And Now
24 September 1998
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
|
And Now
24 September 1998
|
|
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
Yes, yes yes yes, I see you, stupid mail reader, there, I clicked on your window, are you satisfied? Sheesh. And you two telnet windows - knock that off! Do I have to come over there and tile you? Now, if all of you wouldn't mind, I am trying to talk to Photoshop. Thank you.
11:14 PM: I'm going nuts, yes. Well. "Going". Let's just say I'm accelerating, how's that? For every thing, turn, turn, turn, there is some stupid-ass problem that delays me another two hours, turn, turn, turn. And no time for any purpose under Heaven.
Go here. Sign it. Yes, now. I can wait.
OK, better. Didn't this use to be some kind of journal about my life? I think so. My life, hmmm. Well, I thought I might be meeting someone new this weekend, but I didn't. Maybe this coming weekend, I don't know, no firm plans. I am Jellofying on the N Judah train. So far I haven't stopped taking it, though. This is the Standard Pattern. I got an extra donut today, because I'm special.
I suppose in general, I'm living the way I usually do, with maybe a bit less angst lately just from being busy. But still I sit there alone, waiting by the telephone or someone just like him, sometimes. But I think I've decided that I'm pretty much substandard dating material and that I ought to get used to it, get over it, and find other things to do. Which sounds all bloody well and good and means about as much as a heartfelt Presidential hug. My mantra: If I'm not thinking about it, it's not bothering me.
Beer and books, these are good things. Unboring work, that's helpful. Little hobbies, always handy.
Above all else, don't think about this week, because it's Curse of the Almost-40s Week. Homer Simpson, 39 - despondent. Florence Joyner, 38 - dead. Cal Ripken, 38 - benched. How old is the UN?
I sure hope this new DJ Shadow album is good. Everyone I know listens to old music. Radio is just not an option, trust me on this. Where to turn? What to hear? I don't need sympathy, dammit, I need suggestions.
In other news, still running at a big total of Zero telephone responses to that personals ad. Maybe I should offer coupons.
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. | ||||
| ||||