August 14, 2001 Happy anniversary to me. One year ago on radio free swerve:
Today:
Damn. I've been around long enough to have archives. That's very cool. When I started this journal, I had mononucleosis (glands like golf balls) and lots of time to kill. I'd abandoned a ton of paper journals over the years and had gotten bored with writing little essays in SimpleText (MS Word is out of the question; the office assistant makes me want to plunge my hand through the screen to strangle him/her/it). I've liked keeping this journal for all of the usual reasons, but I'm also just a show-off. I am. I like an audience. (Not, mind you, in everything; I heard that, you guys in the back.) Writing is my natural medium. I like to make people laugh, although I will never out-funny my mother. I like telling stories. I like doing it in paragraphs. I find it annoys people when I do this verbally... hence the journal. But apparently the journal is somehow compelling enough to warrant repeat visitors from outside of LiveJournal's "friends" list. I don't know who you are, but my site logs tell me you're there. I admit to being intrigued that one of you got here via some-acronym.mil on a Department of Energy (or State? I'm blanking) computer. And NASA rocks. (We're all space buffs in my family.) I found journaling through Rob, then found pamie (pamie recently ended her journal; she was arguably the funniest person online). Writing a journal online is like being a columnist for the biggest newspaper in the world. Predictably, I wanted a journal of my own, but it had to suit my impulsive ADD needs and let me update the journal right now... hence LiveJournal. And I'll pay for another year, and I'll keep using LiveJournal, but I want my own site. I'm just working on the URL. It has to be catchy and topical and not already taken. Stay tuned. * * * From last night: I am flushed with the evening's success at acquiring and putting together metal shelving six feet tall without breaking anything or getting injured (a perennial favorite. Rule one: wear shoes). I did drop two of the poles from about a 45° angle onto hardwood, which must have endeared me to my neighbors. It wasn't intentional. I swear. I kept thinking that there was a trick to putting on that first shelf, the one which holds the six foot metal rods in place for the others, but I never found it. Which made me feel a little dumb. Or maybe just a little short. I'm feeling fuzzy and good from a warm shower. I smell like satsuma soap and Aveda foot lotion. My hair is drying into mild little waves. The Push Stars are providing a mellow soundtrack. There's a steady breeze from the window to my left. Cricket is chilling in her cat tree next to the desk. This is good, right here. It was raining when I left the apartment tonight. I have hated rain all my life, but recently I've developed a perverse affection for it. The T station was empty on my side of the tracks, then empty entirely after an inbound came through. I noticed a sign at the end of the platform where construction work was allegedly in progress. The sign was a pictograph for NO, a circle with a line through it. Below the line was a pedestrian's leg like in a crosswalk pictograph (groovin!), but above the line, nothing. That's an ominous warning. Keep out or a train will cut you in half. While I was pondering the sign and waiting for the train, I listened to the leaks all over the old station. The dripping water and layers of old tile on the arched ceiling seemed sort of post-apocalyptic. It was like something out of Logan's Run. The train took so long, and the view down the tunnel was so enticing, that I almost stepped out onto the track to get a direct view. The trains on this line have to make a slow, sharp turn before the station, so I'd have plenty of warning. And I wanted to do it. I was afraid. We're conditioned not to stand in the middle of subway tracks and roads. But it's a good view. If I'd had a camera, I would have stepped out. When the train finally arrived, the driver put his hand over the token meter and waved me through. * * * I really need to get more sleep. www.insomnia.com is taken. |