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Wednesday, February 23, 2005

hating my life 

Oh my god, I have to break up with this client. And I have no idea how to do it - I've never done it before. But they said they wanted a developer and it turns out they want a webmaster/sysadmin/tech-support thing that I am just not. Not not not. Not a hand-holder, a setter-up of email accounts, an updater-of-stupid-web-pages. Not a contacter of people because you're too incompetent to talk to them yourself.

I've told myself I'm going to ride it out till the end of the month, then send them an invoice and a "Dear John" letter. It's not you, it's me. I'm just not ready for this sort of commitment. I thought we would be great together, but well, we're not.

Plus, I have zero time as it is between work and perseverating. It'd be nice if I could cut down on the perseverating, but I don't see that happening any time soon, so we'll start by cutting out other annoyances.
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Thursday, February 03, 2005

Wow, it's been a long time. 

It's been a long time since everything. A long time since I posted. A long time since I felt like I could take time away from pretending to work (pretending, because this is the first productive day I've had in at least a month; and it's a darn good thing I finally had one, because robbing Peter to pay Paul was running out of steam, both time-wise and money-wise). A long time since I had anything to say that I felt like letting anyone hear - although my roommates have been forced to listen to all sorts of things I didn't think anyone would want to hear.

And in a couple of months, I'll be living on my own again, and it's been a long time since I did that.

The last time I lived by myself - totally, completely by myself, no roommates or live-in - was...oh jesus, it was eight years ago. Seventeen years old, never been away from home for more than three weeks before, never experienced a real winter, even a northwest one, never tried to fit in in a strange city, or gone to a school with ten thousand students, all trying to be different and unique and just like everyone else.

Living in the tiniest apartment imaginable - 167 square feet that I was paying far too much for (never move to a city with two weeks to find a place to live), and there was no bathroom sink, so you had to wash your hands in the kitchenette, where I had only a tiny refrigerator, a tiny microwave, and a toaster over - in a building filled with senior citizens and potheads, an hour from school and hardly ever making it to my morning classes. Well on my way to flunking out and drinking coffee every day with a retiree who turned out to be trying to molest me.

Wandering the streets downtown in the afternoons, buying cheap silver jewelry to match my drugstore black eyeliner and thriftstore flappy black skirts, hitting the clubs with my fake ID and drinking raspberry cider until closing time. Dancing until I could barely walk in the morning. Falling into bed at 7am, knowing I had class in two hours, never caring about another skipped calculus lesson. Sobbing on the phone to my parents that I wanted to come home.

I loved the freedom. I hated the sheer desperate loneliness. I didn't make friends at all that first year - I didn't even meet anyone my own age, despite going to a humongous university, until I moved into the dorms my second year. At one point I realized that it had been a month since I'd had a conversation with a human being that wasn't a business transaction (this was after Greg made his move in the elevator and I ran away to my apartment and had hysterics and ignored his knock on my door at three in the morning and I thought he was my friend, dammit, I saw him as a sort of uncle-y figure but he only wanted to get into my pants all those times he was giving me advice about life). At least I had family there - a month was about as far as it could go before some aunt or (real) uncle wanted to buy me dinner and talk about my classes.

Now I find I'm actually looking forward to being on my own again. This time I can pay my own rent - I have been for two years straight, after all. This time it's after the therapy, and I can speak a coherent sentence without freaking out for days afterwards. I'm kind of looking forward to peace and quiet, to days on end without the TV or music playing and getting my own meals and maybe buying chewy artisan bread at the farmer's market and having that for dinner because I like bread, dammit, especially when the yeast makes big holes in it and the crust is so crusty.

The last time I was on my own I reinvented myself. I dressed in black and wore lots of rings and necklaces and took an hour to draw my eyeliner out to my temples in the morning. Maybe I can do that again. Not the black and the necklaces and the eyeliner, but the reaching inside and pulling out a new person. Maybe I'll walk down the streets and meet friendly people, sit in coffee shops and actually write instead of just reading things other people have written, dance until I can hardly walk the next morning. Maybe I'll find someone I'll like a little better than the person I've been for the past few months.

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Just for the record 

Anytime you want to stop this, winter, you can go right ahead. It was refreshing in November. It was remarkably bearable in December. In January I was surprised at my endurance and my acclimatization to the weather.

But now it's February, and I'm getting a little sick of it. OK, so I know spring doesn't come for another month or so, and it won't really be warm until April. But couldn't we just shrug off those conventions and just - frigging - stop it this year?

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Monday, January 17, 2005

It's strange 

It's strange, how warm it is outside tonight. Strange, to live in a place where the air has more to do with the temperature than the sun. A warm front is moving in, and it's predicted to be in the 60s by tomorrow, or possibly Wednesday. Despite the fact that we couldn't leave the house this weekend because of the ice on the roads and the driveway, and the decree came down that anyone caught driving without chains or snow tires would be ticketed.

25 degrees on Saturday. 60 on Tuesday. Strange.

I grew up in the tropics. The absolute coldest winter of my life (before I grew up and went off to school in Canada, before I moved back to the Northwest) it dropped down to 50 degrees. It was a record low. I think I was two, maybe a bit older but I don't remember my brother being around, so two sounds about right. My parents and I huddled under an afghan on the couch, and even the cat, who was a Persian with incredibly long, thick fur, crawled under the blankets for warmth.

Now it's 52 degrees outside, and I can go out for a cigarette, and say It's strange, how warm it is outside tonight.

I guess I've acclimated. How...strange.

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Thursday, January 13, 2005

Blogonia Uber Alles. 

DECREE THE FIRST! All news is now NET-news! All reporting is now E-reporting! The New York Times will spend 90% of its content bickering with the Washington Post in an increasingly abstract yet personal argument regarding the feasibility of anarcho-capitalism in the works of A. A. Milne! The CBS Evening News will be replaced by one man persistently correcting the Washington Post's spelling and grammar for thirty minutes! The Wall Street Journal will consist entirely of excerpts of the New York Times and the Washington Post followed by a single "Indeed"!

Indeed.
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Then, dear readers, he tried to put it in his mouth. 

I *heart* finslippy
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Thursday, December 30, 2004

We interrupt this broadcast... 

Yet another "Does this happen to anyone else?" edition: So I woke up today with English Beat's "Mirror in the Bathroom" stuck in my head. Which isn't too bad a thing since I've been meaning to go buy it off of iTunes sometime.

But after an hour or so, I realized that my brain had quietly changed the lyrics it was mindlessly repeating, so that I was humming this:
Mirror in the bathroom
Please talk free
The door is locked
Just you and me
Can I take you to a restaurant
It's got glass tables
You can crap yourself while you are eating
This isn't the first time this has happened, either. About half the time that a song gets stuck in my head I realize after a while that something's happened to the lyrics while I wasn't paying attention. Usually something impolite, but sometimes just nonsensical. Does this happen to anyone else?
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Tuesday, December 28, 2004

I command you 

Help.

That is all.
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Saturday, December 25, 2004

Merry Christmas 

And now, of course, you see what I'll be up to for the next while. I discovered that only about 1/3 of my music was imported into my ITunes library - mostly I'm missing CDs I ripped to WMA, which take forever for ITunes to convert to AAC format. I figure in a day or two I should have it all imported to my sexy new baby.

***Now Playing: Soft Cell, "Sex Dwarf"***

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Marriage is love.