. It's still another thing to do accidentally leave your journal in a restaurant you frequent, like I did on Tuesday, and pick it up there a couple days later. But it is something else entirely to have a neighbor eavesdrop on a personal phone conversation -- especially one where I can't remember what we didn't talk about.

[[Coffee conversation update. If you are too refined for cable TV, aren't you also too refined to be a gun enthusiast? Maybe not. But me? If it was a choice between Animal Planet and a P33-K532 limited edition super smasher with life-muncher bullets, I'd take Animal Planet every time... I'm just say'n]].

Any way, I can only hope my neighbor was sufficiently amused. I mean, he lives next door; he could have walked his ass over and knocked on my door. But that wouldn't have been nearly as interesting. (Edit: I didn't think it was possible for my 2.4Ghz phone to bleed into his 900Mhz phone -- until Sunday. That's when I did some research and found out that it transmits back to the base unit at 900Mhz. So not only was he hearing my personal conversation. It was a monologue. I can't imagine what that must have sounded like.)

[[Coffee conversation update: McCarthy wasn't looking for communists. He was looking for attention, because he was gay. Just like King James? Apparently?]]

Friday was pretty uneventful. I slacked the entire day at work -- just in a funk and burnt out from a hard week. Sadly though, I have catch up all the work I put off tomorrow. Slack doesn't pay! Oh well -- nothing I can do about it until I put some more skill points into Willpower.

There isn't much to report for Thursday either. I had my weekly session with Tim, my trainer, and blushed when people gaped at my leg curling ability. Kat was there too -- another trainer; the one I saw at the wine bar a couple weeks ago. They are both too yummy. "Everybody loves you when your bi." That's how the song goes. But it also makes it a bit more depressing when you're single.

So the three of us spent a while chatting about scary movies while I suffered through my leg presses. Being distracted, my foot started raising up in a way that it shouldn't have been. Bad form, I guess. Kat put her hand on one foot and looked in my eyes in a way that made it hard to do any more exercises at all. I can still feel her hand.

I mean, I'm sure it was nothing. Or maybe it was. Just another "I'm pretty dumb that way," example of me. But I had just been thinking how great those two were; the timing was good.

Human contact good. Need more. A friend commented on an edited version my "Why Sex Sucks" entry wishing me luck in my pursuit of a sex-less relationship. I responded something to the effect of "I said sex sucks; I didn't say I didn't want any." Just not all the time -- or even much of the time, in my case. And certainly not to the exclusion of other friendships.

People also confuse sex with physical contact, I think. Humans need physical contact, and that has nothing to do with sex. I wish everyone hugged more. But hug the wrong person and just watch them get the wrong idea. Kinda like me at the gym. HEY! I hate when I write myself into a corner. Damn journal.

Let's not talk about Thursday anymore. Wednesday was more interesting. I worked all day...

....

....Well, that wasn't interesting at all. Tuesday, though, I had dinner with a friend I hadn't seen in years -- Colin. Really, I have missed him. We lost contact when he had several back-to-back family problems. His wife thought that he and I were hooking up, and I felt like my presence in his life was causing more harm that good.

We used to play chess quite a bit -- with him always causing me great consternation and making me loathe 1.d4 even more than I already did. And then there was that time we built a self-watering hydroponics system.

Any way, he sent me an email, and I finally replied to it. The me of today is bitter enough not care what the fuck his wife thinks. We're friends and that's that. So we had a great dinner, caught up on things and made plans to get together again in the next couple weeks.

Before dinner, I had another hair appointment. I love how David is cutting my hair, but he did something sneaky, and I didn't even see it coming. He gave me high maintenance hair. If I had to come up with more names for a journal site, one of my ideas would be "High Maintenance Hair and a Hat."

Actually I hadn't even realized until I woke up Wednesday morning and saw myself in the mirror. I immediately started to work on my hair -- that's when it hit me. I don't do that. I wake up and go. Something's wrong!

Really, I'm not complaining too much. It's so hard to find a good stylist. Maybe that's why I develop crushes on mine. Before David it was Mandy. She was even gay and with someone who she described as being very much like me. That figures, I thought. And last month I found out that Dave was getting married. "Yea! He's straight," I though. "Boo! He's getting married."

When I got home, it was a double latte and an all-nighter for work.

Mondaywas my piano lesson. It was refreshing and intense as usual. And that's it. This log entry is very hard to finish. Today it is Sunday. It was Saturday when I began. I spent the better part of today researching how my neighbor was able to eavesdrop on my phone conversation last night.

It turns out that my phone (a Panasonic KX-TG2560B) is not exactly what I thought it was. I will never buy a Panasonic phone again. I have two of these phones; one is for work and the other for my home line. They are Giga Extreme! They are Spread Spectrum! They are super-secure! Right?

Wrong-o. They are only 2.4Ghz in one direction -- from the base station to the portable until. From the until back to the base station, it's 900Mhz. That's a feature not a bug, by the way. Except that all their newer phones are 2.4 both ways. Go figure. And the highly secure spread spectrum technology? Well, it wasn't digital spread spectrum. "So it's not quite as secure as it could be. Well, okay, it's not really secure at all. But thanks for buying our phones! We care about you're business!"

Buyer beware. Today I had a $400 wake up call. Spending that much money on a new phone made me sick. Really. I almost puked. But I spend all day, and sometimes all night, on the phone. It's nice, if not essential, to be able to move around while I'm on the phone. The only catch is that it needs to be secure. So now I have a Siemens Gigaset 8825. <sigh>

Would it be wrong to smash my two Panasonic phones and put them on my neighbor's doorstep? The funny thing is, I'm not entirely convinced it was Panasonic's fault -- though I'm never going to buy they equipment again because I feel like I was mislead and taken advantage of. My neighbor has a scanner. There is a part of me that wonders if he was using it. I don't want to think so, but he is that kind of person.

Four hundred dollars. That's a hell of a lot of money for a phone. That's like rent. That's like enough money to fly to New Mexico and have a vacation -- which I was thinking about doing.

To any readers who are considering purchasing a cordless phone: If security is a concern for you, I recommend a phone that transmits 2.4GHz in both directions. Most today should, but you never know I guess. Shared 2.4Ghz/900Mhz is a bug, not a feature. And make sure you get digital spread spectrum technology. Spread spectrum technology isn't necessarily digtial, and that's now good enough. And if you can get a frequency hopping phone, that's even better -- though you shouldn't need that.

I suppose the best idea though is to share your most intimate secrets in person or on a standard headset. Or at least out of range of any neighbors with a scanner. Unless of course you are really paranoid, in which case you should only take in code and in random locations...

And I was the only to show up for the writer's group today, besides Amy -- one of the shop owners and the person who organized the group. That's okay because neither of us had anything prepared anyway and I like talking with her. But, what a pathetic Sunday. Now I need to go home and finish some work. Depressing? Oh yes.

Sunday, February 24, 2002 and
Saturday, February 23, 2002

As far as I can tell, this has been a pretty boring weekend. A responsible weekend. Those sentences may be redundant. A budget. Financial planning. A conference call for work.

But this afternoon? Super Hippie Meditation Shit. My trainer called me -- I missed the weekend before last, and he's hell bent on not letting me slip. Good for him! Anyway, we did cardio and strength testing today. And basically, I'm pretty much a wimp. I can't do a single chin up or push up. But what I can do is... a 160 lbs leg curl.

Holy Shit! Where did that come from? I have super hero legs. Or at least, I have super hero hamstrings -- are those the muscles in the back of the leg? The muscles in the front of my leg are out to lunch with the rest of my body. I guess the hamstrings got left behind. Too geeky maybe; social outcasts. I relate to them; I like them the best now.

The real secret to my 160 lbs leg curl? I told my trainer that was using imagery. Inhale; pulling energy from the heavens, from the earth. Exhale; not me, not my muscles -- pulling with all that energy. "Hippie meditation shit, " he says. "Hey, whatever works. That's a lot of weight!"

I'm excited about getting back in shape, but I hope I don't start growing muscles. Women body builders look great. Most everyone thinks I'm crazy for saying so. I don't think believe it, but personally I'm shopping more for the lean and healthy look. Well, that and I don't want to experience a stroke or heart attack. I'm all about experiences -- but even I have limits.

Speaking of experiences, I've been thinking a lot about vantage points recently. Someone wrote a short piece about it for the writer's group. And last night/this morning I scanned through an episode of "Touched by an Angel" on the Tivo. Black Like Monica. God makes Monica (an Angel) human and black for a day -- in a small town where a couple of hate-filled guys have just murdered a black man.

It turns out that she finds herself hunted when venturing back to the scene of the crime. At the height of the scene, she is hiding behind a tree just before being found. She knows she is about to die, and makes last sobbed-filled plea to heaven. Her prayers are answered, she's an Angel again -- and white. (Tess, another Angel, is black.) The guys catch up with Monica and find her sobbing. Of course, being white they move on asking, "Have you seen a nigger woman run past here just a second ago?"

Granted, "Touched by an Angel" is close to being excessively sappy. And one might not buy into the Christian mythos. But, the idea of perspective is real.

Though you may not agree with various forms of discrimination, and though you may even be active fighting against it, it is probably impossible to really know what it feels like -- unless you've actually been a victim. The difference between sympathy and empathy, perhaps.

The idea of perspective extends beyond painful experiences though. Raising a family, for example. Someone pointed out to me several months ago that he really didn't understand what it meant to raise children until he had a family. What is it like to grow up in New York? What is it like to grow up in the Amazon Rainforest? Or in Holland?

Hey, this in turning into a journal entry instead of a log entry. Eek! Someone call the journal police! Shack!

Anyway, the idea of perspective seems a spiritual one to me. Especially if reincarnation is real. I mean, maybe we're just organic -- as a high school friend of mine used to say. But, maybe there is more too. If there is, I think experience is very important to the whole process. Experience makes us grow. It makes us more aware. It makes us more understanding and better people in general. Perfect for spirituality, if you ask me.

The last thing of note this weekend is that I've really decided to buy a house. It's something that I've been thinking about for a couple months. And this week, I've taken the last emotional steps, as it were.

On Wednesday, I met with a financial planner. This weekend has largely consisted of producing financial records, making a budget and filling out paper work. I discovered I had more money than I though. Well, not much more -- a few thousand. I've been taking out 401k and employee stock purchase monies from my check for about a year now. And guess what? It started to add up. $2500 -- it's not a lot, necessarily. But it will help toward a down payment. Plus, I have about that much in my old 401k.

So this weekend I started thinking about what I want in a house. A meditation/yoga room. A study/library. A great room with raised dais for a piano. An Japanese theme, perhaps. Lots of space.

I picked up a magazine -- Natural Home. It made me to think about lumber manufactured without arsenic and other "healthy building" possibility. I went to the bookstore to look for other magazines. They have a whole section! With all the magazine browsing I've done in my life, I must have always just skimmed right past that section. It never registered in my conscious mind. A whole section!

Looking though several with pictures of six and seven million dollar homes (ever so slightly out of my budget), I realized that some original architecture could make an inexpensive house look amazing. Painting with water and light. Windows. But I'll have to build my own place. Which probably means not living in the middle of a city. And that is a whole other issue.

Do I want to stay in Florida with my family, piano teacher and familiar coffee shops? Do I want to move out west were everyone seems so much closer to my mind set? Do I live in a city where I have easy access to coffee, galleries and restaurants. Do I live in the suburbs or on a plot of land somewhere? If I live in a relatively remote spot -- how do I feel about developing that land? Is it not okay for everyone else but okay for me? If I build something and then cultivate the native environment -- instead of putting down sod, etc., am I actually protecting the environment?

Of course, I'm not sure how much I can afford yet. I certainly don't want to spend my entire paycheck on a mortgage. And maybe I can design something to be built in stages -- instead of being stuck with something quite small or something I really can't afford.

And what if I put a guest house on the property? --To help with the payments. Or, what if I made the yoga room self contained so that people could us the space to teach yoga classes, etc. What ramification would zoning laws have on that?

Friday, February 22, 2002 and
Thursday, February 21, 2002

I'm floating through space -- with a flashlight. Or I'm sitting at in the coffee shop with some pretty interesting live music. I like it. It has a sense of authenticity, which is the really the defining point of all good music.

Those crazy emotions. They're always getting into trouble. Last night I found myself on a conference call that Chaz was also on. Really, I hadn't meant to ever talk to him again. I'm not sure if I dutifully recorded that drama in my journal, so I'll make some notes.

Was he ever interested? I thought that he was. I wasn't. But then I was later -- after he apparently was over it. Which I didn't find out until I tried make things romantic. Which, admittedly, I did a terrible job of -- rather like trying to polish crystal with a hammer. Of course, he did an equally bad job of things after -- maybe like trying to clean broken shards of crystal off your kitchen floor with a leaf blower.

So we didn't really talk for a while. Then we did. Then we pissed each other off again and we didn't. Then he decided to move to Minnesota (for unrelated reasons, I'm sure). And then he did -- without calling or saying "see ya" before he left. That was pretty clear, I thought. He sent me an IM later making small talk and telling me he was finally up there, but I wasn't into it.

The past is memory. The future is an expectation. The only thing that is real is eternal now. Alan Watts said that. I'm not sure how that relates to this, except that it feels good to say.

Getting back to last night, there was that conference call. It was the only thing of note yesterday, besides a sacred mission to Home Depot for $50 dollars worth of light bulbs -- I was quite light bulb deprived, and the growing darkness was making it harder to navigate in the apartment. But I digress.

After some technical chitchat back and forth, the firewall person figured out that his boxes were having major problems and bounced them. The call shifted gears into boring administrivia, and we were left to chatting and catching up. Despite reasonable effort, I found that I missed him. In fact, after he had to leave for dinner I collapsed on the couch, shed a couple quiet tears of self pity and fell asleep.

So today, I was getting ready to head to the coffee shop when the phone rang. I didn't recognize the number, though it seemed familiar. Can you imagine who it was? He was calling with some more questions about the issue from last night, but then we kept talking for about an hour. Isn't life funny? We talked a lot about spirituality and new age ideas. He's into a lot of Magick too. I think maybe he cast something on me. But then again... why would he?

At some point I had mentioned Jessica told me she and Jay were thinking about moving to Portland. She wanted to know if I would come too, if they moved. It's definitely on my top three list of "In the US or pretty close by" places to go if I moved. So the interesting thing is Chaz tells me tonight he would be willing to move out there too in a couple years.

"Irony is kinda ironic that way." The wisdoms of Willow Rosenberg. I got interested in Chaz and fucked up the friendship. I get mad at other people because they get interested and do the same thing. I'm very confused. Not that the situation is necessarily confusing. It's just me and those pesky emotions. My emotions could make vanilla ice cream interesting.

Wednesday, February 20, 2002 through
Tuesday, February 14, 2002

Ooops.   A week went by.  Wednesday to Wednesday. <sigh>

Today, there is nothing to write about.  That's what happens when you work all day long -- there is nothing to write about.  The weather was just perfect though.

Yesterday was more interesting.  The music group met for the first time.  And I got to play in front of a group of people after a decade-long hiatus.  I'm sorry to note I didn't do so well.  There were at least two major memory slips.  I stumbled through them, but still they all but ruined the performance.  Also the sound wasn't what I wanted -- too mechanical.  Though, this last perception may have just been fear.

The experience though was a good one.  It showed me that I need to prepare much better in the future.  And that's exactly what the group is for -- experiencing the joy and pains of performance before playing in front of a larger audience.

This idea of preparation is one I've been struggling with my whole life.  When I was a child, I wanted everything to be perfect.  Even when I saw old cars and buildings, it made me cringe.  Why can't everyone keep things new and pretty, I thought.  Later, I figured out that you can't obsess forever; that you have to get things done.  And many times "getting things done" means not spending as long on a thing as you might like.

Over the last few years, I've taken that idea to new extremes.  My state of mind has been to finish and move on.  Grab a task, finish, and move on.  Of course, all bets are off if I happen to be depressed.  On those occasions the formula changes: think about a task, think some more, and move on.

Somewhere in between is where I need to be, of course.  It's always that way; moderation in all things.  Probably, I need to keep accomplishing, completing as quickly as possible.  But if I can do this with attention and drive toward perfection, I might find my middle ground.

Interestingly, preparation for performance may be the exception to the rule.  There are always exceptions.  Certain big or important projects require special attention – just not every project.  "Intelligence is the ability to recognize subtlety."  Who said that?  I'm pretty sure it wasn't me.  I'll do a search on google when I get home.  [[Ed: Didn’t find anything on google.  I still don’t think I came up with that one.  Maybe.]]

So that was Tuesday.  Monday was my piano lesson.  I truly love my lessons.  If I were to move, I'm sure I would never have a teacher as dear to me as Louis.  It was a good session too.  Recently I've been more prepared for them.

He doesn't always acknowledge that I'm better prepared, but the real feedback is in the way he teaches.  When I'm not prepared, the lessons are much more mechanical.  We work sometimes on technique or just learning a new piece.  When I am prepared, it's much more like a master class -- the focus is on sound and performance.

There is a secret in there too.  Many of the great pianists have pointed it out -- the intense focus and effort that goes into playing just one note well.  It isn't enough to know all the notes perfectly.  It must be performed with emotion; with soul, whatever.  But the energy that takes is enormous.  One of the big amateur mistakes is believing that this is easier than it really is.  Once, a certain famous pianist was heard playing a passage two hundred times in a row.  When asked about it he replied that he had played the passage each time in a different way.

Sunday was the writer's group.  Only two other people showed up -- something that really depressed me.  But.  But there was a lot of inspiration generated!  We talked about all kinds of books, topics and new writing ideas.  There is talk of doing some competitive Haiku at the end of the month.  They don't have the guts to put *that* in the Olympics!  Too dangerous.

Fun excuses to write.  To create.  You don't need excuses, but they're fun to have.  Like a random flavor of tea.  The unexpected scent of a flower.  Like walking in a park and suddenly choosing a different path.  A new tree to nap under.

I hereby declare that Saturday is capitalist day.  In a heroic display of patriotism, I went shopping.  Computer store, book store, health food store.  But the real fun started when Amit stopped by.  We haven't seen each other for a while and decided to go to the wine bar.  It's quite far for him so he came to my place with the idea that I would drive the rest of the way.

Really I hate driving.  But it wasn't so bad in a $60k BMW!  Instead of my Saturn, he let me drive his, um, spaceship.  It was like a spaceship.  Or did I say that already?  If I were to compare it something else, I would say it was quite similar to a spaceship perhaps.

"Can you drive a stick?"  It easy for people to forget that I drove a semi for year.  Clutch-clutch!  And besides, my Saturn is a standard anyway...  That being said,  when I pulled out of the apartment complex I didn't think to shift into second until we hit 40mph.  It was kinda like, instead of being in a car, we were in a.... spaceship.

I'm a pretty firm believer in "Live simply so that others may simply live."   But it's hard not to feel super sexy in that car. 

On the way his radar detector went crazy for a couple seconds.  "Definitely a cop," he said.  Funny, I really haven't had any problems like that in my car.  Well, except for when I was doing 80, all by myself, in the left lane, that time when I was late for work, and a cop was sitting... Right.  There.

So ANYway.  Chocolate and red wine.  And a $60k car.  And a good friend.  Yep, I'm listing Saturday in my book as a good day.

And when I got home...  well, wine does something to me.  It was perfect end to a great day.

On Friday I didn't leave Mom's house until Saturday.  Well, 3am -- which is still Friday in my book.  I hadn't meant to stay all day, but I think she really wanted me to.  Besides, we had egg sandwiches for dinner!  If Mom read this she would think I was being sarcastic.  But I really like egg sandwiches.

Sometimes I really wish I lived in the same city.  As I get older, family is becoming more important.  I mean, I haven't spent more than a few days with my brother in a decade -- and those visits I can count on one hand.  He’s having problems too.  I wish I could be there more for him.

Thursday Dad wanted to go out to eat again, but the picking of food out of one’s mouth rather creeped me out.  “Wouldn't you like to order in?”  We had Chinese.  Lots of Chinese.  I can’t believe how much food they gave us.  Dad was worried that I wouldn’t have enough to eat because I just ordered some tofu.  He in turn ordered some Chow Mien, egg rolls and  soup. 

The Tofu part of my dinner alone came in a tub.  Or a bucket.  I’m not sure how best to describe “big” here.  Do they have Sumo wrestlers in China?  Do they think I’m one of them?  Holy Sweet other of Oh My Gosh!  If I were short on cash, I would get two other people together and share one order of Chinese every day.

Wednesday, February 13, 2002
One of the problems with having so many hobbies is that I get so absorbed in each one. When I practice the piano, all I want to do is practice the piano. When I'm reading, all I want to do is read. When I'm writing, all I want to do is write. And even when I'm working, all I want to do is that -- all day and all night. This focus can last for days or weeks and doesn't lend itself well toward a steady progress in any one area.

I'm sure that this is also part of the reason I stay up so late. I never feel like I've completed everything I need to at the end of a day. So instead, I stay up until I collapse on the bed in complete exhaustion. It would be far better to wake up early -- say around five -- and spend my quality morning hours on life goals like piano and writing. Next, a big block of work; and then that leaves the evening for meaningless chores and some quality veg-out time.

How can I make myself do that?

It wasn't a great day at work today. Just when it seems like I'm really learning everything, I realize that there are even more layers of complexity. Balancing the days between learning and getting things done can be hard -- and let's not even talk about email. I'm trying to get mail out of my Inbox very soon after it arrives; but if I don't check if for a day? Disaster.

Work. I could spend all night and all day, everyday, and still have things I could do. And yet, when my boss ask me today for a list of accomplishments a cloud came over my eyes. I'm starting to use MS Project to coordinate my projects and task lists. If I turn that into a real habit, it will be a good record system for me too. That will prevent the speechlessness again.

House sitting, today. And puppy sitting. And father sitting.

Dad seemed infinitely better today. He's easy to talk to and attentive. He was walking surprisingly fast (as opposed to his usual shuffle) when we went to the restaurant for dinner and was telling me stories about his childhood. I couldn't believe it. But then as dinner was winding to a close, he started getting bad again.

We had sushi (surprise?) at a new restaurant that just opened down the road. It was pretty good, but Dad started picking at his food again. It was down hill from there. It's like a two-year old when he does that. Tell me why someone would order makimono rolls when they don't like the seaweed wrap. Luckily we were by a window with a view.

The conversation faded; later he completely zoned in the entranceway while I was holding the door open for him; and then, he shuffled every so slowly back to the car. I wonder if he has a blood sugar problem? Of course, it's useless for me to speculate -- several heart attacks, congestive heart failure, triple bypass, Aorta replacement, tons of medicine and.... drinking. That's the problem. The doctors said he would die years ago.

His nickname in the Marines was Iron Mike, and I guess it still is.

I just wish he wouldn't pick at his food. He's not senile; I'm not sure what is happening with him lately. Mom thinks he's just crazy -- blinded by her own anger after so many years, perhaps. I need to do a big entry about Dad; all the mixed feelings. The love and the anger. The confusion.

He's just trying to hold on I think. And I think he's afraid. I know he is. I wish he and Mom could reconcile themselves. They've fought ever since I can remember.

I'll write more about that later.

Tuesday, February 12, 2002
A boring, yet hectic, 24 hours -- I'm housing sitting for Mom the next few days and told her I would be here tonight. I used several pointless conference calls to begin packing. Two days away from home -- that requires the Big suitcase. Well, and my laptop-backpack. And my other backpack for piano music and leisure books. Oh, and my hairdryer and round brush, because I forgot to pack that.

The real challenge was getting a couple pieces ready to drop off for a writing Salon I've joined. Everything at the last minute. I edited the Sex Sucks entry and threw in the My Perfect Place entry also. So, we'll see. I'm nervous about using stuff from the site, but I just don't have anything else written at the moment.

The real high point today, though, was seeing Jen. I detoured on the way to Mom's to drop off the two pieces at the coffee shop. Jen is the person who recommended I go down to the community college when I was talking idly one evening about taking up playing piano again. It's been over a year now and when I see her I sometimes wonder sometimes if she remembers her suggestion? Well, I do; and it will endear her to me forever.

That, and she's a great chess player. The first time we played, it ended in a draw after a fierce attacking game. For better or worse though, she's on the fast track to med school and doesn't seem to have a lot of free time for socializing. Yea for her! Boo for my ever-dwindling social circle!

But back to the point, she gave me a great compliment. "You look great." The wide eyes and big smile were the real compliment, more so that the words. The money I've paid to my image consultant (another dirty secret and journal entry!) may have been worth it. And actually, I do feel a better about myself. Though sometimes, the evening just screams out for jeans, a t-shirt and sneakers. I'll never get completely away from that. But at least now, it's just an option.

Monday, February 11, 2002
What a mess. Things were looking up. I was getting my life put together. Then this Paul thing happened. I feel like I shouldn't be as upset as I am. I feel like I'm over it (and my journal entry really helped); but then I just feel like shit, again.

Did you know there was a song or something called "April in Paris?" I didn't. Maybe it's a saying. I'm sorta dumb that way. I got invited to one of the Orchestra's Open Rehearsals in April. Their theme is "April in Paris." Maybe it's a symphony even, but I'm too lazy now to find out. Even more funny was that I can't/couldn't make it because I was supposed to actually be in Paris on just that date. Funnier still that now I could make it after all; I was supposed to go with Paul.

Maybe I don't even care so much about the Europe trip. No wait -- yes, I do. Maybe I'll go alone anyway. But it was just another reminder about Paul. About the romance I built up around it. But I've written enough about that specifically. As for this moment, I'm just lonely.

Everyone is married. It's going to drive me crazy. And I don't even want to be married necessarily. I'm just lonely. If you've never seen a movie called "Go Fish" I recommend it. But specifically the movie opens with a monologue which I think describes me just about perfect now.

My piano teacher had a concert tonight. "Don't forget about it!" he said. "How could I?" I said. Well, I didn't. But he forgot to remind me to bring my little purse. I brought the big dressy one, but the little one has my money. And that was in the backpack. I had to leave late, it was a long day at work, I drove like mad to get to the theater on time, and then I realized. I drove like mad to get home again too -- but only because I was pissed and listening to Siouxsie and the Banshees very loudly. I can't believe I missed it. It just makes everything seem worse.

Home, picked up two weeks worth of mail. Sent bills, made some calls, scanned some pages and flopped on the couch to check Tivo. My savior and great sucker of time! It recorded Babylon 5 for me. That was nice. It must have known I was depressed. Babylon 5 is by far my favorite science fiction series; and this particular episode had a lot of Londo -- my favorite tragic character. Well, and it had the psychics too. I've always wanted a cool super hero power like that.

Work? I got the best annual review I've ever had. Nothing bad to say, everything stellar. And yet, it seems that every day I'm scared. I'm worried that I'll say something stupid -- which happens. Or not know something -- which happens. Or suddenly get bombarded with more work than I can possibly do -- which happens. The constant worrying and related stress aside, it's a great job. I get paid good money to learn and think. Dream job. It's a big shift of gears though. I started working at 15 doing fast food. And up until these last few jobs, I've been accustomed to what basically amounts to slave labor. If I'm not constantly doing something active, I feel like I'm slacking. I need to learn how to relax and be productive at the same time. I create my own stress and I'm not good at controlling it.

Saturday night was fun. I went to the wine bar and then two coffee shops in a row. I wrote the journal entry about Paul at the first one. A couple guys across from me kept glancing my way. I must have looked really pissed. lol But the wine bar and last coffee shop were both peaceful and fun. In fact at the wine bar I saw one of the trainers (owner?) from the gym. Somehow I had thought she was gay. That's gay-dar for you. Mine's usually broken. But if her girlfriend is any indication, I got one right for a change.

She seemed a little surprised to see me, though we laughed a talked for a while. I'll wait and see if she mentions anything at the gym first, in case she's not out. Not that the wine bar is totally gay, either. But, you know.

The information age. There is only one way to exist -- as a switch or relay. Information comes in, information goes out. Email comes in, a reply goes out. Task at work in, task out. The second you let something stack up, you are lost in an exponential pile of crap and you're whole personal universe can fall apart into a weird spasm'ing mess. Of course, just thinking about it makes my heart beat faster. But, I think it's true. No more, "I'll get to that later when I have more time to spend on it."

It might just be me, but it's a theory. So far, so good.

I'm getting my life in order. Not that is was completely out of whack, mind you. In fact, it's better than it's ever been. But don't mind that. I let my power get shut off just because I forgot to pay the bill two months in a row. I let my long distance get disconnected for the same reason, and didn't get around to having it turned on again until a month later. I let my emails stack up at work until my boss starting asking me about important notes I never read. I'm still feeling the mega-guilt from that. Oh, and my expense accounts at work? Ooops, too. My AMEX got suspended because I didn't submit the reports. American Express notified my manger, his manger, and his manger. That was my real wake-up call perhaps.

All better now. Just a little bought of self-destructiveness. Or love-sickness. Or depression. Or overwhelmed'ness. Or all of it; or something I haven't picked up on yet. Though, if I'm really self-aware, I should be able to, shouldn't I? Eventually. Keep writing!

And at least a log entry every day! Probably not this long though. I'm thinking about getting some flowers and plants. Each one would symbolize something that was important to me: Piano, Work (extra), Reading, Chores, Exercise, Writing, Dilating (health thing), Friends/Family/Social. And everyday I would only water them or spritz them if I worked on that particular life value. Because those values are like flowers. You can't dump a gallon of water on a rose after not watering it for a month and except anything but the worst. And you can't neglect piano practice for a month and then go at it for eight hours hoping to make up lost time.

My life is a garden. I've got some weeds to pull and some more watering to do. And in the end, I hope everything grows nicely.

And that I have someone to sit with in it.