Happy New Year's Eve

Okay, so it's not a particularly happy one for me. God, I don't even want to be writing this. I should just close this up, pick a DVD to watch and pop it into the computer. And I will. But I just want to say this:

Where the hell are my friends? I seem to have lost them all and I can't remember where, exactly.

I'm okay with staying home alone, I really am. Going out to parties is WAY too exhausting for me. Even going out to Prospect Park to see the fireworks, again, too tiring, though not as much, somehow. It depends on the weather, really. But I'm not even invited to parties anymore. Not for years and years. And years. Decades, even.

I'm not sure that I want to say that next year will be different, because I'm sure I've said that before and, frankly, I'm not sure I've got the energy to take the steps necessary to make things different in my life. I've got other things I'm trying to accomplish in 2007. And I'm going to blog about them...tomorrow.

So, anyway, my choices are: "Prairie Home Companion" (RIP, Robert Altman), "The Great Ziegfeld" or, a recent purchase, "Desk Set"--which is really more of a Christmas movie, but that's okay. Because it's entirely possible that what I'll really watch tonight is "The Bishop's Wife", in spite of the fact that I watched it last week and parts of it when I was trying to make some new software work a few days ago. I just love it, it's wonderfully old-fashioned and there's Cary Grant and ... well, yeah. And it's early, I can watch that and something else, too. And then there's tomorrow.

See ya next year.

P.S. I'm really not as depressed as the beginning of this post makes me sound.

So it goes

So much for blogging every day of November. I can't believe the last time I posted was the day before I brought Smartie home.

Today is the end of Day 8--only 6 more days until I can snuggle him to my heart's content. Or until he says, "Enough, Ma!", which is usually about 10 seconds after I start. But so far, he actually seems to welcome what little scritching and snuggling I do. He's still a bit radioactive, so I'm not supposed to spend more than 10 minutes a day in close contact. I suppose I've been stretching the definition of "close contact" a bit, but, well, my hair's not falling out in clumps yet, so I guess I'm okay.

In a couple of weeks, I have to take him back to get his thyroid levels checked. She chose not to take a reading the day I picked him up. She said it was because she didn't want to put him through that trauma, when the test wasn't likely to show much change and he'd still have to come back for a final test, anyway. But I think the real reason was that she was still scared of him.

I'm fairly well convinced that, had she fed him more, he wouldn't have been so scary. He was pretty skinny when I got him back and, what's more, he wasn't just hungry, he was famished. There wasn't the short of whiny, "Why aren't you giving me food?" kind of thing, it was more "FEED ME NOW, NOW, NOW!!!" And purring while he was crying and purring while he was eating. That kind of hunger.

I could say more, but I'm trying to get over it. It's been more than a week and I honestly can't tell how he's doing. But he's not on meds and he doesn't seem to be suffering, so there's that.

As for the rest of my life--I'm happy to have an Internet connection again. Me and 550 of my neighbors were without cable for nearly two days, with a brief respite this morning. I'm hopeful that it'll still be here from now on, but we'll see. I can't even imagine what causes these things. Whole rafts of neighborhoods get zapped, or sometimes it's just one building. It's weird.

Anyway, one day at a time. Meanwhile, excuse me, Himself seems to want to be fed again. Whine, whine, whine...

Coming Home

Smartie comes home tomorrow!!!!!! I'm so excited. I have to get up extra early tomorrow in order to get there on time (so we can avoid the Thanksgiving Eve rush hour that probably starts at noon) but I don't know how I'll manage to get to sleep early. So I'll just be sleep-deprived, what else is new?

In other news, Robert Altman died last night. I was very sad when I heard; in fact, I cried. I had no idea I cared so much, but he was such a wonderful director and he probably still had at least one more good one in him...even though he was 81, it was too soon. Sort of reminds me of something I read a couple of days ago, about a 97-year-old man whose friends and family all said that he'd died too soon--can you imagine? How wonderful he must have been, how "alive", if you know what I mean. I can only hope to have friends say that about me if I live that long (not that I want to).

Anyway, Altman's films were so much a part of the landscape for the last 30-some-odd years, some better than others, of course. M*A*S*H, of course, being the most important, at least to me. So many others I've never seen. But a dear friend, who passed away a few years ago, loved, loved, loved McCabe & Mrs. Miller. The Player is another favorite of mine. So much work, so many wonderful films, even the bad ones at least had some good moments, I think.

After reading Stacy Horn's "Waiting for My Cats to Die" recently, I thought that in some ways, she and I are a bit alike, but then other ways, we're definitely not. Like, I'm nowhere near as obsessed about death as she is. I'm not obsessed about death at all, really, despite what I wrote above. I sort of figure it comes to us all, there's absolutely nothing we can do about it and the important thing is to live life as best we can. I'm sure there's plenty of philosophers who have written reams about just this, but I've never read or heard about them, so I can only speak for myself--our only, only, only "job" in this life is to live it. And that is the point of it. That is the meaning, too. I don't understand the idea of trying to find a meaning for one's life, because to me, my life is its meaning and it is in the living of it that I create whatever it means. And the "answer" will be revealed to me in the last second of life (assuming I'm aware/awake/not senile), when I look back and see the totality of my life...and then that's it.

Oddly, I think that's kind of cool.

Sad

It just hit me again how very, very much I miss my cat. All I feel like doing, besides crying, is yelling out: "I Want My Cat! I Want Him NOW!"

This is still rather unexpected. Granted, he's my only cat and he has his moments but, truth be told, he's not my favorite cat, like, evah. Uggams still holds that place in my heart, really. He was such an incredibly sweet, warm, wonderful kitty. Smartie is not particularly any of those things, other than being a kitty.

Still, he's my baby of the moment. And I do love him, more than I realized and I certainly miss him more than I thought possible. It's not even so much that I'm worried about him, now that the AMC technician keeps calling me with daily updates and it sounds like he's doing reasonably well. But, still, he can't be happy cooped up in a small space--the "condo" is larger than a regular cage, but not much--especially being such a big cat.

Okay, so I'm obsessing a bit. But right now, this minute, it hurts, I miss him so much.

I WANT MY CAT BACK!

Cat and Mouse

So I've been pretty sure for a while now that I've been having a mouse visitor. Oddly, I became aware of this because my cat was pretty sure we were having a mouse visitor, only he couldn't get at it. What's odd about it is that mice aren't supposed to come into houses with cats, they're supposed to smell them. This one must have a sinus condition.

Anyway, I've made arrangements for someone to come over and move the refrigerator so I can plug up the hole behind it which is where Smartie and I are both pretty sure is where the mouse gets in here. With a plus being that I'll get the chance to dust the refrigerator coils for the first time since 1979, which may help a little with my electric bill, at least until the dust builds back up again. This is supposedly happening Friday evening.

Meanwhile, though, Smartie has been getting radioiodine shots for the last 8 days over at the Animal Medical Center and so, yes, the cat's away and the mouse will, indeed, play. I heard some noises in the kitchen last night that I kept trying to put down to, oh, the oven is cooling off after I'd used it earlier, or some papers I put in the recycling bin were resettling, but I'm pretty sure it was the mouse I was hearing. This was confirmed for me when I found the little mouse turd on the kitchen windowsill this morning.

So it is with some glee that I found myself thinking a little while ago, "You know, Mouse, you can have your fun now, but you better not get stuck on this side of the wall when we spackle some steel wool into that hole. Because very soon now, my cat will be home...AND HE'LL BE RADIOACTIVE!"

Bwahahahaha!

Next!

I'm thinking, the real reason why Puerto Rico isn't a state yet is that nobody can figure out where to put the extra star on the flag.

Okay, maybe that's not the real reason. Maybe it's just one of the reasons.

Look, so I suck at keeping up with a blog. It's not like anybody's reading it, anyway, so why should I care? It's my other writing that I'm also not doing, that's the real problem. At least my fantasy life is still good. I was just thinking what would happen if Iwere to be on a private jet with Martin Scorsese and Robert DeNiro. In my fantasy, I'd talk a mile a minute and be charming and smart and they'd think I was funny. In reality, it would never even happen, of course, but even if it did, I'd probably hide in a corner and try to stay out of their way. Anyway, with an imagination like mine, you'd think it's inform my writing. And I suppose it does. When I actually do any writing.

Today I heard that Smartie will be at the Animal Medical Center another 8 days at least, because he needs more radioiodine, which will be administered tomorrow. I miss him so much. I even miss not having to step over all his food bowls in the kitchen. I miss not having to leap over him when I'm racing to get to the telephone. I miss him when I'm changing the sheets and he's not "helping". Presumably, when he's all cured, he'll be a little different, that some of his behaviors over the last few years will go away and he'll get fat again and be nice and plush and not as much of a nudge. I suppose that'll be all right, esp. the last part.

Meanwhile, I'm enjoying salami and cheese sandwiches and pepperoni on my pizza. When he comes back, I'll be eating healthier, I'm sure.

I'm baaaack

Where have I heard that title before? Hmmm.

But, so I didn't post while I was away in Florida with Mom (and stepfather, who shall remain nameless). But I'm back home and here I am. Tired, but no longer exhausted, though who knows what tomorrow will bring? But that's: tomorrow. Tonight, I'm okay. At least I know the next time I go to see my mother, I can take a freakin' non-stop flight on Jet Blue. No more of these cheap-ass Delta one-stops where I spend the majority of a day in airports and on planes.

Anyway, I took Stacy Horn's book, "Waiting for My Cats To Die" with me to read on the plane, etc. And I did okay up until the point where Veets dies and then I realized I couldn't read it in public anymore. I don't know why I thought I could.

It's particularly tough because I got word when I was at Mom's that my cat will be going in for the radioacive iodine treatment this week, except instead of Thursday, it's moved up to Tuesday and instead of being there for a week or so, he may well be there for two weeks and need up to three (3!) shots instead of just one or two. He's that far gone. I'm grateful that they didn't say that he's not eligible at all, that he'd need surgery to reduce the tumor first, because that would have been the end of it, I wouldn't put my cat through that much.

In fact, I'm sort of wondering if I'm doing the right thing at all now. Have I done enough research? Is he really healthy enough to withstand this treatment? How will he be when he's away from me for so long? Will he become so depressed that he won't eat? Will he die while they're treating him, when he's away from me? Honest, I'm not entirely projecting here, he behaves like an angel when I'm in the room, but just ask the vets and techs who have seen him without me when he's had to stay for a treatment or overnight for some reason. He's Dr. Jekyll with me, Mr. Hyde with them, I'll tell ya.

I'm going to be a wreck until he's home with me again. Hopefully a healthy, happy Smartie.

The Continental

Beautiful music...Dangerous rhythm...
It's something daring, The Continental, A way of dancing that's really 'entre nous'. It's very subtle, The Continental, Because it does what you want it to do.
It has a passion, The Continental, An invitation to moonlight and romance. It's quite the fashion, The Continental, Because you tell of your love while you dance.
Your lips whisper so tenderly. Her eyes answer your song.
Two bodies swaying, The Continental, And you are saying just what you're dreaming of. So keep on dancing, The Continental, For it's a song of romance and of love.

I've had this song going through my head now for at least the last 24 hours. I did have a brief respite a little while ago, as I was trying to fall asleep. It's an old sea chantey, one that I think Rod Stewart stole the melody from, The Leaving of Liverpool. All I could remember is the chorus:

So fare thee well, my own true love, when I return, united we will be.
It's not the leaving of Liverpool that grieves me,
But my darling when I think of thee. (or "on ye", which is another version I've heard)

But then The Continental came back. I suppose it could be worse.

Today someone posted on Echo that there's a new sort of answer to Nanowrimo and it involves blogging every day for the month of November. Now, I'll be in Florida at Mom's house the first four days, but we'll see. I didn't sign up for it--why should I invite people to read this, I've managed to hide out pretty well here without them so far?--but this will just be my own personal challenge.

Meanwhile, I really do need to get some sleep.

loooooong time

So, it seems my toilet-roll holder is too complicated for some people. Go figure. Obviously, I don't find it difficult, but...

Okay, wait. It's been almost two months since I've been here and that's what I start off with? Gotta do better than that.

It's been an ... eventful couple of months. Nothing really horrible, not since 9/11, which was bad enough. The next day I had a falling out with my cat's "healthcare provider" (his former owner, who advised me never to contact him again after, admittedly, a somewhat overwrought, demanding email from me--but, y'know, fuck 'im). I'm actually happier finally being in charge of my cat's health, as well as the rest of him, but this had led to his being better diagnosed and thus leading to his needing an $1800 treatment in a couple of weeks (assuming he's eligible--and I'm not going to get ahead of things here). And in between, he had an overnight stay at the vet's--where he caught a cold. I've never seen a cat so miserable. Had to do force-feeding, the whole bit.

We're better now. And I seem to have caught up on sleep and will hopefully have my sleep patterns back in whack now. Soon to be disrupted in a few days, as I have a 6:30 am flight out of LGA to go see Mom soon. I suppose I could write more about that, but I think this is good enough for starters.

I'm grateful today for having a nice, warm place to live. I can sit here and listen to the wind (lotta wind out there today) blowing the trees hither and thither. Okay, I don't think I've ever used that word before, but I like it. Thither.

Downloading a TV show right now. Looking forward to watching it. Tomorrow.

Worst day times three

Yesterday, my dear friend, Mouse (Vera) passed away. I am still reeling from this news, even though it was certainly not unexpected. Mouse spent the last five years courageously battling ovarian cancer. Every possible treatment was tried, but even the ones that worked only did for a little while. Finally, there were no more treatments.

It was also the fourth anniversary of the death of another loved one. And, of course, the fifth annivesary of 9/11. I'm too exhausted to say much about that, except to point to New York Magazine's publishing of the beginning of the thread that occurred that awful morning on Echo, the bbs to which I belong. I logged on to read that morning, eventually, and now I revisit it every year, sometimes reading the whole thing, other times not making it through more than half a day's worth of posts. But here you can read the start.

A friend I spoke with yesterday thought maybe I should tear September 11th out of all my calendars from now on. It's a thought.

tired, so tired

I'm kinda wiped tonight, so I'm just going to write here a little bit, not work on my novel.

Something occurred to me earlier today about the story and that is that, so far, I have no freakin' clue how to get Gordon and Roberta back together. I mean, I think that's how it ends up, but I've been going along figuring that all will become clear as I write it all out. I'm a bit skeptical about that just at the moment. But that's probably because I'm not sure I can write at all well enough so that anyone would want to read what I've written.

Last night, I went to a reading by a friend/client, whose non-fiction book (The Perfect $100,000 House by Karrie Jacobs) is really wonderfully well-written. So I guess I'm still feeling completely and thoroughly intimidated by other people's talent. I hope I get over this soon.

More Bird by Bird

I spent some time today feeling like a complete failure. No, that's not quite right. I've spent some time this past week feeling like a complete failure. As a writer, that is. And a thinker, but being able to think is kind of a prerequisite for good writing, I think.

I'm reading all sorts of stuff that other people have written and are writing and I am thoroughly, completely intimidated and ashamed and frustrated and a lot of other feelings all wrapped up. Finally, the thought managed to enter my mind that, if I'm going to get any good at writing, I just have to keep doing it. And doing it. Over and over again.

So I just wrote for a few minutes on my novel. And I'm here. As for the novel, I think I may have written a phrase that won't get edited out at some point. I've also been editing old parts over the last couple or three weeks. I did at one point write some highly pornographic stuff that I knew would have to come out, in large part, so I did start to do some paring of that.

I also have to say that I'm having a horrible time with the chronology. I know what it is in my head, plus I've even written it down, but writing it in the book, that's far from there. Two of the three main characters have a history together (hence the sex) and there's a couple of marriages and some divorces and I haven't managed to write it so that it makes sense. But I keep telling myself that that's what the second draft is for.

I also really want to write some of the book in a second person's voice. And I know that's not how it's supposed to be done, but I hear her voice and it seems important to me to write it, but I don't want to lose the other character's voice, because he is the protagonist and he's who I started out writing about and I don't think I can show what happens to him without writing from his point of view, too. So this is all very experimental for me and we'll see what happens. I'm afraid that this is going to take some time.

I wish I could make a box like Steinbeck made for his editor. If I ever get an editor, she'll have to settle for lasagne or something.

Wanted: New Obsession

I was just reading a little bit of a friend's blog and thinking, Gee, she writes a helluva lot better than I do. And then I was thinking of how bored I am at the moment, how I'd like to be doing something more fun or at least something that I could get more obsessed about, other than Spider Solitaire.

Of course, that new obsession could be writing. Of which I have managed to do a little more since the last time I posted. But writing this is about as much as my poor, tired, little brain can handle at the moment. And I really don't like writing when I can't think. But maybe that's not the right attitude or the right idea. Maybe writing when I'm not thinking is fine for my first draft.

Anyway, really, what I want to do is go back to bed, curl up with a book and read until I fall asleep. I was in bed for a while (who the hell takes a nap at 9 o'clock at night?), but I made myself get up and come back to the computer, presumably to get some more work done. But, yeah, well, that didn't quite happen. Spider Solitaire, mah jongg solitaire, a mah jongg game that's very close to how my friends and I play (you may be able to d/l it here), quite a few visits to Echo (that link will take you to its website, but not Echo itself; for that, you need to telnet, at least for the moment).

So, no work tonight. It is time to go to bed, maybe to sleep in an hour or so. It feels like this post is worthless, it's about ... nothing. And maybe that's all right. In fact, it's going to have to be.

Mark the calendar

Okay, I did it.

I just spent half an hour or so...writing.

All right, maybe mostly reading. Doing some light editing of the crap that passes for my novel. I did actually write a new paragraph. I have no idea where this paragraph belongs, mind you. But it's there now. I just can't believe how much worse the writing is than I remembered.

But, hey, it'll get better. And then the next one will be even better. But I've determined that I must finish this one, first, even if it's bad. So then I can see how to do it better next time.

Right?

Bird by Bird

Okay, so why the hell didn't anybody tell me how funny Anne Lamott is?

I've heard of this book for years, but finally bought it from the Buy 2, Get the 3rd free table at Barnes & Noble. I suppose the fact that I finally succombed means that I'm getting closer to actually writing again (other than this blog...), but so far, I've managed to avoid that terrifying possibility. (heh)

But it's so damn funny. I hope I can make people laugh. And cry. And nod their heads in agreement at something that they realize is so, so true and they couldn't agree more. Just the way she does.

Fast one

I only have a few minutes before I have to leave to play mah jongg, but there's not enough time to change the kitty litter, which I really wanted to get done before I went, but, oh, well.

Here's what was just going through my mind: I've been living alone for so many years, I am stuck inside my own head. It takes nearly a herculean effort to manage to look at the world around me, outside me and either see what others might see about me, or see that there are others out there. See what they're doing and saying.

As I've mentioned before, I have a cat and sometimes the only thing he's good for is to be there when I talk out loud, so I can pretend there's someone I'm actually talking to. True, sometimes I really am talking to him ("I hate you! Who's a good kitty? Why don't you eat what I give you?!!!). But a lot of times, well, I'm just talkin'.

Time to go.

Home Alone

Yes, once again, I am home alone on a Saturday night. Nothing unusual about that. Nothing at all.

I need some new friends. I need some friends who will call me up and ask if I want to go to the movies with them. I want some friends who will call me up and ask if I want to go out to eat dinner or join them at their house.

I used to have friends like that. I used to have something resembling a social life. I acknowledge that this is partly my fault. People don't like to be around someone who has a disability, one of which now is obesity, and who is also relatively poor. So if someone did call me up and invite me to go to the movies with them, chances are quite good that I'd have to decline.
But it would be nice to be asked.

I suppose I should mention that I know a married couple who occasionally do invite me over for dinner. And I've even invited myself over, so I could cook dinner for them and for a friend whom I wanted to try a new dish I'd been making. "Oh, you want to come over here and cook for us? Sure!"

I want a new life, though. This one has some good moments, but it's time for something...more. I just heard on a tape yesterday about a visioning exercise someone had the interviewee perform, going out three years. And what she had envisioned actually came about three years later and it was something she would never have guessed she wanted, nor could she have guessed how it was going to happen. I'm thinking I need to try this. Take some time and envision how I would like my life to be like in three years. Even if it seems ridiculous to hope for.

I'll post back here about what I come up with. In the meanwhile, if anybody's reading and has done something like this, do tell, please.

Hot

It's hot. In case you hadn't heard. Lassitude is the order of the day. Also, sweat. My poor air conditioner is struggling to get the temp in here below 80. It's okay. It's a dry 80. Or 82.

I got quite a bit of work done today, though not quite as much as I had hoped. It helped that one job ended up ending before either the client or I expected. Fortunately, she took notes during the interview, too.

Tomorrow, I will have cake.

How's that for a non-sequitur?

Think cool thoughts.

Day off?

I guess I'm taking a day off today. I got up earlier than I thought I would, after the cat made a fuss for a good, long while. I did a few things on the computer, then I changed the kitty litter (two days late, oops), then I went out and ran several errands, went to a meeting and, on the way back home, ran a couple more errands.

I'm quite exhausted. I took a nice, cool shower and am sitting here, deciding what to do next. And work just doesn't seem to be on the list. I have way too much of it to do and it's not going to go away and I don't want to have to outsource it, because I really need the money. But, well, it's after 6 freaking 30 already and, yeah, I think I'm going to finish reading "House of Mirth" and maybe watch some 4400 and/or House and I might even play a little online poker or mah jongg solitaire or something. Tomorrow I don't have to go out, thanks to my saying hello to Mas (I guess that's how to spell it) at the newstand and he stopped me and pulled out the Times Magazine section and that was the only reason I had left to go out tomorrow. I have milk, I have food, I picked up a few cans of cat food at a store near the meeting I went to...I'm all set!

Monday, that's another story.

Waiting for pizza

Okay, the pizza's warming up in the oven, I've got about, oh, 13 minutes left before I have to go shut off the timer and get the slices out of there. Because, yes, even in the summer heat, I reheat pizza in the oven, not the microwave. Because life is too short to eat soggy pizza.

Despite what you may think, I'm actually starting to eat better the last several days. I'm slowly cutting back on when I get desserts (day two on the wagon right now), I'm eating a ton of fruit and today, I bought some green things. Actually one green, one purple. I had to try purple cauliflower, even at such an outrageous price. Since I don't actually know how to cook cauliflower, I also bought some organic garlic hummus. Also for an outrageous price. It had better be good. Both of them. Meanwhile, I have an even more outrageously-priced avocado that doesn't seem to want to ripen sitting on top of the fridge. Sigh.

I don't want to examine too closely why I'm eating better or buying these new, interesting, supposedly healthful things. I'm supposed to be focusing on my finances, but I suppose, since I'm not having much luck with getting those under control, looking at my food intake is a pleasant diversion.

Also, in general, with some exceptions, my health is pretty good at the moment, so I'm more likely to cook (and, no, I do not consider heating up leftover pizza in the oven to be "cooking". I'm not that bad). I am, however, still doctor-shopping, though. Now that I have switched insurers, I need to find new doctors, because of course my new, cheaper insurance does not have anywhere near the roster of doctors that my old insurance did. And even that was shrinking all the time, more and more docs who were tired of accepting a pittance that was routinely delayed, anyway. Can't blame 'em.

I'm very frustrated, though. First, the doctor I had seen many years ago who diagnosed my chronic fatigue syndrome never sent her records, nor those of my previous doctor that I hand-carried to her office, to my next doctor. So, pretty much, those records of my medical history are now lost. And my late insurance company, Oxford, likewise didn't have much in the way of records from back then.

Now it turns out the NYU Breast Imaging Center, where I've been getting mammograms for more than a decade, has lost all my films.

On top of my stepfather or my mother throwing out all my childhood photos they had in their possession, it's like I'm disappearing from the face of the Earth before I've actually, physically left it.

Pizza's done. More later...tomorrow.

Long time

It's late and I'm not going to post a lot, but it's been such a long while since I've been here. So, that's it, this is more like a place-marker. Now I'll go back to getting my spider solitaire fix and, eventually, go to sleep. Perchance to dream.

Annoying

There's someone on a board that I belong to that has this "cutesy" habit of typing "shite" or, lately "sh*te" when she means "shit". Now I see she's added "hail" instead of "hell".

Can I just say here how fucking ANNOYING that is? She's not a precious person in other respects. Although she may also be one of those who types "hayed" when she means "head".

She may also be one of those who types "layed" when she means "laid"--but I can't remember and I think some of the people who type that don't actually know the difference or can't spell worth a damn anyway. But it's hard to tell and you can't go around correcting people all the time, particularly not when they might end up being one of those people who's actually proud of not being able to spell correctly.

Grrr.

Writing, writing everywhere...

...and nary a word to spare.

Or something like that. Anyway, strange day, not least of which that it follows by a mere 24 hours my last post in here (more or less). I was almost able to say that I did absolutely zero actual work today, not counting work-related things like sending statements and invoices and depositing stuff in the bank, but then I managed to find 15 minutes, that turned into 25 and got some work started.

But I'm done and done for. I got some more things done today, but there's still stuff left on the table. For tomorrow, I guess. I'm tuckered out and may go to bed early--or I'll take a nap and do something else, watch a movie or something. Play online poker (play money only!).

Oh, I did change my sheets last night, that was one thing that was accomplished. I did have some "help", but that's all right, it was fun. Smartie is so strange, he only seems to want to be under covers when I'm trying to change the bed linen. Anyway, it was nice feeling the cool, clean sheets when I went to sleep last night, even though it was actually a bit cool and the flannels might have been a better choice.

I thought some more about my novel last night and today. I even wrote a couple of sentences and saved it in my Fiction folder. Maybe we move inexorably towards the things we are most afraid of.

Breakfast? We don't need no steenkin' breakfast...

I posted this somewhere else, but it fits here, too:

I don't know how I'm doing today, really. I mean, I haven't had breakfast yet. (Yes, the time stamp doesn't lie--but I only got up around 12:30...) I have just about finished my "morning" coffee, at least. I've got tons to do and don't seem particularly motivated to do any of it, though I've already started finishing the one job I should have finished yesterday.

Sigh.

I did go out, get the Times Magazine (there's a guy at the newstand around the corner who gives them to me for free), bought some stuff for Smartie at a different store than I normally go to, and then stopped by Two Little Red Hens, where they were, alas, out of red velvet cupcakes, but I did cadge a black and white brownie for later. So at least I got out on this gorgeous day.

That's where that post ended. I suppose I could write more, but I've got a lot of work to do and I need a shower and it's Sunday and I don't want to do any of it. Not that it being Sunday has anything to do with anything, just--it's that kind of a day, when you really just want to curl up in bed with the Times and a cup of coffee and relax. Or, even better, sit out in your backyard or on a porch and read and enjoy the cool breeze. Assuming you had one of those things, of course. A back yard or a porch, that is.

I've really been longing a back yard lately. Maybe someday...

I haven't changed the sheets on my bed in a long while. I did take out a fresh set yesterday. We'll see how long it takes me to actually get them on the bed. Preferably without Smartie's "help".

I have a friend battling cancer and right now she's in a rehab/hospice and I'm hoping she gets to go home this time and is in more need of the rehab than the hospice. I am worried about her and wishing I could get to spend more time with her.

I'm going to get to work now. Then shower. Then more work. Then...maybe a DVD. Gotta have something to look forward to, right?

Funny day

Let's see. It began by going to the laundromat this morning. The only appropriate thing to take with me to read there was a book that's long been in my to-be-read pile, but I really hadn't wanted to tackle it yet. It was "Writing Down the Bones" and the reason I didn't want to tackle it is I didn't want to be put in a position where I would be pushed into writing. Or urged into it. Or drawn into it. At this point, just writing in here is just about enough.

And I was right. I was pushed, I feel pulled, I feel torn...I spent some time sitting there, not reading. Then I spent some time thinking about the novel I started more years ago than I care to think about--and here I was, thinking about it. It has a male protagonist, but there's also a woman in whose point of view I have written a couple of scenes already and there's the question of whether or not to make it her book or let the book have two points of view...Argh!

And now, when I was about to start using this blog the way Steinbeck used his notebook and writing to his editor to help him to write East of Eden--the damn thing isn't on this computer. And the floppy disk that may or may not have it on there is for some strange reason unreadable by this computer. Which means that I have to fire up the old one and find that story and copy it over onto another floppy and hope for the best. I'm just too tired right now to go through all that, it takes easily 20 min. for the poor old thing to boot up. And I'm now hoping desperately that it does and that I can actually manage to retrieve this novel, because I really don't have to type the whole thing in again, assuming I can dig up the old copies. Not that that would be an entirely bad thing to do, I'd just rather...not.

It was a lovely day out today. "Out" being the operative word; it's still in the low 80s in this apt. Once the heat gets in, it's impossible to get it out. If I'm lucky, we'll have a couple of days more of a cold spell (50s would do just fine) and I can really cool the place off--and then hermetically seal it up, so the heat/humidity stays outside and I stay comfortable in here.

Fat chance.

Anyway, I did go out and my leg didn't hurt too much at all. Then I ran into an acquaintance, a FOAF, and rode the bus for a few stops with him. I'm not really sure, but it feels like he's flirting with me. But it could just be that I'm out of practice with all that, nobody really flirts with me anymore. I'm actually hoping he wasn't, since I also know his wife and, really, I've given up married men.

I'd been home for a little while when there was a knock on the door and the person on the other side of the door said he was the police. I figured he was here to ask about my neighbor's robbery and I was right about that. On my way to the door, I threw on a shirt I keep handy by the door for when I don't have time to rush and put on a bra, so I looked worse than usual. Oh, who am I kidding? There's no way a guy that good-looking would have been interested in me even if I had been wearing a bikini. Well, esp. not a bikini, actually, I'd look truly horrible in that.

Anyway, that's a long way of saying that this guy was Cute. Capital "C", oh, yes. In an Anderson Cooper sort of way, though not that chiseled. But the coloring, the self-assuredness, the light build, the eyes--oh, my, yes. Even a cute little mustache.

My libido ain't dead yet.

Amazing that I got any work done after that at all. But I did. A little.

On tap for tomorrow: changing the kitty litter. And who knows what else?

Peter Bogdanovich's cats

I think I might try writing a short story with that title. It would probably have little or nothing to do with his cats, but it's a pretty neat title, anyway.

But his cats were the least of my problems in the last couple of days. For starters, my mother is still not doing all that well. Of course, today my stepfather was supposed to call their primary doctor and see about getting her taken better care of, but I haven't heard yet how that went. I presume, since I haven't heard, that she's not back in the hospital, which is good, I suppose, although I liked how she was being taken care of, finally.

Anyway, yesterday I went to Macys and spent an inordinate amount of money on new panties. The sock selection was pathetic, so I may have to go to Target soon. I also still need a new pair of sandals, since my old ones finally gave up the ghost last summer. Hey, they were at least a decade old, so, again, I got my money's worth.

But while I was out, my upstairs neighbor's apartment was broken into. This was upsetting, in part because I'm not 100% sure that it was while I was out, though it's likely that I was. I (and my neighbor) both got precious little sleep last night, though I did manage to put four hours together, along with some pretty intense dreaming. One part included Patrick Stewart, can't complain about that. In the dream, I asked him if he'd heard his song and, when he said no, I made him give me his email address. He had to use a paper cup and I whipped out, what else, a purple pen for him to write with.

Then I was going on a cruise. There was a pre-boarding party the night before and there was a lot of food there, but I wasn't interested in any of it at first (despite the fact that I'd gone to bed feeling hungry, but not feeling like eating anything--or, rather, not feeling like making anything to eat). Then a conga line started and I was bemused/appalled and I berated the leader of the line, I think for being so prosaic and corny--and then I joined the line. After a bit of dancing about, suddenly the food being served looked really good and I tried to get some, but after some abortive attempts, with the food becoming more and more disgusting (sausages that had been dropped on the floor? Ugh!), I woke up... probably because the phone rang. It was sort of like how you're not supposed to dream your own death, you wake up first--this was like that.

I am not going to analyze this dream, you're all free to do, if you so choose. (All-ha! I think there's maybe one of you reading this, if that.)

Anyway, I should go out and buy some window alarms and perhaps finally replace the shade in the kitchen. Some more stuff to spend my pittance on, but it will be good to not be scared to come home when I know the house is empty or to go to sleep.

Perchance to dream. Of Peter Bogdanovich's cats.

What I learned from poker

Maybe it was on some PSA that aired during a televised poker event or maybe it was on one of the online games where I saw this, but they say you shouldn't play/gamble when you're tired or depressed or drunk. Well, for the last few days, at least one of those kept me from posting here.

Give up? Okay, I was tired! More than that, exhausted. But that's why they call it chronic fatigue syndrome. It's the disability that keeps on ... taking.

Anyway, it wasn't just that I couldn't find the energy to write, it was that I didn't think I was capable of being coherent. This happens to me a lot. I'm on a bbs called Echo and I've learned, and sometimes even pay attention to the lessons, not to post on there when I'm worn out, because I end up posting stupid. Which is not to say that I'm not capable of that even when I'm not in a brain fog (my former doctor's term for this symptom), but it becomes much more likely that I'll log in the next day and think, "Why the freakin' hell did I post that?"

I don't think I've learned much else from poker, but then, this may well be one of those posts where I end up logging in tomorrow (or, y'know, whenever, I'm obviously no good at discipline) and thinking, "Why in the hell did I post that?"

But I did want to post, even though I'm still wiped out a bit. I got a lot of sleep last night, finally, but I'm still tired. And all I really want to do is go back to bed and curl up -- and watch TV. Which I can't do, because the TV is dead and I have no cable box and I miss it terribly. I keep looking for the time on the cable box and I have to stop myself from reaching for the headphones I used to listen on at night or reaching for the remote control. I've gotten a lot of reading done, but so far, that's about it. There's so much else to do around here and I'm still not doing it.

On the other hand, I'm getting good at finding torrents to download and watching those. It's just not all that comfortable sitting in this chair for so many hours. I of course keep getting up when I'm working, but when I'm watching something, I don't take breaks, really.

It seems like a nice day out there. I should go out later and get the Times. And milk. I was planning, or should I say "planning", to go to Macy's and get some undies and socks and things, but now I think that's going to be tomorrow. It's after 2 p.m. and I suppose I should have something for breakfast.

Yeah, it's one of those days.

The Concept of Irony

The Concept of Irony

Not sure I've got time to read this guy's blog, but it sure looks interesting!

Been a while

It's been five days since my last post and a lot has happened. Well, one big thing in particular. Watching my tape of the last episode of The West Wing was the last thing my TV allowed me to do before dying.

It had been a long time coming. I mean, the colors were getting...not weird, but extra saturated. There were times I'd turn it on and the colors weren't there at all, but all I had to do was turn it off, wait a few seconds and turn it back on again and they were back. There were other, little things. This all began at least three years ago, so I had hoped for a little while longer, but I've got no complaints--this Zenith was 15 years old! I got my money's worth, for sure.

The problem is, there's no way I can replace it right now. So yesterday, I turned in my cable box to Time Warner and will wait a while until I pay them what I owe and then figure out how much I am willing/able to go into debt for a new HDTV (because at this point, there ain't no point in anything else, even if you can find it for sale). It'll probably be another CRT, they're (a) cheaper and (b) nice and heavy and, if anyone is stupid enough to break in here again, it's not something they're going to carry out so easily. (Not the way the last person did, carting off my 10-plus-year-old b&w set with the broken antenna--he must have been really desperate! And I was grateful for the push to get a color TV.)

But I'm feeling quite bereft without the comfort of late-night TV. And silence while I'm eating is difficult to endure--I can't really read while I'm eating, so I just find myself eating faster with nothing to distract me. I am trying to pause and pick up a book in-between bites, but it's not working out so well. Getting more reading done is the only good thing about being TV-less.

Meanwhile, I'm still trying to figure out how to bittorrent (I'll let you know when I do, fed lurkers, sure I will). I miss HOUSE. I'm hoping not to miss THE 4400 when its new season starts.

I'm trying not to stress out over all the money people owe me that they don't seem to want to part with, but I'm looking at the calendar and when all my bills are due and serenity is not coming easily today. All I can do at this point is send emails and make phone calls and let it go. What will be, will be. The Universe will provide. It always has, if not in the way or time that I'd wish.

There, that's enough procrastinating. Get to work, Sharon!

Flaking out

So, I guess I didn't come back to post after my birthday. It was very nice, really. I did everything I expected to and don't regret a single calorie!

Now part of me wishes I could stop celebrating. But the other part of me thinks that's ridiculous, why shouldn't I be celebrating my entire life? It just depends how you define "celebrating". It doesn't have to be birthday cake every day. (Not that that sounds bad, mind you. Just incredibly fattening and I don't need any help in that area, thanks.)

Anyway, I'm extra tired today. It may be the wet weather here--not as bad as New England, but it's damp, with more rain on the way. It may just be that I sat down this afternoon and watched the last episode, ever, of The West Wing. I cried the whole way through. From sadness and from frustration--I so very much wish there was going to be more next year. I want to see how Santos handles the presidency. There's so many possibilities for how things would be different, and yet still wonderful to watch. I feel robbed.

I called my mom today, a day late. I forgot yesterday. I thought about it at one point when I was out, but then when I got home, it never even crossed my mind again. Feh. Memory is so overrated. She didn't sound upset that I'd forgotten, she was more concerned about the fact that I sounded "down". Well, at the time, all I could really think of was that I was tired, I forgot about West Wing. When I remembered, though, I wasn't going to share that with her. Both because she's weird about my emotions, she tries to steal them (I'm not kidding) and because she's got enough stuff going on herself, I didn't want to add to it.

Well, I'm too tired to go into detail about all that, so I'll leave that for another day. Hopefully, tomorrow, but ya never know with me.

P.S. I think I've decided on someone else to invite in here. Don't know if he'll come, but at least I'll reach out.

My birthday

Today is my birthday. I have a pretty nice day planned out. I'm about to go have breakfast at one of my favorite diners, Dizzy's. Then I'll go donate blood (a tradition I started a few years ago). Later, a friend and I will go have dinner at another favorite restaurant, one that I haven't gotten to in a long while-Pete's Waterfront Alehouse, where I will probably have the pulled pork sandwich and come home with a bottle of Sam's excellent hot sauce.

I expect to eat too much and be pretty happy by the time I come home. I may post again later, but then again, maybe not.

Things that piss me off

So I'm working on something having to do with what they're now calling "sustainability". A fine word, really. But when you're talking about large corporations finally getting on the bandwagon of becoming "environmentally correct", my blood just starts to boil.

Where the fuck were these people 30, 35 years ago, when environmental concerns first came into public consciousness? Okay, really, it started a decade before that, with Rachel Carson's Silent Spring, but things really got into full swing with Earth Day and things like that. And all the large corporations did back then was scream bloody murder if anyone so much as suggested that they try recycling. Or that they should consider reducing their waste. And this always struck me as the height of stupidity. Reusing, recycling, reducing waste--these are all things that would have SAVED THEM MONEY!!! Not only that, but there was an unbelievable amount of bellyaching about how much it would cost them to refit their machinery, their factories, etc. Meanwhile, all the time and money they spent lobbying Congress to keep our laws off their non-corporeal bodies could have been spent on making these changes and saving money for decades. Millions of dollars could have been saved in all this time, maybe even billions. Not to mention the amount of pollution that could have been avoided all these years, so that the climate changes we're seeing today could, in fact, have been at least pushed back another decade or more--precious time. Maybe we could have even figured out, in all those decades, how to avoid it altogether.

And I could never understand, still can't, why no one thought that designing and creating the tools we needed in order to improve the environment or at least damage it considerably less was a good business idea. That there was money to be made in the innovations such an industry today is engendering.

So, excuse me, please, if Iwant to barf when I hear about companies finally find religi--excuse me, sustainability. None of the things I hear about how sustainability makes sense is any more true today than it would have been in 1970. None of it.

At the same time, it also pisses me off that, when BP announced several years ago that its initials weren't going to stand for British Petroleum anymore, they would instead stand for Beyond Petroleum, the investment analysts promptly downgraded BP's stock--seriously impacting its ability to raise the funds needed in order to pursue such a farsighted goal. Not that I'm crying for BP at this point. But may every single oil analyst never get another night's rest--insomnia for all of them!

These days, I hear that bankers are asking companies to whom they lend if they have sustainability plans or programs. Ha! That's what's really going to drive this--if the money guys are concerned about this and think it's important, then it'll happen.

But, damn, I hope I don't catch any of these people crowing about how wonderful they are to do all this work. Because they could-a, would-a, should-a done it a very, very, very long time ago. And, today, they should be ashamed of themselves, not patting themselves on the back.

So, where was I?

Ah, yes, I was saying that I'm reading John Steinbeck's Journal of a Novel, written while he was writing my favorite book, East of Eden. I will have to reread that book once I'm done, keeping his comments while he was writing it at least somewhat in mind. I don't know if it's just that I missed things while reading it the first time or if it got changed a lot between the first draft and the published version (it was, but maybe not enough to make me miss so much). But I'm realizing how deliberate he was in writing it, how he made choices very, very consciously about how the book was to be framed and written, what the plot was going to be, who the characters were to be...what they were to represent...

I've never written that consciously. Almost everything I've ever written, including this post now, just spills out willy-nilly, so the form is ... well, formless. Or if there's a form, it's purely accidental. Maybe I should say "a form that works", because each of these posts has a form, of sorts. I guess.

Anyway, here I am, getting all meta again. But this is as it should be, if I'm to start writing again. I have been thinking about my novel again, it's the Steinbeck that's moving me in that direction. (I'm also reading two other books these days and they're not similarly inspiring me. But that's okay, they're fun.) (Did I mention somewhere what they are? I won't keep you guessing or trying to look somewhere else--it's Clark Clifford's memoirs and Time and Again, my 4th or 5th reading of that one.)

I don't know why I didn't realize until now that one of the reasons I haven't been writing for the last decade or so is fear. What's making me realize it now is that I've only invited one other person to read this blog so far (hi!) and can't decide who the second one should be. And it crossed my mind to mention it at my birthday dinner party next week--and that just made my stomach tie up in a nice, little knot with a bow in it. I guess I'm just going to have to bite the bullet and take the plunge--if you'll forgive the mixed metaphors.

I'm running out of steam here, it's been another long day. I didn't get outside of the building at all and it was a gorgeous spring day--but my allergies! Oh, man, this is the worst it's been and I know it's worse for others, as my symptoms--the sneezing and sniffling and itchy nose (not eyes, they're fine, go figure)--are really no worse than a medium cold, but I so rarely get that symptom that I have to assume others are truly miserable. And that's what I've been hearing. Of course, I do have extra fatigue and some lightheadedness tonight and those are my usual allergy symptoms.

I have to do the laundry tomorrow and I'm not looking forward to that. But having clean undies, etc., that I'm looking forward to.

More tomorrow. Or the next day.

Mayday! Mayday!

Hmm, it's after midnight, I guess I've missed the first of May. (And can I just say here, for the record, that I hate that for the next month Word will try to capitalize the word every time I type the word "may"? It's worse than March, because, really, how often do people say the word "march"?)

Anyway, it was May 1st and there were lots of demonstrations by legal and illegal immigrants. I was with them in spirit, but really the only reason I didn't spend any money was because I didn't have any. Oh, except I spent two bucks to take the bus back up the hill from the bank, because I at least had two checks to deposit, so tomorrow, I will have some money. And putting that title on this post is kind of misleading, since it was last week that I was in real trouble. As of today, I'm just dealing with normal stress levels, not the aggravated kind that were troubling me just a few short days ago. Ah, such is life.

I was going to write some about how I'm reading John Steinbeck's Journal of a Novel, written during his first draft of East of Eden (my very favorite book, which I hope to reread soon), but I'm tired, the cat is cranky and I want to curl up in bed with some milk and cookies. (You didn't see that, right? The part about the cookies, I mean. Shhhh...)

I also wanted to post about my mother and how worried I am about her. Also for another time

It's the merry month of May and the 10th will be my birthday. Sweet dreams to all!

Light the Lights!

Today, a friend's email reminded me of going to see off and off-off-Broadway plays many, many years ago and how exciting it could be. In particular, I remembered seeing two different productions of "Modigliani" in two different venues, one of which was somebody's living room. At least one of those productions had Jeffrey DeMunn and one had Ethan Phillips, who was later on Star Trek:Voyager as Neelix. I've probably still got the programs from those shows, I wonder if anyone else made it to become working actors, like those two.

I was also reminded of how much I miss going to the theater. And, just in case I wasn't sure about that, I turned on the TV for a few minutes this afternoon and came in at about the halfway point of South Pacific at Carnegie Hall. I've always loved the music for the show, though I've long hated Josh Logan's filmed version (no, it doesn't help to know he was in a manic phase when he made that movie). I even sort of bought into Reba McIntire's Nellie Forbush, though the thickness of her accent was a bit jarring.

But it was Brian Stokes Mitchell's amazing rendition of "This Nearly Was Mine" that pushed me over the edge--I was sobbing. And I cried at the end, too, but it wasn't the emotions of the play that moved me, or maybe it was a little...in fact, at the end, I wasn't sure why I was crying, except for an incredible longing for the years I spent going to see wonderful, amazing shows, and even the awful, dreadful things I sat through (Kate Hepburn's last play or "The Little Prince") were worth the price of being able to see all the good plays with great performances (or sometimes vice versa). And a longing to be going there again, but knowing that the Broadway of today is not the kind of Broadway that I remember or would necessarily want to be a part of or a witness to.

This all follows on the heels of seeing a PBS show called Broadway: The Golden Age. A lot of wonderful performers talk about what it was like back in the 40s and especially the 50s and 60s--a lot of that time, I was seeing some of those plays myself. But the best part of that documentary was that the producer managed to dig up Laurette Taylor's screen test for some movie studio--I finally got to see her! Hear her! Watch her act! For only a few seconds, less than a minute, but, oh, what a wonderful, wonderful, EXCITING few moments! I had been hearing about Ms. Taylor more than 30 years ago, about how she had been the best there ever was. And everyone interviewed in the doc who had had the chance to see said exactly that. And they--oh, yes, I am jealous, I am--had gotten to see her again and again and again. That small, tiny clip made me realize what they were all talking about--she was...amazing. Which doesn't seem to do her justice, but it's all I can come up with.

All of this is to say that, when I heard "This Nearly Was Mine" and watched the curtain calls again later on, I think I was crying for a lost time, a time that I loved. I hope that nostalgia isn't all I have left, but I miss the acting, I miss the joy and passion of it all. Maybe I'll be able one day to have at least a taste of it again.

Invitation

Yes, it's been a while since I've been here. Seems like a long while, but it's only been four days. Five? Okay, five. Whatever. Things were busy the last time I was here, remember? Well, it got busier.

I went to the laundromat the other day. Exciting, huh? But what was different this time was that when I got there, I realized that I'd forgotten to bring something to read. Quel domage! (If that's how it's spelled.)

Fortunately, someone had left a book behind. Turns out to be a book about writing. Now, I already have at least a couple of those here at home and I've been avoiding reading them, because I was afraid they'd make me miss writing even more than I already do (though I'm very, very good at avoiding those feelings, burying them so deep you'd hardly know they're there). But, there I was, in the laundromat with nothing to read. I can be alone with my thoughts just fine, thanks (and, really, aren't we all "alone with our thoughts", come to think of it?), but not for an hour and a half at the laundromat.

Besides, it wasn't a book about writing that I would have normally chosen for myself. It was written by a Zen Buddhist writer. Not that I have anything against Zen Buddhism, but I was afraid it would be too, oh, I dunno, touchy-feely or New Age-y or something.

And, okay, it was a little of that. It was also (and I only got about halfway through the darn thing) a lot of stuff I already knew, had read before or heard in group discussions or on TV or something. But a couple of things stood out. Again, stuff I already knew. This was more of a reminder. (Okay, Sharon, enough with the stalling.)

You have to make a commitment to writing. Now, I suppose this could be said about anything. In fact, a couple of days ago, I heard about a neuroscientist who's done research that shows that change is perceived in the brain as pain. Which explains why change is so very, very difficult to achieve. The only way to get someone to change or, in this case, to change one's self is to think a lot about what you want to change and why and then make a habit out of the new behavior. You really have to understand the change you want and then pretty much force yourself to behave in the new way and then, slowly but surely, the change occurs. So, if you commit yourself to writing every day, even for a short period of time, eventually you will have written something and you'll be a writer.

Okay, nothing really new there, except for the change=pain thing. But there was one little Buddhist nugget that got me and I'll probably have to explain why some other time, because it's complicated and I'm not sure I do want to go into it here, but...

It's important to let your writing go. That is, you have to show it to others, share it with them, or it's not as good as just keeping it for yourself. Now, as you can see from the title and subtitle of this blog, I did not intend to share this. Which is not to say I haven't toyed with the idea of opening it up to others, but I haven't told anyone that it's here at this point and I didn't really think I was ready to do so. And maybe I'm not, but I'm going to do it anyway. I'm going to choose two people (one of whom I've already picked out), for starters, and see what happens. Maybe nothing. But I will offer it to a tiny portion of the Universe and let the Universe do what it will.

Welcome, friends.

Are you sure it's Tuesday? Feels like Monday...

Okay, I don't know why I even bothered getting out of bed today. But I did. My doorbell rang and, because I was expecting some work to arrive via DHL and/or Fedex, I sprang up out of a deep sleep and ran to the door. The sleepiness part comes in when I tell you that I had to go downstairs (because my intercom doesn't work, natch) and discovered a Fedex envelope laying in-between the two doors--and I went to get it. In my nightgown and robe.

But no keys.

If my upstairs neighbor, a medical student, hadn't come home early, I'd still be out there, because no one else was home in the building (there's only six apartments).

And it's gone sort of downhill from there. I say "sorta" because, really, I can't complain when work comes in. But why does it have to be all at once? I already *had* work here, don't my clients know that? But no, they won't space it all out so I can do it all myself, I have to bring in 5 or 6 or 7 other people to help me. And I'm still not sure it'll all get done in time.

But it will. I hope.

Channeling Madeline Kahn--I'm Tired, So Tired

I'm pooped, even!

Did I mention that I have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome? Well, I do. And while I am ecstatic that there are all these news reports about a genetic link that they've found that is tied to this illness, I'm also, well, really, too pooped to pop.

Here's how bad it is: I was too tired to take a shower yesterday. Okay, but I really, really need to take one today, right? Nope, I'm too exhausted to do that.

This is my usual bad weekend. It was the last Sunday in April of '95 that I woke up, finally--and couldn't move. So I'm grateful that it's not that bad, but it hasn't been quite this awful for some time. In addition to really, REALLY needing a shower (thank goodness, in cyberspace, no one can smell you), I've got a ton of work that I need to make some progress on. We won't even discuss all the things around the house that need doing. At this point, I'm just resigned to living like a Collyer brother.

Sigh.

Like reading a novel

There was a wonderful piece in the Times this past week about The West Wing, a show that I will miss more than I can possibly say. The writer gets at what the show has meant to me, over and above how I feel about the characters and the actors who portray them. While watching our country being led (or maybe I should say "dragooned") into a world that I can barely stand to live in, it was more than just comforting to be able to lose myself in a world so very much better than it could ever be in real life, one where I would be able to once again be proud to be an American and have hope for the future.

I have to admit to having had a crush on Martin Sheen for many, many years, even before he was in Apocalypse Now, when he still played mostly skeezy lowlife bad guys. But as the years have gone by and I became aware of his activism and his deeply-held beliefs, I have so much respect and admiration for him. The Times article says that he's going to go to college now--I am so very happy for him. I hope he finds the experience of learning as an adult to be as amazing and as wonderful as I did.

These Sundays, I am left with a deep, abiding sadness that lives in my gut. I know it will end soon and I--and so many others--will be bereft of the intelligence, love and humor of this show. It's a sadness that's almost unbearable.

Sundays

Today is Easter Sunday. Makes no never mind to me, I've never been a Christian and I've long since ceased being a believer in any sort of deity. I'm beginning to despair of other human beings, but the Universe is big enough to keep me humble and, just for today, I'll choose to be hopeful.

It's quite lovely out today, though I only got to go out briefly, for the paper. Late afternoon, there were still plenty of copies of the Times out there. When I was growing up in the Bronx, people lined up, sometimes halfway down the long block, waiting for the truck with the Times to show up on Saturday night. Often enough, if you waited until Sunday to get the Times, you wouldn't be able to find any left, so lining up the night before made sense. It was a big neighborhood for the Old Grey Lady. I have a feeling it's not like that anymore. Not even sure there's a candy store on that corner anymore. It's a pretty good bet you can't get a good egg cream there anymore, nor the long, sturdy pretzel rods that were maybe a nickel or a dime back then. The egg cream was a quarter and worth every bit of it.

Ah, nostalgia. Hey, there are few enough good memories from those years, I'll take these and cordon them off so as not to get contaminated. Who am I kidding? The feelings are still there, buried deep. Let's not go there.

I had a hard time today deciding which client's work to get started on next and now that I've made a decision, I'm having a hard time deciding whether to actually work on it today or take the rest of the day off (ha!).

It's time for my nap, though. Maybe more later.

I don't wanna!

Don't want to blog right now...so I am.

A friend called me back a little while ago. She returned a call from, oh, I dunno, five days ago? A week? 'S'all right, she's like that sometimes. She made me feel my frustration over my apartment, though. It's such a disaster area and that's really not much of an exaggeration.

Let's not go there.

Also, let's not go into money matters. It's only halfway through the month and I'm beginning to panic. Or, rather, trying not to, which doesn't really work, because if you make the effort not to do something, you're already paying way too much attention to it. So I'll just say that my clients had better get on the ball and write some checks, pronto, and leave it at that.

So much for not going there.

I didn't go out at all today. I slept until around 12:30, which is okay, since I didn't go to sleep until 4 am. I did get up at 10:30 to accept a package from FedEx, but then I fed the cat and went back to sleep. Of course, the cat didn't like what I gave him, but I guess he ate enough to let me sleep. That's not always how it works.

I'm worried about him, he's not eating well at all. He needs to go back to the vet next week.

Wait, shhhh. I think I hear him eating in the kitchen right now.

Best offer

One of the errands I ran today was to buy a new lottery ticket. There was a young (well, young to me, he may have been in his 30s) man also waiting, and he had just turned in a ticket that paid him $125. Of course I congratulated him while thinking to myself all the things I could have used that money for and wishing it had been me. Anyway, we got to talking a little bit and I said that I wasn't greedy, I'd be happy to share the $220 million jackpot, we could both win. And he said, No, he'd win and then he'd let me be one of his wives, part of his harem.

Definitely the best offer I'd had in years.

whimper

I am so not feeling well today. Mostly, it's from sleep deprivation, I think. I guess the cold, damp weather hasn't helped, even though I haven't been out of the apartment today, not even to get the mail.

I'm waiting for pizza to be delivered, because cooking anything is beyond me at this point and there's nothing microwaveable in the fridge or freezer. I'm going to curl up in bed with the pizza and watch "All The President's Men" on PBS and read some more of Clark Clifford's memoirs (it's fascinating stuff) and hopefully get some decent sleep tonight.

To sleep, perchance to dream?

Okay, I just started falling asleep trying to think of how to start. This is not good.

Unbelievable how little sleep I got last night and yet I'm functioning. How well remains to be seen, I guess. I did take a "nap" for about an hour or so. I don't think I actually slept, I think I just laid there and rested. But maybe I slept, I understand sleep research has shown that people who don't think they sleep really do.

Anyway, I actually decided to start blogging to get my writing juices flowing again, so I'll actually, y'know, do some. Writing, that is. But a little while ago, I realized I could also use this to help break my spider solitaire addiction. So far, it's not working for either, but at least the five minutes I spend typing this up is not being spent playing spider solitaire. So that's something.

I guess I should get back to work and finish this freakin' tape already.

Busy, busy

I've been too busy to post. Okay, that's my story and I'm sticking with it.

Actually, yesterday I had to run to the doctor because I woke up with what felt like an ear infection. Neither the physician's asst. nor the doctor could see anything wrong, so the doctor gave me samples (yay!) of some antihistimines and, well, really I felt better before I took any of them, but I'm taking them anyway, because I said I would and report back. She thinks it might have been that I was congested and the Eustachean tube was being affected.

Between you, me and the lamppost, it could very well have been a dental thing. It's not like I've seen a dentist in the last 10 years and that was just one cleaning. But let's not go there, shall we? Suffice it to say, if anything ever happens to me, they will not be able to identify me through dental records, because there aren't any.

So I'm behind on my work today, partly due to the above, partly due to just taking it easy (so what else is new?) and partly due to losing my mind with a client's job that someone did for me--she did it wrong and her software is screwy--but I got to make my worker nutsoid in the process, so we're even.

Why, oh, why didn't I just win the damn lottery this week? It would have solved so many of my problems. I've always liked the sentiment behind the t-shirt that says "Lord, let me prove to you that winning the lottery won't spoil me."

More tomorrow...maybe.

Yesterday was very busy. I worked and got ready to prepare dinner for friends at one of their homes. When I got home, I was too exhausted to turn on the computer, or even to watch the show I taped while I was out--The West Wing.

I got around to watching it a little while ago and I remain kind of devastated. I started crying at the opening credits, so you can just imagine what I was like by the end. But maybe I'm just sleep deprived. I do need a nap.

But, really, I'm going to miss that show so very, very much when it's gone. I miss Leo/John Spencer. I'm glad Josh and Donna finally got together--but I want to see them hug, snuggle, SOMEthing. And I want to know that they stay together. Selfish of me, I know, but since it's the show's last hurrah, they can do anything they want, no matter how unrealistic.

Okay, the cat's yelling at me, I better go see if I can get him to eat more food. And then I'll take a nap.

Wow

Three days in a row. Okay, at some point, I'll stop being meta about this and just write, right?

Today my work is progressing slowly, but progressing. I had a nice call from my friend in California, Loretta and I'm eating small portions of food (so far--I expect it'll get worse from here on in). I even got almost a decent amount of sleep last night. Or should I say "night"-I went to be around 4 am, cat got me up at 6 and then I went back to sleep until the alarm went off at 9:40, turned it off and woke up again around 11:15. Then I showered, checked my bank account online, went to the bank to make a deposit, picked up a few things at the supermarket and came home. Oh, yeah, before the bank, I stopped off at the post office to put my rent check in the mail. Go figure, the first time this year I'm on time with that and it's April Fool's Day.

I keep feeling like I need a nap, but I haven't had one yet. I need to eat some more, watch the tape of "House" from last night and chop some garlic for tomorrow. And I need to make a lot more progress on this job, at least another hour, which I'm sure I can do, but more would be better, which I'm not so sure about. Oh, well.

I think this is quite possibly the most boring post evah.

I'm baaaack

Well, I made it back here, imagine that. That makes twice.

Okay, I admit it, this totally scares me. But what else is new?

I've been thinking lately about what I might use a blog for, what I might write here. Esp. if I arranged it so no one else could see it. Not sure if I've managed to set this up right for that, but I'm reasonably sure. Of course, that fits in with the pattern of my life. Which reminds me of a cartoon I have up on the bulletin board in my bedroom. Heh, going to the bedroom to find it, I realized there are not one, but *three* cartoons that fit this:

1. This one has 8 panels with the following captions:

I live inside a shell
That is inside a wall
That is inside a fort
That is inside a tunnel
That is under the sea
Where I am safe
From you.

If you really loved me, you'd find me.

Then we have:

2. One panel, two captions. On top, it says: A Very, Very Private Person. There's a guy writing something in a book. Underneath, it says, "Dear Diary: None of your damn business!"

Last, but not least:

3. A Garfield strip.

First panel: Garfield is lounging in an easy chair. He says: Sigh.
Second panel: He says: Life has passed me by.
Third panel: He says: Of course, I had to hide a few times.

So that's where I'm at. It really is the story of my life. And so all the whining/self-pitying I was going to do about how relatively friendless I am (sort of)--fuck that. At least for now. Sometime else, I may need to do that, get it off my chest, out of my system, whatever--deal with it.

But not tonight.

Starting

Well, I don't know if this is going to work, but I'm going to try it, because not writing is killing me. Of course, writing could also kill me, but that's okay. Really, it just may be painful, I won't die. I'm pretty sure.