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under_control
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» sweet 'n' salty Oh diary, what yummy nugget of wisdom or icky chunk of pathos should I chock you full of tonight? Or maybe you, like me, prefer a little combo of yummy and icky the way I like the sweet and salty combo of maple syrup on veggie sausage links. First, though, I'll just blurt out what's been goin' on around and about here. Like the plunking down of $1200 to join 24 Hour Fitness for three years, prepaid. How exactly did that happen? How exactly did I manage to clear enough debt from my Visa card that I could put a $1200 charge on it? And, more importantly, what induced me, after the Herculean effort involved in reclaiming that much credit, to plunk it down for a three year, prepaid membership at a health club? I guess I want to get more healthy. Issue two: the attractive woman who lives downstairs. Where did she go for the last two solid months without putting a hold on her mail so that I betook it upon myself to bring her mail in every day and stack it neatly on her doorstep? And what sort of inhuman torture was it to have her show back up on Monday night, with some guy in tow, and proceed to have loud and multiple orgasms just five minutes after walking in the door and just eight feet below where I lay in bed trying to read Infinte Jest and trying not to bite through the knuckle of my index finger while I asked myself over and over why the HELL I had allowed myself to do something as stupid as remain celibate for over two years? I might also ask what this guy's problem was that they stopped fooling around after only about thirty minutes, but that's really his problem and in view of the unpleasant position it put me in, I'm glad he has a low stamina. Then there were the dreams for the last two nights in which G appears and we decide to get back together. But these aren't nearly so bad as the set of three in a row I had about a year ago from which I woke up each morning thinking that the dreams had been real and that everything would be OK now that...Oh wait! That was just a dream! No!! And I decided that if I had that dream one more night I would seriously injure myself, like in a mortal way...and the dreams stopped of course, because the subconsious is tricky, but not stupid. OK, this is disgusting, I'm writing like David Foster Wallace, like I'm some kind of lexical chameleon. Sorry. But in reality, I'm bouyed up by the remarks of wonderful co-diarylanders and at the same time, angst-ridden by the sense that days are slingshotting past me and I'm not following my dreams in any recognizable fashion. (Well, ok, I'm apparently following one of my dreams to be in tip-top physical shape by 30.) I'm in a bit of a fingernail gnawing state about buying a video camera. I need to scrape together about $4000 for the camera and accessories. And then I'll need to get my hands on a good computer (besides the one at work) that I can "borrow" some video editing software to throw onto it and get started learning how to get started. But this is really just a shadow of the fingernail gnawing (OK, that's hyperbole, I've recently started taking meticulous care of my fingernails, including buffing them into perfect rounded ends with emory boards)...as I was saying, a shadow of the fingernail gnawing that I'm doing as the realization hits me that I'm about to re-enter the world of dating at the age of 28.5. This means that if I hope to have children at a reasonable age (say, 32) I need to locate, woo and wed (presumably) the most likely soulmate in the area and get cracking in about 3 years. Ha! Unlikely. I think I'll put the whole relationship thing on the back-burner for a while and concentrate on the me that I have all to myself. See, I'm such a romantic that I believe that only by choosing to ignore love, I'll find myself in the thick of it. Being a romantic means being someone who always has a pattern of behavior to emulate.
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diaryland |