The whole purpose of this, was that the writers block that had been lasting over two months has finally been cleared. Thanks in part to me writing a 21k file entitled “Celibacy: The New Frontier” and passing it on to jericho/d1s to put into F.U.C.K.. It was the first piece written in over two months, and since then, I have felt this need to release my thoughts again to the world.
I’m fairly sure, except for a few small letters here and there, that the world isn’t dying because I haven’t written anything. However, the thing is, that I have felt a sense of ‘loss’ (for a better word) for -not- doing it. I’ve gotten pretty disgusted in the past, and tore the whole site down, but found out after doing so, that people were upset because it my web pages were no longer accessible. And it wasn’t really about my personal web pages, but my writings page.
In that time period, while surfing the web again, I’ve noticed that I wasn’t the only one who whose the idea of the journal was being used. Many sites show feelings/idea’s/dreams/heart-aches of that person’s life. In a way, it’s a bit daunting, because what makes me so much different then the average Joe Blow?
who cares. it is my life and no one lives it but me.
daily trappings:
Woke up later than planned today (2PM) and realized I had to leave at 4 P.M. to head to my job as a tech engineer (sounds more glamorous than it really is). Walking out of my bedroom, I noticed that psycho-schitzo roommate Irene had posted an addendum to her eviction notice yesterday: “If you plan on staying on after the 1st (of the month), I will require a deposit of 300 dollars to cover bills and such.” I started laughing. I have been living in this shit-hole for nearly a year, and -now- she’s requiring a deposit? I don’t think so. In the past couple of months, Irene has started getting -really- strange (more so than normal, this is California after all). For instance, when she got pissed off for god-knows what, she disconnected the heater for four days. Now, it wouldn’t be that big of a deal if it were not early February, and it was never more than 30 degrees outside. She’s pulled asinine stunts such as taking the living room TV into her bedroom, knowing we (Cathleen and I) couldn’t watch television, breaking dishes in angry fits and then turning around and making us presents in happier moments. Cathleen wasn’t as amused as I was. Cathleen had spent the better part of the morning talking to her now ex Ty, and was fairly upset. She and I have been looking for a place to split for a month now. But this being the Bay Area, it’s tougher then a needle in a haystack.
Work was uneventful, except for one thing: I was the only one manning the phone lines tonight.
Again, this wouldn’t be that big of deal, but it is Saturday night (should give you some clue as to my social life if I am working on a Saturday night), and everybody and their damn brother was wanting to get on-line. The calls in the queues were over 40 minutes long, and I was going nuts. Also one of our servers was acting flaky, so I had to speak to the sys admin on duty and attempt to fix it on our end. Not fun.
But, as par usual, since I am so damn charming and talented, I got head hunted on the phone. I should have emailed my resume out to the person, but I haven’t yet, and right now my resume is not up to date. But I will. (I procrastinate so damn much, that I probably won’t get it out till tomorrow at one point.)
I really hate my job. Well, that’s being excessive. I love it because I have plenty of freedom there, but I hate it because I don’t get paid nearly enough NOR am I recognized. For instance, last week I fixed on of the main computers (which was a priority because it was part of the network printer group), and Daniel, my immediate boss says he will email the head honcho’s and bcc me a copy of the letter for thanking me. Has this letter been sent? Hell no! And they wonder why they have such a high turn over rate? Or for that matter, why I’ve been scheduling interviews at other companies?
After work, Deva walked me down 2nd street towards the subway station and I felt somewhat safe. I had just made it in time to catch my train. I was sitting there reading Love in the Time of Cholera, when this guy walks over and sits down in front of me. I’m not sure what station he got on at, but it disturbed me with it being nearly late at night, and that he has to sit by me when there are tons of empty seats around.
He starts talking to me, and I stiffen a bit. It really bothers me when strangers start talking to me about nothing and everything in particular. Some people are nice, but others, well, you really don’t want to meet them after dark.
He introduced himself as Rick, and he asked me my name. I shook his hand and didn’t give him my name, just said “Hello.” I was busily attempting to read my book, and also staring out into the darkened tunnels. He keeps making small talk and I smile and nod and answer a few questions, and attempt to brush him off politely. When he finally gets the point that I’m not going to speak to him, he stops and just sits there. He then starts motioning towards me and moving his lips as if he was speaking to someone. I look up at him and apologizes. I ask sharply “For what?” and he doesn’t say anything at all. A bit disturbed, I get off at the next stop and walk fast to the other train. I turn around and he’s just standing there talking to someone and I’ve been forgotten. Slightly relieved I sit down in a single seat and pick up my book again. I can hear his raunchous laughter wafting in through the open doors. I start panicking and willing the doors to close, but it’s like the train operator isn’t listening to me.
Finally the doors being to close and I notice Rick’s laughter is still coming through the cracks. He’s safe on the platform while I’m safe inside the train. No one suspicious is sitting near me and I breathe a small sense of relief as I begin reading again.