-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

everything feels like something....

The weekend is finally here. And I am relieved not so much because it is two days off from work but because I am finally about to start a regular week. Itís been so crazy lately. Between vacation days, half-days, sick days and work days spent out of the office I have not had one full work-week in at least a month Ė maybe longer. Starting next week my schedule will be very normal Ė no time off until Thanksgiving when Iíll take both Thursday and Friday off because weíre going to Oregon to visit GBís dad and step mom.

I know it probably sounds weird to be happy that Iím going to work the next seven weeks straight but it comes as a relief that I can work a normal work week and not try to cram five daysí worth of work into four or three or two Ė things can just be somewhat normal. I can work hard but still have a bit of down time instead of eking productivity out of each and every goddamned second. Actually if things go really well I might take a day off the first week of November just to catch up on school stuffÖ.who knowsÖ.

Anyway, this worker mouse hasnít been too cheerful lately Ė I feel drained and strained and maxed out.

I suppose the fact that I am up to my eyeballs in homework isnít helping.

Actually the school isnít going too bad. My only real freak out stuff comes when I think about finding time to write my next short story which is due on Nov. 7th. For the first one that was due (the one that was just workshopped) I reworked and expanded something I had written last year. I didnít want to do that again Ė though maybe that would have been smarter Ė so Iíve just started a new piece and my hope is to write and revise about 2500 words sometime between now and Nov. 7. To write a story that makes sense.

Thatís what Iím supposed to be doing right now. And I have been for about the last hour and a half. Itís 3:30 on Saturday afternoon and Iím sitting in the alcove of the neighborhood cafť typing away on my laptop and listening to Bryan Ferry. Iíve written about 500 words so far Ė but itís rough, very rough. Anyway I needed a bit of a break, my neck is starting to hurt and my eyes are tired. So I decided to write a diary entry Ė Iíll add it later tonight. I think Iíll be home alone tonight. I think GB is going to the out-of-town show with the Kids. I hope he does. Not because I donít want him around. Well, it sounds horrible to say but I donít want him around. I need some time to myself. Some more time to write, some time to just fuck around in the house with the stereo turned up loud and the freedom to dance around the living room in my underwear and socks. Not that he would mind if I did something like that while he was there, but itís not the same for me you know?

Anyway we spent time together last night at the rock show (where I almost cried when PK sang me my song) and again this morning over a breakfast of extra-hot coffee and black-bean and egg white burritos.

We did fight this morning though Ė pre-breakfast. Not good. Not good at all. An ugly fight borne out of nothing. But I suppose there is a good side to it. The fight was so heated and ugly (and no, I donít want to say what it was about) that it served as a release of sorts. Building up to a crescendo of fury and spitefulness until finally it blew up and then over.

And you know that feeling you get, post-fight? The one where everything feels so incredibly calm and you wonder how you could have been so angry in the first place? You have just screamed every last bit of anger out of your blood and bones and now you feel spent and perhaps just a little bit bewildered.

Shit. I just counted these words Ė 696. 696 words in 20 minutes. Compared to the (quickly switches back to other document to check) 577 short story words itís taken me an hour and a half to write.

Not fair. Not fair at all.

I guess I should get back to that.

But wait Ė I keep meaning to update the Angel Boy and Funny Girl story. So quickly, quickly. Really Iím not just procrastinating. Well just a little bit.

Dinner w/ Angel Boy and Funny Girl was a bit strange Ė afterwards GB said it was as if the two-and-half-years theyíve been apart were suddenly erased and they were sitting there as a couple again.

It did feel that way. They were attentive and teasing and gentle and kind to one another. Not that friends arenít normally that way towards each other Ė but given the history it all felt strange.

A few days later I finally heard from Funny Girl via an e-mail where she wrote I guess youíre wondering why we all ended up at dinner together when the last time you checked I wasnít even speaking to Angel Boy.

Anyway, in an attempt to keep this fairly short - FG wrote that it was tradition to spend Angel Boy's b-day w/ him - and us. And indeed it has been. She also said she'd had a feeling that she ought to give it a go of sorts and that she would tell me more about that later.

I e-mailed her back - that was last Friday I think - and haven't heard back from her. But since then Angel Boy has broken up with his 18-year-old girlfriend and told me over the phone that he's always thought of FG and "the one".

I'm not quite sure what to make it of it all, but far be it for me to be stand in the way of two adults who might have inkling of what they're doing. Even if they DON'T know what they're doing -well hell, who does really?


OK, I'm writing at home now. GB is at the out-of-town show with the band. I came home to see him off and now in the hours since he's been I have paid bills, cleaned the kitchen, read diaries and put stuff up on eBay. No homework yet. I did write more than a 1,000 words at the cafe though. Shitty first draft words that would probably make even Anne Lamott cringe, but 1,000 words nonetheless.

I was thinking about going back and looking at those words - revising. But my instinct tells me that I'm still too close to them and my time will be better spent and served if I curl up on the couch with my books and just get some reading out of the way.

One final thing. Who thought it was a good idea to fly Fleet Week planes at a very low altitude in downtown San Francisco on Thursday afternoon?

I suppose that those who already knew that it was Fleet Week it was no big deal. But for the rest of us dumbasses, the sound and sight of loud military jets swooping in between buildings was downright terrifying. I know I was not the only one who, stopped in my tracks by the body-shaking, ear-piercing rumble of a military jet, looked up into the sky and felt as if my heart would stop when I saw the plane flying perilously close to the buildings. I know they must not have been that close but from my perspective on the ground, neck strained as I looked up toward the sky, they seemed pretty damn close.

A rather tasteless display of military prowess if you ask me.

Alright, off the Net and on to my reading....

9:42 pm - 10.12.02

sounds: Richard Ashcroft
words: school books
i am: enjoying my evening alone

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

previously on ... - next time on ...

money can't buy happiness but it does buy small pieces of of serenity - 15.07.12 - 4:29 pm

sh)t's about to get real, y'all - 31.05.12 - 9:46 am

why the hell not? - 29.04.12 - 8:38 pm

Hear that lonesome whistle blow... - 02.04.12 - 5:18 pm

a faith in something I can't see - 30.03.12 - 3:33 pm

latest entry

about me

archives

notes

base

contact

random entry

guestbook

other diaries:

moodswing
secret-motel
yourtipsucks
sparkspark
arajane
fuck--that
birdandegg
gizzhead
veganfuckk
ratherbored
astralounge
boombasticat
oh-sweet-pea
but-whatever
gingeryette
ann-frank
dearedwin
soapboxdiner
myra-lee
reddirtgirl
kayemess
colddigits
miralogue
nudeplatypus
mrs-roboto
miserystar
allmadhere
widgetbitch
inarticulate