I have been admiring her for a while now, a ridiculously long while without ever speaking to her. I saw her for the first time while moving into my dorm room; she lives down the other hall. A pair of socks had fallen out of my laundry basket while I was unlocking my door, and when I turned around to get them, I saw her leaning down to get them for me. She looked like an angel, in a kneeling position with her blouse unbuttoned just enough to perk my curiosity. Although her breasts did appear to be perfect, they were not what struck me most. I couldn't keep my mind off of her hair, red and flowing, and those glowing, green eyes. I felt she could see through me and knew my secrets... maybe she does.

I have admired her ever since that day, and I stare from afar every breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We must have similar schedules because I see her continuously throughout the day—every day. We have never spoken though. Even on that day she graciously picked up my tube socks, I couldn't choke out any words. Not even a "thank you" in response to her "I think you dropped these..." but I have always been irritatingly shy. I've always been a wallflower, but not the mysterious kind. I am the nobody kind.

Now I sit at the Peabody's café, and I watch her drink her coffee. I have been pretending to read from a tattered book of poetry by Nikki Giovanni but only for aesthetic reasons. I wish that I could say I was interested in the words, but I am only a poser. I just want to appear to like poetry... frankly, to impress her.

What is it about her hair, her HAIR, that intrigues me so? I wish I knew the answer. It changes like the seasons. What was once red turned almost purple and has now deepened to black, all artificial of course. I wonder if she even remembers her original hair color. Black hair against such a ghostly face! It shouldn't look natural, yet somehow it does. I would call her beautiful, but only because I have never heard a more accurate word to describe her. She is not beautiful, but she is breathtaking nonetheless. I have only seen one or two people that have found the courage to approach her, let alone to speak to her, but today is the day for me.

I get up from my booth quietly and quickly, too quickly. I leave my book behind unknowingly. It takes all of my will to avoid running to her. Restrain yourself, Gill. Slow down, Gill. When I finally reach her, after seconds that fell like hours, I realize that I have no words to say. I have no conversation planned out. Kill me now... she's gorgeous, and she's looking at me with those green eyes.

"Yes?" she asks impatiently as she puts down the book she was reading. Maybe not impatiently. There is a fine line between impatient and only moderately curious.

"Uh. Hey," I stammer.

"Hey?..." I have never seen lips so red! She looks like a porcelain doll... Oh no. Her brow has crinkled? Confused? Intrigued? Mad?

"I was just wondering. Ya know... we're both sitting alone and all, would you mind if I joined you?" I ask while rubbing my hands together. They are so sweaty and cold. I wish I had picked something with pockets to wear.

She inhales deeply and sits up straighter than before, although she always uses exquisite posture. "Sure."

Phew. "Thanks," I say with my best smile while taking a seat at her booth. She smiles back, and I feel lucky. She just sits looking at me for what feels like an eternity. For some reason, I had expected her to begin some intimate and deep conversation, but she doesn't. "So, what's up?" Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why did I say something so stupid and ordinary?

"Right now?" she asks while reaching into a bag that is hidden between her left thigh and the wall.

"Yeah, right now."

"Well, right now I'm thinking," she replies. She was reaching for a thin cigarette, a kind thinner than normal cigarettes, and now it delicately traces her lips.

"Oh." I'm not stupid enough to ask what she's thinking about, although I haven't a clue. I look at her book, The Plague. "Albert Camus!" I yell ecstatically.

"You like him?" she asks, her eyes widening with interest. She is now leaning forward a bit, and I could see down her blouse if I wanted. However, I can't stop looking at her eyes. Score! She's interested!... Did I just think 'score'?!

I nod.

"Have you read Camus' Caligula?"

"Oh... no, I haven't"

"Oh," she says with far less enthusiasm. She leans back against her seat. All of her interest is gone, and her eyes are no longer glowing. "Let me guess... you're one of those people that read The Stranger in tenth grade (actually it was twelfth), maybe read a little about the existentialist movement (it was a movement?!), maybe listened to The Cure (what is she talking about?), and ended up saying 'Camus changed my life'. Am I correct?" She has knocked me off my feet. I don't know how to respond. She's so hostile!

"Well, I wouldn't say Camus changed my life. I just really liked The Stranger."

She softens. "That's cool." And I exhale a breath of relief. She starts questioning again with, "Why is it that people always think they are saving those that are alone? You know what I mean?"

"Not really..."

"Well, if you are sitting alone reading or writing or... thinking or just observing, people will come up to you and begin a conversation. They act as if they are saving you from something. From who—yourself? The idea is ludicrous!" She has become agitated, and she flicks her ashes sloppily into the ashtray. She takes a deep calm breath after a short pause and says almost sadly, "There is a vast difference between alone and loneliness."

"I know what you mean." There's a short pause and I suddenly realize what she meant. "Oh! I get it. I'll leave you alone," and I begin to scoot out of my seat.

"No. I didn't mean you," she says while grabbing my wrist. "Stay."

And I do. We chat for an hour about nothingness, but it's very pleasant. I watch her smoke deliciously, and for some reason the smoke doesn't even bother me. "Are you even inhaling?" I ask.

"Hah! No," she replies with a short-winded belly laugh.

"Then why?"

"It looks so cool, doesn't it. Few hobbies allow you to flick fire around." She buts out her cigarette, her third.

"It's beautiful. You're a beautiful girl."

"Hah," another short but deep laugh. "I am uglier than you imagine."

"Well, I have quite the imagination, but I can't imagine you ugly." This is getting dangerous. I am actually getting giddy. I'm surely blushing.

"Try," she says bluntly, a blunt reply to my loose compliments.

"You're a very unique person. I'd really like to get to know you better." This causes her to smile uncomfortably with a shrug. I am making her uncomfortable, but foolishly I continue. "Do you realize that I don't even know your name?"

"Well, I'm Cassandra, and I'm only me. I'm not unique."

I'm shocked. She is the most unique individual I have ever met, and yet she doesn't realize it! "But Cassandra, your vintage clothes and your hair are amazing... and you have such a way with words!"

"Hah," a laugh I now expect after every compliment directed at her. "Well Gill... they call you 'Gill,' right? (Oh my goodness! She knows my name... well, almost.) My fashion is stolen from my cousin. SHE is amazing and unique, and even she probably stole her ideas from someone else. As for my words, they are all stolen from here and there. They are unique, but they are not mine. I am a thief." There's a long pause. I am shocked by her blunt honesty. Is she just being modest, or have I been completely disillusioned this whole time? She finally speaks again. "Why do they call you 'Gill'? It is a very odd name."

"Oh it means nothing," I shrug. "I swim and my name is Gillian. That's all."

"Well, it's cute. Gill... Hah! I shall call you Gillian though. It's prettier, and I think it fits you better." Does she think I'm pretty?!

Neither of us talk for a while. I just look at her, and I can see her glance at her book, longing to read more. "Well, hm... I'm feeling kinda foolish now. I don't know what I am doing," I say while looking my nervous hands.

"Oh, don't feel foolish. A foolish person wouldn't have the insight to feel that way," she says with a reassuring smile. I love you, Cassandra...

"Thanks, but I think I'll go back to my table anyway," I say while getting up. "Thanks for your company, Cassandra."

"Well, it was a nice chat. Have a nice day, Gillian!"

I walk away with a little more joy in my steps than earlier. I imagine her looking at me as I walk away. I wonder if my skirt is to her liking. I wonder if my hair is as messy as I think it is, but maybe she likes messy hair. I grab my book, pay my check, and meet the world with a smile.

I stare at the calendar for hours now. Five days until I turn my soul over to a man who will yell in my face and push my body to its limits for six weeks to see if I'm worthy of getting a shinny gold coin. My airman coin, a gold coin with a diving eagle attacking its prey. A coin that means everything the world's most superior air combat force.

All I can do now is wait, until I get my airline tickets to Lackland AFB, so my training will begin.

I never saw this coming a year ago. Me, a CCNA certified teenager that was about to tackle his A+, joining the USAF? Sheesh, a twist of fate to say the least. Everyone says I did the right thing, they'll (being the Gov't) pay for school, and room, and utilities, and food even, and they'll hand me $1100 a month for them teaching me how to tack weld and other sheet metal trades... it's like they're paying me to start my life... which ofcourse I don't mind. I also don't mind the $13,000 sign on bonus either.

They'll pay for all my school, and I'll have free time on my own, and even DSL too. The only catch = they own me for 6+ years... but hey, it could be worse. I could go over seas and fight. Don't get me wrong, I love this country, and I would fight for it, I just had other plans before I die.

I ponder a possible 'normal' day for me after boot camp and tech school.
Wake up at 5 a.m. and go to work. Come home at 5 p.m. and continue to learn Linux and try to get Apache working so I can get SNMHW.com off the ground. I goto school to get my BA in Computer Information Systems for a start. Come home and go drinking with some buddies. Travel on my vacation time, trying to meet as many E2 users as I can, and travel the country while I'm at it.

Life doesn't sound that bad, after boot camp that is. I'll node until the day I die. I promise.

This most likely the last node I'll write until I get out of Tech School and get my computer shipped to me where ever I am. I hope I can make everyone prouder than they already are of me.

Another stressful day. A stressful week, in fact, as noded previously. So many things on my mind, so many worries. At times, I wish that I could just avoid it all, that I could be happy by not thinking so much, by not trying to do so many things. But I know what that it like, I have done that, and the guilt (over not doing enough) and the boredom are too much. Looks like I had better get used to this.

Last night I slept about three and a half hours, same as the night before. I wish I could stop this, that I could get to bed earlier, get a little more sleep. It would be so easy to blame it on Everything, but if not for Everything, I would be spending my time during the early hours of the morning reading other web sites. This has been a problem ever since I stopped drinking, about a week ago. I didn't drink that much, but I was drinking for all the wrong reasons, and frequently by myself, while noding or before a certain class, so it is a good thing that I stopped, I think. The one good thing about drinking is that I was able to fall asleep at a reasonable hour and get a decent night's sleep after a couple beers. Now, I can sleep well enough, I just can't fall asleep so early, and I have classes in the morning that I have to go to (attendance is figured into the grade), which prevents me from sleeping all morning. Looks like I'll have to get used to more coffee, earlier in the day.

Woke up at eight, went to breakfast, went back to bed for 20 minutes, got up, made some coffee, went to my first class, Beginning Photography, which went reasonably well. The smell of the chemicals is starting to irritate my eyes and nose, which never really happened during high school, when I spent two or three hours a day in the darkroom. (Why I am in Beginning Photography with this much experience is another story.) Class fails to inspire. Maybe I should sit in one of the chairs instead of the much more comfortable couch – perhaps I would be more alert that way.

Went to a vigil for the people who have died as a result of the bombings in Afghanistan. About ten people showed up, which, given that there are 900 students on campus, and given their attitudes, is pretty good. Last night Jill sent out an email to the entire student body, announcing the vigil. Within about an hour, someone else had sent a response, again to all the students, saying that anyone who cared to sympathize with the enemy deserved to die, and that anyone who attended such an individual was being unpatriotic and unAmerican, and deserved a similar fate to the terrorists. This email removed any doubt from my mind as to whether I would go to the vigil – nothing like an obnoxious person telling me that I am wrong to make me care more about what I feel is right.

The vigil helped me deal with it all. It is good to see that there are at least a few other students on this campus who care about what is going on, and now I know who they are, so I have some people to talk with about these things.

I do not side with the terrorists. Their actions disgust me. But bombing an already devastated country does not seem a good solution. Killing civilians does not bring us any closer to finding the terrorists. If the terrorists must be killed because they cannot be captured and jailed, then those deaths are justified.

Ok. I oppose the killing of people under any circumstances. I think all war is wrong. I am a pacifist. And I am one of the 50 Americans (excluding those on death row) who oppose the death penalty. I guess I'm just weird. But at least I'm right.

My afternoon class, Urban Economics and Politics, went reasonably well. I am finally understanding economics, though I still have a hard time believing it. I just can't accept that it is ok that capitalism is an amoral system.

I listed all of the books mentioned on October 7, 2001 on eBay. I won't sell all of them – the opening bid for the best volumes is enough to scare most people away. It does get rid of the stress for a while, and I will probably have enough money to go buy more books next week. (Yes, I am such a bibliomaniac – but I enjoy it.

Went to dinner, sat down with Kayja, who I really haven't had a chance to talk with in about month (and, who, incidentally, is an incredibly nice, smart, and interesting woman). Didn't talk much. Both of us were tired, and the cafeteria was unusually loud, and her roommate was sitting next to me. I don't know what to make of it all. She is very friendly, outgoing even, but also very shy. And I am not sure what to make of the way she was looking at me. Must find a way to talk with her when there are not people around.

After dinner, I studied C++ some, and called my mother after reading the email she sent me. She was obviously worried, because she thinks that I am not studying enough, and that I am spending all my time buying and selling books, which is incorrect. I also spend time on E2. I told my mother that it would do much more good if she worried about my sister, who is a freshman at Bowling Green State University. I told her that I have been studying enough, which is basically true, and what she needed to hear.

I printed some black and white photographs, some of which will go out on postcards to lucky everythingians. After that, back to my room, to my computer.

Right now, I am afraid. I am afraid of the actions my country is taking against Afghanistan. I fear that civilians will be killed, in large numbers, and that bin Laden and the other alleged terrorists will not, much like Hussein, in the Gulf War. I worry that this action will drag on for years, that many Americans, Afghans, and others will die needlessly, I worry that if this war continues, there will be a draft, and that I will have to deal with the possibility of going to war. I could never kill another individual, nor participate indirectly in such an action. I am afraid of how I might respond. The only thing that keeps me sane is that knowledge that, as this is not in fact a war, acts of treason (like draft dodging) are not punishable by death. Unless draft dodging is somehow seen as terrorism, which, as things are going, it might.

It's been a while I suppose, since the last daynode, but, I don't really have much time lately. I try to make some time, but its not really helping right now. People are asking me for my time but I can't. I know I can't be everywhere for everybody at all times but I feel bad anyways. I'm not really sure if this is a bad thing, but for now, its not really important.

For the first time in weeks, I feel the darkness surround me, like a shroud hanging over my head. The time for thinking has come back, though I wish it hadn't. I'm afraid to go back to the state I was before, where I was not content with my life and always yearning for the idealistic, romantic love that I always dreamed of. Funny in a way.

I've been talking to the sweetest people recently. One is a young lady, sweet in voice and sweet in heart. Everything seems to click into place, like a jigsaw puzzle. She makes me feel comfortable in every way possible and I'm starting to even hoping that she'd call. How a blessing can be a boon. Her gentleness has given me the positivity that I have sorely needed for the longest time. But at the same time, our time is limited, and contact even moreso. She's also quite a bit younger than me, which sometimes leads me to debate within myself whether she's really mature for her age or I'm really immature for mine. Ideally, the age gap simply wouldn't exist nor matter but its not the reality that exists. While the age gap doesn't matter to me, I never did ask if it mattered otherwise. What am I supposed to say. No words express the gratitude that I have yet I somehow hope that she understands. I suppose I rather have it this way rater than have no contact in the first place, but it doesn't make things any easier to deal with.

The other is another sweet lady but closer to my age. While definitely not as tender and caring, she is different. Funny. She thought I liked her. Something made me think it was the other way around. But realistically, I just don't give it another thought. I just feel completely divine right now, being blessed with their presence.

I've started writing my creative writing again. Poetry from a hopeless romantic, with a deep emphasis on hopeless. Granted, its not as dreary as it was before, but the content nevertheless is the same. Even my vocabulary is becoming limited, with my mind almost assuming that rhyming is better. Most people would beg to differ and I would probably agree.

Tomorrow, I hope will be a great day. I have an appointment with the one of the aforementioned ladies. I haven't been this excited in a long time. I've been a nervous wreck, thinking of a way for her to remember me. I always did have a fear of being forgotten, to simply be a shadow, or not unlike a background noise that people seem to think is annoying. But, with my limited time frame, I hope that I have come up with something to apease her for now. All I can do now is pray.

I haven't been sleeping much lately. Just started this whole thinking thing again, and been on the phone lots. Funny too. I think I'm starting to get my headaches again. 15 hours on a cell phone in three days will do that for you. But, I rather have a tumor than not talk to the people who have made time to call me. What can I say. Ultimately, I will be alone, but for now, let me bask in the sunlight that only companionship brings.

Now, I'm here, in the darkness. There is no music, only the sound of the keyboard and the feeling of my joints as I press down on each separate key. It's a cold evening, and I yearn to be warm but my state of thinking has drained me. Am I to go back to the gloominess? I hope not. Being in the darkness for so long, I got used to it. But after seeing the light, let me stay...even for just a little while longer.

"I search for the one which understands me, and comforts me. She needs not say perfect things or do anything that I love. Her existence simply gives me happiness and hope. A smile gives me ecstacy, her touch gives a wave of euphoria. I gaze into her eyes and simply find the comfort I need, knowing that her love will keep me safe...."

So it's been a while since I've written anything of substance- and I'm not talking about here on E2, I'm talking about my personal life as a writer. You see, I've been working on this novel called "Mystic Ghost," a story about an artificial intelligence that gets God on the brain and decides to bring religion to other AI's. I've created a whole slew of characters, many of them drawn from other short stories that have managed to work well within this full story as subplots that all will eventually tie into each other.

Like a typical Gemini, I started off at the gate going full tilt- wrote something like 50,000 words and felt full of piss and vinegar to finish the damn thing. Suddenly my professional and personal life tilted at odd angles and my ambition to write sorta dried up. I had a train of thought wreck of monumental proportions, I guess.

For the past few weeks I've added a few pages to the story, but the passion is gone for some reason. It's not that I find the story uninteresting- it's still as fresh as ever- it's just that time and work and money and friends and obligations and creativity and loneliness and everything else in my life has conspired against my passion to write.

When I hit a writer's block, the usual remedy for me is to go out and buy a new book to read. Most often, it works like a charm and I'm back in the saddle again. This time has been no different, only it somehow is.

Two days ago, while on a date, I stopped at Borders to buy a copy of Neal Stephenson's "Cryptonomicon." It's been sitting at the top of my list of books to read for the last few months- I've heard only one bad review of it, but everyone else I've met who read it says that it'd probably be right up my alley. Well... I've been making time for myself to sit down and read a few chapters and, now that I'm about 1/6 into the book, I am glad to see that I do like the story a lot. I can identify with the book's main character, Lawrence Waterhouse- a kid with an innate ability to decipher encrypted messages and codes, a natural-born code-breaker.

I see patterns in nearly everything. Sometimes it's eerie, but it's true. I call this special ability to communicate with higher brain functions my "probablity engine." Life is full of probables, based mostly on patterns and habits. What some people call body language, I call open communication. I just see shit sometimes and it makes sense. World events, people's lives, work-place happenings, things like that all sorta blend together in a nice, intricate pattern for me that is usually easy for me to read and predict. I explain a portion of this in "Cats, physics and empathy, bound together by a thin plume of perfume."

Anyway... I was reading tonight, at Cafe Coco, while it was empty and relatively quiet for once. Hardly anyone was around and I finally had some peace to myself and enjoy this great book- then it hit me: Mystic Ghost takes place from the American perspective. All of the characters are American. They're all from different parts of the United States, but it all seems kinda limiting in a way. The story is set about 40 years in the future, right? So why limit my locales?

Write what you know.

I've been to other places and seen foreign lands. Hell, I spent a month in London, England and got to know the place almost as well as I know Nashville- which I've been in for the better part of my life. Why exclude my experiences and knowledge of London? Why not include it/them? Why not make one of the characters based in the city of Big Ben and Buckingham Palace? And that's it... that was the key to my boredom with the story... there's not enough variety to make the story credible. It's a given that, 40 years in the future, international travel will be easier to come by... why not put some of those wonderful characters of mine in other spots and make them unique?

Great, right?

No. Not so great. Remember, I've already written 50,000 words or more on this story. Now I'm going to have to go back and rewrite whole chapters and even change some of the characters to reflect their locales and respective cultures.

*sigh*

But, not to worry... yes, it'll be more work. Yes, it'll take more time. But more importantly, I'll feel better about the damn thing before it's finished.

Now all I have to do is get my life in something that closely resembles order so that I can get back to writing the story I'm supposed to write.

We are all stories.

Last night, I again could not sleep. I rented Light It Up, a movie about kids who stand up against appalling school conditions. I won't give the story away, but the whole duration of the movie you're wondering if the inevitable happens: one kid dies. These kids wanted the windows and water leaks in their freezing classrooms to be fixed, they wanted textbooks. One of them dies. Over textbooks.

Something in me started to cry. I cry at sad movies, but this was different. At just that moment I realized that, in the last month, I have not allowed myself to cry. All of it hit me at once, the realization and helplessness, and how alone I felt at the time.

It is hard to articulate crying in print. We are motivated to make it beautiful and endearing in film, when usually your face just gets all red and your nose all gooey and your whole face feels hot and moist. We usually look like this when we're sick. It's also hard to convey how embarrassing crying is, even when I'm alone, when the walls are breathing with the lives of other people all around me that are sleeping at 1am like normal people, and there I was crying, sobbing the small child sobs, muffling them with my hands, heavy heaves and rocking back and forth on the bed.

We do not cry at speeches. We do not cry when we are reporting tragedies. We do not cry when we go to war. We do not cry like trained starlets. We do not say something poetic when blood is seeping out of us and someone is not always there to listen. We cry when people die, and it hit me that I watched two buildings collapse, live on the morning news. and could not feel anything for a month. Because, well, I had to go to work, I had to be useful, so I push the sadness down. I think we all have.

When I read about the Biblical days of sackcloth and ashes, I envy the ancient world their ability to mourn. We are so bottled up now. Millions of people are not supposed to blow off the deaths of a few thousand. I am not so bold that this has not touched me.

This day, last month, we could never have anticipated where would be now. September 10th was the last day I thought I could ignore the rest of world and stay encapsulated in my own. This day, last month, people were trying to keep Hermetic's death from me so that I wouldn't lose it at work, as I had a week prior. I can't let go of that, all these changes to our lives. I sat there, apologizing to God for being so evil, for killing one another to prove a point. Even if it's what we must do, we are not what was intended.

I slept better than I had in weeks.

I'm discovering the anxiety that accompanies job insecurity.

Over the recent months, I've read plenty of news stories and annecdotes on people who have already lost their jobs and the pain and heartache they are going through trying to find another job. I've empathised with them and I feel sorry for them, but in many ways, my feelings for them are rather detached because I have always been employed.

Now, those articles are taking on an increased relevance to me.

Ironically, my job position has never been stronger. I work for a major worldwide IT company, am a team leader, and recently scored (as in 2 weeks ago) an impressive 25% pay rise above and beyond the normal annual pay review. From the outside, I would have to be crazy to be complaining about my job ...

... and yet, it's from my privileged team lead position that I can look to the horizon and see dark clouds brewing. The number of systems that I administer (I'm a system administrator) has recently halved due to systems being de-commissioned. The number of systems will be halved again by the middle of next year due to further de-commissioning of systems. This virtually makes my team redundant. And there are rumours that my team will be folded next year and all the work transferred to another team in another state.

In the current climate of terrorist attacks and a rapidly worsening economy ... it's not a good time to be looking for a job ....

Of course, I've still got several months to go, and it's very likely that I'll simply be deployed to another account or team within my company which will be more than fine.

It's simple the uncertainty which is affecting me. I've got a gnawing anxiety sitting in the pit of my stomach which I can't get rid of no matter how many happy thoughts I think. As one of co-workers said today, 'It's hard to get motivated when you're anxious about your future.'

This is very true.

I am scared of all of you.

I'm sure you're not evil people, it's just that I don't know you and I'm not sure how to start. I see conversations in the catbox and everybody seems so friendly with each other - but I don't know how to get into it. Maybe I have trouble making new friends. Nobody seems very interested in being friends with me - sure, everyone's polite and cordial and at times even nice, but nobody wants to be my friend.

Sounds like whining, doesn't it? Aww, poor me, I don't have any friends! You should feel guilty and be my friend! Well, yeah, that's about it (except for the guilty part). It would be nice to have friends here. If Everything is a community, then I am one of those left-out loners you see from time to time but never bother getting to know. Sure, you can learn about me easily enough - there are details in my homenode, I keep a LiveJournal, and you can get a feel for my interests by looking at a list of my writeups - but you're not trying, and neither am I. I just don't feel welcome: it seems everyone has their clique and those of us on the outside don't get to play too. Why do I want to? As jbird mentioned in E2 as a community, there is pressure to establish oneself as a valued member within the community. Yes, I care what you think of me, whether that's healthy or not. It's not that I'm a new noder, I'm at level 5 (granted, much of that is from a lot of little writeups) and I sort of know what I'm doing.

So what can we do? Well, you can start serially downvoting me, but I think you'd be proving my point. You could try downvoting just this writeup, which is all I expect for a potentially controversial node. (I don't care about the XP, you see; if you downvote me I take it mean you think I did something wrong.) But just voting - up or down - isn't doing much about it. Some people have had brief exchanges with me about something in a writeup or a catbox comment. I figure that's a good place to start. How can you make me feel more welcome? Talk to me. Give me feedback on what I do here. Give me advice. This goes for anyone you don't know around here: I just happen to be stupid enough to beg for attention. It's not all up to you, of course. I can try to be more talkative in the Chatterbox. I'm hoping to go meet some of you this weekend, that might help. But again, it feels like everyone has their clique and those are hard to break into.

I think I've complained enough for now. You don't have to try to be my friend unless you want to. I'm just giving my opinion and telling how I perceive things.

/me climbs off her soapbox

Date: Wed, 10 Oct 2001 09:26:13 -0700
From: Thomas Boylan <tboylan@asu.edu>
Subject: Network traffic
To: Raymond Gibson <raybass@asu.edu>

Raymond, it has come to our attention that network traffic, outbound from your room over the last few days, constitutes over 80% of ALL University outbound/default network traffic. The identified domain name associated with this outbound traffic is somaholiday.dhcp.asu.edu. This DNS name is associated with your ASURITE ID, hosted from your room. This inordinate amount of network traffic has the appearance of inappropriate network activity as identified in the ASU Acceptable Use Policy. You can find this policy, on-line, at: http://www.asu.edu/it/fyi/policies/acceptableuse.html. It reads, in part, under Requirements and Prohibited uses, Item B, number 19, that "Interference with or disruption of the computer or network accounts, services, or equipment of others is prohibited." Please cease this activity immediately, or provide evidence that traffic is strictly related to your academic work. It would also be in your best interest to read Section VI in the above stated policy, regarding Violations and Enforcement, which could come into effect should you disregard this notice. You must reply to this e-mail, within 24 hours of this notice, to confirm that this activity has ceased. Please contact me if you have any questions related to this matter.

Tom Boylan
Support Systems Analyst, Pr.
ASU Residential Life

Today flew by. The fastest, most mundane, least record-worthy day in living memory. My living memory, obviously.
I wish it had stayed that way.

But now, I feel myself back into the old, stomach-churning, unfamiliar yet strangely known, rhythm of hating myself for my idiocy. Why? Same old same old. You do it to yourself. Grief-causing brewer of torment and negativity than I am.

I've never liked speaking in specifics. It feels too much like a record for posterity. Not that I'll ever have any progeny. So, I have become entrenched in the wound I have caused. Someone else's blood and tears--you do it to yourself-- the signals of my own grief. Breaking friendships--broke another mirror--without even breaking a sweat. Turning into something you are not.

I've broken so many mirrors.

"Can this saviour be for real, or are you just my seventh seal?"

Another madhouse of a day. At least in this one I had some acknowledgement of the absurdity of my position at work right now. The morning was spent interviewing people for the single tech aide position being offered in our district right now. We're talking a 0.8 position, delivering instruction to about 200 fourth and fifth graders, maintaining about sixty computers, supporting at least eight teachers, at four different school sites. And we pay about eighteen bucks an hour. Anyone want a job like that? You are the IT department at that point, at least for the lower schools.
At my site, right now, it's me. Hundred machine NT network, fileserver, print server, who knows how many hubs, two routers, not counting the library.... I have thirty machines in the lab, and three of them won't see the network at this point. I'm in charge, right now, of teaching four sections of Technology, support for the staff...about thirty people... purchasing, repair, curriculum development. Yup. And I have a Math class too!
The problem is that I run my ass off trying to keep the place above water so that people can use their machines, kind of, sort of, and I just get farther and farther behind. I've done no ordering yet, so I hope the damn toners don't run out any time soon. Make a note of that. Need batteries for the digital camera, to crack the password an old aide left on a notebook, check a few sound cards, go over all the Use Agreements, etc and so on.
I earn my paycheck, I tell ya. I'm pretty good at what I do, but if I had my choice, I'd spend all my time on curriculum design, I'd write websites for teachers to use with their kids. I've got one up on the school site right now, interactive, self-paced work on Pythagorean Theorem proofs. I'm pretty good with multiple learning styles, keeping all the kids interested and giving them ways to learn without boring their socks off, and giving them some responsibility for how they show me what they've learned. But no. I spend my time with wire crimpers and dust bunnies, under people's desks. Bitch bitch bitch. Been that kind of a day.

Ugh.

Today was an Ugh day. Wake up at 6am by my Dad, *zzz* wait 12 1/2 minutes, arise slowly from bed and crawl to the bathroom, butt naked... A knock on the door, followed by a scream, "Aggh! God damn it don't open the door!!!" Jesus, the worst thing about being brought up by nudists is the fact that they're A. Nude, B. Don't care about seeing you nude. (although, you gotta admit, sleeping naked is great)

"Have a shower Felix!" - God damn it, I don't have time for a shower, ughhh...

"have a shower Felix!" - Shut up dad! Gah! No shower for Felix! (I talk like this, it helps make aggressive statements kinder, but still getting the point across)

This goes on around five times during the one hour...
Ugh...
Call Arthur, remind him to get headphones...
Ugh...
Go to school, sleep on way because sleeping at bedtime is for wussies.. especially when you discover you have homework you forgot about...
Ugh...
Arrive, San Rafael High School, Of course, 15 minutes early, which is despicable for a student, pah, early, ugh. Thank god for new music on my nomad II mp3 player. Oh wait, no headphones. ... Ugh...
Enter Cisco Networking Academy - Exit early, travel period is skipped on Wednesdays, block periods suck.
Afterwards, we (my friends and I) Crawl into Arthur's mum's van, after waiting for 15 minutes for her. Shit, we're going to be late... Ugh (heh, this is getting FUN!, the ugh-ing)

Arrive, Terra Linda High School, my real school (SR sucks, I'm just there for Cisco Networking)Ooh, PE 2nd period, Yey, and I'm LATE. But it's a substitute teacher, we watch a video on Fencing, the worst made video you've ever seen, the color's off, the camera man zooms in and out, it's wobbly (even though on a tripod) And the guy's pretty boring too. /sigh, survival instinct kicks in, and I fall asleep. Mmmm... PE Gym Floors taste good

Arthur gives me the headphones, I wonder around, and find myself in the poor, helpless PC lab, where the class of "Intro to Computers" (lol) has been hacked, cracked, and infected by every god dammed thing on earth, most likely by my Ex-best friend Davis, a boy with no respect for information. Things like Gator and Nimda run free in this war zone of networking. Kinda funny really... And the teacher absolutely adores me, it's great, I'm the only person who actually knows how tho fix these computers. I wish I had her class, that'd make a REALLY easy A.
So, there was this girl there, right, yeah, well, don't worry, not interested, (she's a complete skank, a friend of a friend, and she was kicked out of her All Girls Catholic School for A. Skinny dipping, B. Flashing... lol, the alphabet doesn't have enough letters. Anyway, I helped her print her essay; she practically thought of me as a god, it's nice to be appreciated for what you're good at isn't it?

Anyway, skip ahead a few boring periods, Algebra 3/4 test, the last question is REALLY hard (I really suppose it's not meant to be understood/completed) I see this as a challenge. I take the WHOLE period to do it, and I'm sure I get it right, I speak to the teacher later, then he tells me that I could've graphed it, found the intersection, and that was it. UGH.
And thanks to that test, I've now fallen asleep in English listening to Whitman's romantic era poetry. Ugh. "It was so beautiful, the pictures/images in my mind were so inviting and I fell asleep" I said when my little excursion into wonderland was discovered, little did I know that they were currently talking about Whitman's bisexuality. Ugh.

Fin.

Today I downvoted Learn how to spell, mormon not because of the content of the node, but because it is misused to softlink to other nodes (such as Why Code Red saved our collective asses) to point out in an insulting way that the write-up contains some spelling mistakes.

Please, not all of use are perfect at English. If you find a mistake message the creater of the write-up and ask him/her to change it. Do not be a coward and insult it by softlinking it to a node title.

Of course I messaged jaubertmoniker to explain to him why I downvoted his node. I agree with him that this isn't an ideal solution, but I felt I had to do something about it. And since creating a softlink is anonymous this was the only way, I could think of, of doing that.