Free-Floating
4 August 1998
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
|
Free-Floating
4 August 1998
|
|
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
There are times when I wish I had internal medical sensors set up, like they do for astronauts, so I could try to figure out what the hell was going on. That this sudden, overpowering feeling I have right now that somehow, the world has ended, everything is finished, I've failed miserably and it's too late to do anything about it - that it's really only low blood sugar or a neurotransmitter imbalance or something. I hear that some people just know these things about themselves - is that true? Do you? Or are you faking it?
It's just that it's so out of nowhere. I feel the way you do after you've hung up the phone on a vicious argument with someone you love. Like a black hole's in my stomach, wanting to draw everything inwards. Meanwhile my arms and legs feel almost detached, floating, hard to use, chills moving through the skin. And my brain's gone numb, except in a few very limited ways. Here's where whatever it is that's going on now is weird, because normally - after that argument, say - all my mind would be good for is continually rehashing what was said, why it was said, what it really meant, what now, bla bla. Now I can feel it wanting to do that, but there's nothing to go on about, it's like a tire spinning in the mud. Nothing except the lack of anything itself, that is. That's why I'm here now writing this, I can't imagine doing anything else.
Aaaaagh, send help, I'm lost in Clueless Land......
What I was going to talk about today before I so rudely interrupted was what I saw last night on Market Street. I don't want to jump to any conclusions, but this is what I can say about it. It was about 3 feet across. It was egg-shaped. It was a bright neony yellow. It was in one mostly complete piece, with broken-off fragments scattered around it. And it looked to me like it had been broken from the inside...
So if you see any, oh, weird scaly things walking around the financial district eating lawyers, well, maybe we know where it started.
Other good news: I got a Magic Key to the giant refrigeration system they call ventilators here in the office. I can actually shut it OFF now, after 5 pm at least. The quiet and lack of frigid air aimed at my neck is wonderful.
Uh. God, I have no idea what the problem is, but I sure do feel stupid. I was over at the Four11 site the other day for a reason I don't remember now. I thought, why not look up Mary? It won't work, what harm? Slight flaw in plan: it did work. Now I have her office phone number. (She has her very own secretary. Amazing - definitely a first for the kind of people I know...)
I haven't talked to Mary in close to 10 years, since not too long after she threw me out of our apartment. (Not literally, though she'd've liked to.) Wouldn't right now be the perfect time to call up and say, "Hey! Remember me?" Sure it would! And people say I'm not a good judge of situations. Pffh.
All right, this is out of hand. There's got to be some way to blow this mood away. I'm going to go make a server crash or play in traffic or something.
Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| yestoday | today | tomorrowday | ||
| archive | semi-bio | |||
| listen! | random | privit | ||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
|
| ||||
| ||||
|
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
All names are fake, most places are real, the
author is definitely
unreliable but it's all in good fun. Yep.
© 1998-1999 Lighthouse for the Deaf. All rights reserved and stuff. The motto at the top of the page is a graffito I saw on Brunswick Street in Melbourne. | ||||
| ||||