just got home from Judi's after trying to free-up some space on her hard-drive, and trying to install some extra RAM. Failed on the RAM. Marginally sucessful with the drive, got an extra 20MB. But now her computer sounds are screwed-up, and only some of them. It's almost as if the .wav files were corrupted. Some sound scratchy and raspy, the rest are all clear and clean. I couldn't figure it out, and my allergy to her cats was getting very bad, so, like every other time I try to fix her system, I left it slightly improved with something new wrong.
Yesterday I found another online journal. It's not like they are rare, but I was not looking for a journal at this particular site. Last time I was there was a few months ago (so I thought), but actually, I haven't been to his site in a whole year—time across my keyboard passes in an entirely different way than everywhere else on earth.
tyboi's page will take you days to absorb. There's everything from tributes, to berations, to Abercrombie guys, to political statements. And of course there is his journal. He has way more pages than me, and I keep bumping up against my server's disk quota. I guess the ISP's are just stingier out East. <grin>
I've been wasting hours here, since I sat down to write, 8 hours to be exact. It's almost 3AM and I have to do laundry in the morning. No big deal? When you do it as seldom as me, it becomes a BIG deal. Sweet dreams.
well, so much for doing laundry. Stayed in bed, even though I woke up at 8 AM. Felt like I really needed to sleep more, but just layed there, dozing. No deep sleep. I fight these days when I have to go back to work. I'm such a baby.
I have to change this format. These tiny entries don't warrant a whole page, and some days I have two completely seperate and significant (or at least long) entries which should be seperated. So consider this the first. Now I am late again, and got to go to work. Bye.
back from work. Pistachio ice cream, again. This is the second day in a row indulging this obsession. (There hides in each of us somewhere a desperate hedonist. Feed him.)
Starting my third week cocktail-free, and I feel better every day. But that's to be expected, since this is still pretty early in my recovery from conventional treatment. Every day my improved condition is less the result of removing toxins, and more the result of actions I take to support my health.
There is within us an alienation from self, a slightly imperfect union between the real self and the ideal self. It is a space into which modern medicine is neatly implanted, ostensibly to join the two, to keep the body together with the soul. But in practice that fizzure not only never narrows, it widens as a result of medicine's residing there. I have evicted it, and at first the comfort is profound as the splitting pressure it exerted is relieved. But I must now begin to work, shaman-like, and gather far-flung universal forces to embrace me tight, to bring these seperate selves together, and close the space.
Good night.
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