All Things Profane and Sacred

Today the hateful smoke detector launched an attack with me. We've had words before-it keeps going off when I'm in the shower for some reason-but haven't been able to resolve our difficulties.

It waited until I was weak. I had gone out last night, and was feeling a bit under the weather this morning. My dog need to go out, so I stumbled into some clothes and took him for a potty. When I came back in, it launched itself at my head. I think this is an omen of things to come.

I've kept most of my letters in a black plastic folder in my closet. The letters stopped rolling in a few years ago. The only exception are a stack of letters from a friend who did some jail time-no email in jail. The advent of serious email usage stunted my personal history archives. Looking at them, I wonder how much we've lost with email. I don't want to sound like some moaning twit-Oh, Horrors! How the World has Moved On!-but the self flushing email can never replace a handwritten letter.

I have a letter from a close friend who died a few years ago. I have erotic poetry sent from my first boyfriend. I have stalker letters from high school friends (complete with a picture of the hamburger heart they left on my car).

Looking at these pages has so much feeling and emotion tied to it. I remember how I felt when I got the letter, and what was going on in my life then. Just as I'll never again feel exactly the way I did at that moment in time, I will likely never see many of the writers again.

I suddenly realized today that it is Memorial Day weekend. I totally feel at loose ends. I love holidays, childishly, but have no plans. No BBQ, picnic or beaching. I'm too broke. Shit.

I almost crawled out of my hermit cave today, and then backed down. The rain was drumming so peacefully against my roof, and my sweaty pants were so comfy and the beer was so sweet. Bath, book, beer-can't get better than that. And sweaty pants. Always with the sweaty pants.

I've been gradually realizing that when the boy and I moved in together, I gradually started dressing down. I'm not sure why, or what exactly happened, but I lost all sense of what I looked like. I haven't worn perfume in over a year. Most days I dress to go to school or work, but otherwise slop around in the ever present sweaty pants.

Jebus. Frightening. I have to fight against it now to reverse the effects of the world's mad plunge into suffering for the last two hundred million years. Oh, wait. That's something different.

I saw this great post on craigslist today for the John Ashcroft fan club. I wrote the guy back, just because I'm killing time this morning (the prof is avoiding me, and I don't start job 2 untill 11) and because it was the John Ashcroft fan club fer christ's sakes.

I've been thinking about having a John Ashcroft party, which means whenever I run into someone they ask, "so when's the Ashcroft party?" I'm too hermitized these days to really seriously plan an Ashcroft party, but I admit it sounds like a good time. Classic porn and a bill 'o rights barbeque and draping all the nudie statutes in my house. I guess we'll see.

The season of the dead mole is upon Portland. I'm not really sure why dead moles proliferate at this time of year-hell, the wildlife is so freakin weird here. All I know is it happened at about the same time last year too. At first you see one or two baby mole bodies here or there. Then the dead moles expodentially increase untill you're surrounded by dark furry bodies with little long toed feet, and pinky noses. I tell you, I just don't get it.

Summer thoughts are pressing into my back today. I'm flat ass broke, so I'm at work, but the light in the trees is making me hungry. It's the first good porch sitting day I've seen in a long time, but hey-well, what the hell.

I've been wandering around, feeling like half a person. Not in a constant way, but sometimes I wonder why I'm feeling at loose ends and I realize it's because of the lack of boy by my side. He tells me he understands why we can't be together, and I understand it, but I don't feel it yet. Time takes time I spose.

My dog and I are locked into a contest of wills. This is fine and normal around my house, but it's starting to irk me that he seems to be winning. I've got the brain, but he has the driving determination. Dunno how this will play out.

It's all about the cat food. There is nowhere I can put it that he can't ferret it out and chomp it down. None of my counters are high enough to put food on-the ones that are high enough to keep him out are too high for my ancient cat to hop up upon. Feeling very Homo Sapien, I devised this closet scheme where her food was behind a baby gate and a table leaf. He simply destroyed my closet, and ate the food. Dog 1, Homo Sapien 0.

So yesterday I was recreating with some of my favorite recreationals and was in no shape for grown up time. Today, I find myself much the same. I should really straighten up and take care of some business, but I just feel so drained all the time. I need a vacation from my life sometimes. Fiddle dee dee, I'll deal with it tommorrow, because tommorrow is another day!

Today has been a day of extreme ups and downs. I kicked ass at the job interview. If I wanted full time hours, she would have hired me right there. Since I can only do part time, she needs to look at some budgetary concerns and see what she could wrangle. Whether I get the job, or no, it's always good to go into an interview and hit it off.

Then, the professor I'm working for complimented me on my fantastic research skills. I know this doesn't seem like much, but you need to understand the way law school works. You go in, and you're this bright person who's always been at the top, acheivement wise. Then they spend a year tearing you apart, and showing you how every you do is garbage. Ok, boo-fucking-hoo, but alls I'm saying is that compliments are nice.

Then I got my grades for this last semester. I could really only focus on one grade-that horrible "too low to be true" grade. I'm not the type to whine about grades, or haggle for points once the test is finished. What's done is done. But I had a bad feeling about this, so I emailed him, and sure enough, part of my test was missing.

I got it all straightened out, but it's really been a long process, full of bad feelings and such.

I have this crazy job interview this morning. If I get the position, I will be working part time at the defenders, and part time working on a victims' rights paper. Can I get any more contrary?

The people at Yahoo have incurred my wrath. I can feel angry little pulsings in my poor tired eyes. I am raining down fire and brimstone in my mind.

I should call up Bill Gates. This is all his fault. If he hadn't made computers so friendly and easy to use, I'd have never opened an email account with Yahoo. Nor would I have instructed my other email accounts to empty their precious mail into the worthless yahoo account. Nor would I be furiously exchanging emails with yahoo, where they deny any problem with my account.

Like I would just decide to pass the time sending them amusing correspondence.

Last night my pool partner was a little late meeting up with me. In those 8 minutes that I sat alone at the bar, I was approached and hit upon. I mean, talk about record time. This bar isn't a meat market in the slightest-it's ostensibly a "sports bar," but since it is one of the few bars in the area, there's usually a more eclectic crowd.

The guy hitting on me was cataclysmically stoned. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm pro-pot. I'm just not very attracted to guys who have achieved that constantly stoned look. Because, as much as I like to get stoned, I don't like to be constantly stoned. I have shit to do. Shit that involves being not stoned. Because when I'm stoned, I don't want to do anything except eat or go to sleep. I don't even understand this "weed as aphrodisiac" deal. I don't want to make the double backed beast when I'm stoned. I'd rather eat the double backed beast. No. That didn't come out right.

Oh, man. I was up at 5 this morning, so I could be in court for a volunteer thing at 8, and when I came home, I just crashed all day long. I did swing by for work, but my prof. wasn't in, so home and bed became the only thing on my schedule.

Jebus. Look at what I just wrote. My sleep addled brain is no good. Shit, and I've been emailing people. Like, people I don't know, who have powers. Not secret super powers, but more peoply power.

Damn, I gotta go back to sleep.

I screwed up big time yesterday. You see, I was doing some research using the evil Westlaw. Westlaw is evil because they hook you with lots of free stuff-like fancy-ass travel mugs, stuffed animals and free printing-and then when you're out of law school, KABAM! Fees up the wahzoo. But by this time you're hooked on the sweet easy research. Kinda like crack.

Anywho, I was doing Westlaw research and sending my results to the Westlaw printer, intending to pick them up the next day. When I came in, the printer was all jammed up with somebody's big horkin' 1000 page print job. I manage to get this untangled and the print job continues, and I'm muttering about the damn fool who's being all wasteful and printing all this shit they do not need.

So I get some help from the reference desk. He looks at the stuff and says, "Hey, this stuff is printed from your ID." Turns out, due to default print settings and my stupidity in ignoring them, I didn't print the list of souces I wanted, but the full text of every source in the list.

I felt slightly better when he postulated that the default setting had changed from "list" to "full document" because Westlaw charges lawyers for printing and they hope to make mon-ay from forgetful/stupid lawyers. They weren't counting on forgetful/stupid law students (surprising, I know).

So instead of being a big paper waster, I was more like a proletarian hero-socking it to the man.

Have you ever noticed how weird ears look? They're these little flaps of skin (okay and cartilidge or some shit like that) that are stuck on the sides of our heads. Gross.

I had a friend who was totally anti-toe because they looked like space aliens growing out from tree stumps. She couldn't handle sandal weather. I don't have a problem with toes, but ears are another story altogether.

I know this makes me a total nutjob, but I get extremely irritated when people cut the bus off. You know-when the bus pulls away from a stop you're sposed to yeild to it. Out here the buses even have these little lit up yeild signs the driver can flip on if they are having a pisser of a time getting going.

It isn't anything I should even be concerned about, but I get soooo pissy. I can't help it-I sit in my car and stew and fuss and swear. Bastard-asses. Like it's so hard to wait for the friggin' bus.

Tonight I'm a lonely girl listening to the O'Franken factor and typing one handed on the qwerty while fantasizing about the geek boy of my dreams.

Woo Hoo! First day on the real job. Digging in the trenches to advance victims' rights. I have a couple more hours to put in before I knock off for the night, but it is so fucking great having a flexible work-at-home type of deal going on. And not one of those scammy-type deals either, but an honest to goodness job.

I can feel the honest sweat of a hard day's work upon my brow.

Whew. B-day yesterday. I feel a little woozy this morning. Slurping water in big gulps and beachin it on the couch. I need to clean things up a little too-I have no clean dishes or clothes. The ladies came over for an alchohol fueled cranium fest, and they were all so good to me. No questions about the missing boy, flowers galore, cake and ect. It's good to have friends.

Today I need to face reality and box up the boy's stuff. I have also explained the situation so that if longings of remorse or lust occur, the troops can step in and assert some reality. It feels odd to be single again, but beyond that I don't have very many other feelings about the break up. I feel like I should have more-anger, disappointment, sadness, happiness, something-but I really don't. I mean I get occaisional flashes of stuff and things, but beyond that I just feel kind of blank. Dunno.

Today I get this call at work from a guy I'll call Psycho-Man (since I don't know his real name). Some background: I work at the library at School. Psycho-Man says this professor chick has left books for him in her locked office. Could someone unlock her office so he can get the books?

Oh, sure. Yep. I'll unlock someone's office for a complete stranger to rummage around for property he wants. Kay-Oh skipper.

Now that finals are over for me, I have all sorts of excess adrenalin pushing me about throughout the day. It will dissipate in the next few days, but for now it churns and keeps me anxious, although I have a few days to myself for the next while.

I have an actual job this summer, which is a nice secure feeling. I've been putting the summer plans together while in the middle of the maelstrom, so I'm starting work with a reputation for being generally dazed and manic in turn. We'll see how it goes, but I'm hoping for good things.

The guitar lady has amplified ugly to mean, "ugly paint job." Paint job? On an acoustic guitar? I'm too curious at this point not to go. Damn the gas prices, I need some entertainment. I'm envisioning a purple with orange striped git with a crudely rendered unicorn on the body somewhere.

I'm wrestling over craigslist with this woman from McMinneville. She is selling a Johnson guitar for zer cheap. I need a guitar, but I'm zer broke. It could be a good deal, or it could be a piecha-shit. No information in the ad, beyond what I've told you, so I email her and ask a list of questions pertinent to making a guitar buy. She ignores my questions and writes back: "Good sound, but UGLY. Metal strings."

I think this transaction may take awhile. For the price I would just drive out there, if it was local, but McMinneville is a bit of a haul, what with gas prices hovering around $2.10 a gallon. I'm pleading, look lady, just peer inside the guitar and tell me the model number. Could you tell me what ugly means to you? Beat up? Wrong color? What????

This is how you sell things. You give information.

Another beautiful day in the neighborhood. I'm still in the process of procrastinating for my ethics exam. At least today I'm sitting at work and procrastinating. Nothing like making money for putting off that which is inevitible.

Lots of unhappyness in my little house last night. Big scenes. Not sure what comes next. My eyes are puffy and bloodshot with lack of sleep. Trying to wrap my head around some big changes. Right in the middle of finals, of course. What better time for a full scale freak out. I feel totally drained. Not sure if I'm ready to face up to reckoning.

Ah procrastination. How sweet is your balmy breeze, which wipes the dank sweat of panic from my brow.

I read an interesting article on Gorgeous George yesterday while procrastinating on the ethics front. I knew he was a wrestler and all, but I was completely unaware that he started the "I'm going to tear him apart and urinate on his dead body" tradition of taunting the opponent.

I was even more unaware that he acted like a stereotypical gay guy-prancing around limp wristed with flashy feminized clothing, lavender robe, etc. Apparently this really riled up the audience-all those hot under the collar het men got all excited, cheering on Gorgeous George's opponent to rip apart the "fag" (George was married, and this queerness was apparently just a hook to get more wrestling gigs). Thus was born the first bad guy wrestler. The hook worked-while George wasn't a great wrestler, he was in demand to the point that several George impersonators came on the scene.

The trees are excreting this cotteny fuzz which is drifting down like bastardized snowflakes. It's piling up on the porch and spreading throughout my house thanks to the dog, cat and humans tracking in and out. Sitting outside, the puffs brush against you, leaving a distinct feeling of molestation hovering embarassingly in your mind's eye. I even managed to snuffle this shit in whilst running today. Luckily it didn't get very far into my nose. Unfortunately, that's because it stuck to the sweat on my nose and instantly congealed.

I'm pro-tree, but this is just asking for a little too much.

I spilled 4 hours worth of con law out of my head and onto the page yesterday. Came home, stripped to my old underoos and sat on the couch and drank. One more final to go.

I keep on getting disturbing flashes of the outside world that make me want to curl up inside. Christians pushing to put their snuff film on network tv. Christians having anti-gay folk rallies. Christians grabbing up the stream of money that's pouring out of the white house. Jebus! You'd think the healing balm of Christ's love would make these fucking people shut the fuck up and go away already! If I was all satisfied that I had found the secret to life, the universe and everything, I think I'd be happy and content.