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Reading: Shadow Divers, Robert Kurson Still next to my bed, still haven't finished it. White Oleander, Janet Fitch A random re-read. This is a wonderful book. Check out: Brain anatomy. 'Sup, thalamus? I am so grooving on Gwen. I want to dance to "Cool" in a darkened cafeteria, ESPRIT bag slung over my shoulder, requisite 12 inches between me and my Coca-Cola-jersey-wearing boy. Artifact:
I found this on an old roll of b&w film - looking out at Puget Sound from the park near Pike Place Market. Journal links: Amalah | Friday, January 7, 2005 I declared today a snow day despite the lack of freezing temperatures. That's right, 144th Ave SE - you don't like me, and I don't like you. I'm staying in bed where I can't be a menace to others. I don't want to keep going on and ON about yesterday's little ice incident, but I keep re-living it in my head. I mean, I'm not a total drama queen here, I have perspective and I am thankful for the fact that no one was hurt (except my neck is all stiff and achy today, whine), but I just can't believe it happened. I keep seeing the back of that red car coming flying towards me, and knowing I was going to smash into it. I feel so responsible for it. And I am, DUH, but I feel so ashamed and stupid. Like it's just another example of these out-of-control moments in my life, where I see the end result heading my way and there's nothing I can do to turn away or stop before I collide with full force. I don't know how else to describe it - just that when I hit that car, I was flooded with this terrible feeling, like I had robbed a bank or killed someone. For the minutes before I got out, I sat there and thought "Oh my god, I am in so much trouble". Irrational. I know it was an accident. My insurance will take care of it. But I feel like it taints me, it paints me in a bad light, it makes me the sort of person who hurts other people's property, it makes me careless. Like it's just another fuckup on my long, long-ass list. Jesus, somebody call the WAHbulance, this pity party is out of CONTROL. Self, please STFU. ::: On Monday I'll be flying to San Francisco for Macworld, where I will send fervent prayers to the logistics gods that all the various boxes I shipped will show up on the right day, unscathed. Last year, two brand-new G5s and cinema displays never made it home, having disappeared into the shipping ether, or more likely, smuggled out of the Moscone by unscrupulous Teamsters. I have a bad track record to make up for, is what I'm saying. Ah, Macworld - four endless days of tradeshow hell. I will be so, so glad this event is over and I can start thinking about something, ANYTHING else. Preparing for the show has occupied a wad of my brain tissue that is normally devoted to quoting Simpsons lines or naming Troma films or something. Macworld, give me back my thalamus! I bought lab coats for all us booth monkeys, because I wanted a sort of dorky unified look for us (and spacesuits are expensive, it turns out) and I also didn't want to worry about what clothes to bring. Lab coats hide all fashion blunders, really. That's why those MAC chicks wear them. Or is it Estee Lauder? Anyway, my lab coat is crisp and white and I quite like it. I'd go so far as to call it "slimming". Plus, we made Workplace buttons, and I plan to adorn my lab coat with at least 47 of them. A pair of Converse and a propellor beanie would really complete the look, is what I'm thinking now. I'm not sure what San Francisco night life we'll be exposed to on this trip. It's a different crowd going, and of course this year I can't entertain my coworkers by pouring the entire contents of the free bar down my gullet, so who knows. I'd like to re-visit the amazing Indian place we went to last time where I discovered the magic - nay, the NIRVANA - that is Sag Paneer. I'd like to go back to Cha Cha Cha, a tapas place on Haight St. Other than that...anyone have any suggestions? | |
