Ultramundane.com -- It's Just Not Natural.

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United States, California, San Francisco, The Mission, English, Spanish, Casey, Male, 31-35.

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Saturday, September 14, 2002

Playing Tricks.

Every now and again this happens: Today while I was at the barber shop my father walked by the large front window. I looked closer and no, of course it wasn't him, but it could have been; the right body shape, the right hair, the right clothes. I vow to get another cup of coffee after my haircut.

I got in the chair, took off my glasses, and the barber went to work. She handed me the mirror to look at the back, and there was my father looking at me again, a younger version whose hair hadn't turned silver yet. The reflection had his red spots on his cheek in the right spot, one that I can't seem to find now in any of my mirrors at home. I had her touch up the back and pretended I didn't see anything.

When I left I saw someone I knew walking up the street. I wasn't certain why I knew him. I think I went out with him years ago, or possibly someone I knew went out with him. But I think I remember seeing him naked, so it was probably me. I think this was a sufficient reminder that while I am like him, I am not my father. Perhaps consequently, I haven't seen him today since.

08:51 PM PST (link)

DTs From The Theraflu.

Last night I had a dream that I put my foot in my boot without looking in it first, and was stung by a scorpion. I woke up terrified and my foot hurt. This morning, there's nothing there. Did I wake up because I actually felt something in the night (like a foot spasm) or was it just so vivid that I imagined it?

10:52 AM PST (link)

Friday, September 13, 2002

When In Doubt, Blame The Medication.

What was I doing again?

Oh yeah, taking drugs. I'm not sure if this cup is full of Theraflu or Pledge; They taste about the same, and either way it's making my world swimmy and lemony-fresh. I had a complete brain freeze while answering the phone this evening; three sentences tried to escape my mouth at once and I stood there, sniffling into the phone, mouth open. Thankfully the person at the other end was patient with dealing with my temporary retardation.

There was some big thing that happened Wednesday. Oh, yes, that. I heard about six words on NPR and remembered that I Wasn't Listening to the Radio Today and shut it off. I suppose it wouldn't have mattered; I'd be in the same surreal glaze as today, as last year. (I got sick just about this time last year too. Who knew it was so seasonal?) (That's what having a Weblog is all about...tracking when you were last sick and when your last haircut was, something I always seem to forget.) (No, really, I sometimes wonder, when was my last haircut? Did I write about it in the blog? Can I look it up and see if its been over four weeks now?)

What was I saying? Oh, right.

Really, I didn't do anything different than usual to mark the anniversary; I went to the sites where I got firsthand news last year and saw what they were doing. And I got a well-timed letter from the ACLU, so I think I'll send them a donation. Otherwise I haven't had the mental capacity for much more than work, producing mucus and what kind of Doc Marten would I be (Um, the black one, duh!)

What was I doing now? Oh yeah, going to sleep, that was it.

01:47 AM PST (link)

Tuesday, September 10, 2002

The Goopy Mess Over Here.

I hate to use this space as a litany of whining (I heard that "too late" back there, smart-aleck) but I have to get some of this off my chest:

I'm sick: my nose is running, my ears are clogged up, my eyes itch, and my throat is sore.
There's too much that needs to be done for me to feel comfortable leaving the office early.
Not only do I look sick, but I suddenly need a haircut too. My head looked OK on Sunday; what happened?
All the other art staff and our Project Manager are out on leave this week, leaving me and our boss on the East Coast to manage and do everything this week.
We have now instituted 9AM conference calls every morning until the end of the month to manage this project. I can't tell if I hate mornings or conference calls more.
Yesterday was a 11 hour workday. Today looks to be long as well.
The company email system is down.
I have to use a coworker's machine, which is down the hall; I'm rapidly wearing a path between the two desks.
Both systems are running OS9 and software that makes them not very stable (*coughMacromediaFlashcough*.)
There was too much hot red pepper in my soup, and now my stomach is upset.
Chuck Mangione's "Feels So Good" keeps repeating in my head, meaning I must be near death and hearing Hell's Muzak.
I forgot to call my doctor again to reschedule my followup apppointment.
I have to reschedule said appointment because I have Jury Duty next week.

I'm sure some of my anger and irritability comes from the sheer force of will I'm expending trying not to think of last year at this time. A few not-very-pleasant things happened last year around this time, in addition to the event you remember oh-so-well. Mostly I just want the noise in my head to stop for a little while—the rushing of the ocean in my ears, the infernal soundtrack, the clatter of everything that's happening now and the unceasing voices demanding that I re-live then. Any one of these I could handle by itself; altogether, it's a little much.

So if you need me, I'll be the one cocooned in my own mucus. Thanks.

06:51 PM PST (link)