The Way Things Are






Various random thoughts and such claptrap and whatnot
2004-07-27, 5:05 p.m.

Thoughts from a jog…

…why does the entire perimeter of the waterpark smell like urine? Are people lined up waiting for the tube shuttles, standing there and wetting their pants? They were just in the river – they could have peed then.

…eww, think of all the tourists, and all the beer drunk in the river, and how that river, at peak tourist capacity, must be a river of pee. I’m not getting back in it for a while, springfed or not.

…the Big Red and Schlitz logos resemble each other when seen on the side of a truck in half-darkness in the gas station parking lot. When you’re out of Schlitz, you’re out of beer. You knew that.

…maybe I have a tumor – my stomach just gets bigger and bigger. A fatty tumor.

…the warning light on the sewage lift station is on again. I wonder if that means something extra big has plugged it up, or if the lifting mechanism has quit lifting. Are all these peoples’ toilets backing up? I can hear the sound of liquid churning right below the surface. It must be the non-lifting sewage just sitting there, waiting to be picked up so it can join the stream of not-needing-to-be-lifted sewage, being pulled along by gravity.

Well, there were surely more thoughts, but I cannot remember them. Keep in mind, I have all kinds of interesting note-worthy thoughts when I’m least able to record them. I get writer’s brain cramp when I sit down to start writing. Not that I wish to represent myself as a “writer”, the kind of writer that needs “quotes” around their “title”, but I believe that anybody sitting at a keyboard who is writing is a writer at that moment. We’ll give them (me) the benefit of the doubt here, since it’s my joinal and all.

Keeping busy. Getting some shit done – haven’t wasted the entire first four hours of the workday. Lil Guy is ironically at the waterpark today with DW’s brother and family. I’ll make him scrub with plenty of antibacterial soap tonight to wash the dirt of the great unwashed masses off himself. Gross.

Feeling a bit flat emotionally. I know what it is. It’s that when I got back from my run yesterday, when I walked into the house, DW was checking his email. Absolutely nothing crossed my mind about it ‘til he spent quite a bit of time explaining what it was, and how he couldn’t easily do it at work due to the dial-up situation, etc. He was talking like he was covering something up. So either he felt nervous, that he would have to really allay my anxiety over walking in and finding him on the computer (post traumatic wanking disorder), or he really was covering something up. I’m sure it was the former, but there’s a little paranoid voice that keeps wondering if it was the latter. The mean part of me that likes to have something to be angry about – something to hold an imaginary grudge against. It’s winning out over common sense – it is enjoying torturing DW just a bit. If he’s going to over-explain his internet activity, I’m going to read something into it and act like I’m worried. So complicated. Alcohol simplifies it all, doesn’t it? What if I started keeping a bottle of something in my desk drawer to take a nice pull from when I’m feeling all complicated and anxious. The next step would be watching tv in the office. Then I could have an exciting career managing a self-storage complex and keeping lots of cats.

Not that wanking in the company of one's computer is necessarily a bad thing. It's just such a shock to walk in on it, and it's very disappointing to have a cascade of emotions that one (me) (I) heretofore felt that I was above feeling. I felt jealous, betrayed, disgusted, suspicious...oh, it was not a party or a disco. It just some foolin' around. I think, after further analysis of the situation, that what I was really mad about, mad used as crazy or insane here, was that his actions caused me to experience emotions in reaction to a situation that I felt I was too good to experience. I would have mocked me (mock! mock!) had I not been me. Get it? Where was I, anyway?

Oh. Yeah. I have coined a new phrase. As y’all all know, we have email. We have voicemail. We have snail mail. But what do you call it when somebody sends you a telepathic message? We call that mindmail. Here’s an example of its use in a conversation:

Them: “Why didn’t you tell me that your project was in default?”

Me: “I guess I did not receive your mindmail requesting that information.”

Here’s another example:

Them: “You know that time, at that thing with all of them….” (OK, this is a thinly-disguised DW)

Me: “You’re going to have to send me a mindmail to help me translate that sentence.”

I’m going to use “mindmail” today the first chance I get. I might say “You must have sent that message via mindmail, and my mindmail server is a little slow these days. It might have a virus.” You know in Russian novels, how just about everybody who dies, dies of a brain fever? I wonder what that is. Maybe it’s a mindmail vitus. I'm going to dig out my copy of Crime and Punishment and scribble "mindmail virus" in the margins to remind myself and help the next person who reads my book. Because folks are clamoring to get into the house and read my 4th-hand Russian novels.

I know I have mentioned this before, but the word “federal” always pops into my mind’s eye as “feral”. Especially when I see the fedex truck or an envelope. I always, for a split second, see “feral express” and wonder if they are shipping cats, or pigs…then I realize it’s just federal, not feral. How boring. Just once, I’d like to see the Feral Express truck and hear lots of plaintive meows coming from inside.

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