It's a Wild Mad Nightly Noding Spree®!

Let's see: during the last 24 hours, I've noded about Amiga and Commodore 64 (because I draw Petal Fear game graphics with Personal Paint, for the simple reason that it's better for miniature, small-palette graphics than GIMP =), Finnish artists, and such... um, 2 cools. Weird, that.

Now I'm looking for a text editor for Amiga that would support Emacs key command and support Amiga UI stuff adequeately... vim is sort of a disappointment. I know Emacs exists for Amiga, but I'm not going to have it installed in UAE. Two copies of Emacs on HD? I have better use for HD space, thank you...

nedit for X is pretty nice, BTW, but it has one bad thing. The Motif file selection dialogs. I can't easily express my hatred towards these spawns of Hell, and I can just say that I was infinitely joyous when Mozilla came with working File Save dialogs... It was among the first reasons to consider nuking Netscape 4 for good =)

<whining><!-- No need to read... -->

Argh, what the hell I'm rambling about text editors and widgets... For couple of ocassions now, I feel I've been left outside of the world. It's sort of hard to explain, but I try. Let's say it this way: there's a chasm, wide chasm, between the world and me. People can tell me things from the other side of the chasm, but they just grin and let me here rot where I am. As if... the world would tell me "Cool for you that you did that, but we really don't need your help, thanks for asking."

I just want to... do things I want to do, and get respect for that. Now... I can just do something-sort-of-like-what-was-supposed and people nod and let me be here.

I'm doomed to be... among the second to best. No matter how hard I try, I never get to be among the respected - and this happens everywhere where I try to go and help.

I don't want just nods. I wish someone would say me every now and then that I'm doing something they appreciate.

World, give me feedback!


Oh damn, I think I should go to sleep... Two things combined: darkness depression and the fact that no one bothered to say anything to me in the Valentine's Day... But I just can't deny the things that the reality is telling me!

(This part of the daylog written in Nirvana Editor®, The Text Editor With A Philosophical Name™)


Morning! Well, without further ado, time to face the challenges of the day...


Mozilla 0.8!

YiffCam grabbing images and attempting to play sound (to better tell me that something is happening)! This may be interesting. Onward to Slashdot and stuff.


Here's a riddle for the spammers: If it's an "one-time mailing", why the heck I got three copies of the same spam?

Other day logs o' mine...

Noded today by y.t.: Mauri Kunnas Kaj Stenvall vowel harmony random number generator semantic attack

Updated: code signing

After collecting Gemma from work last night, we drove to Kingston, a nice suburb of our home-town of Canberra, to Filthy McFaddens, an Irish pub we frequent.

At the midway point of our first pint (she a Murphy's Irish Red, me a Cascade Pale Ale), an old Digger walked in the door and practically right up to us.

Now, the term "Digger" is used for old ex-soldiers in Australia (and possibly New Zealand as well, if it be an ANZAC term). Old Diggers in Australia rarely have much money, the government paying only a pittance to those young men who went to fight a war in the last century.

Neither Gemma or I have any grandparents still alive, and we're both a long way from our families, so we're more likely than not to shout an old Digger a beer and ask him to tell us a yarn or two.

So this is what we did.

Old Tommy, born in the year 1920, fought in the Second World War for the ANZACs in the western desert in Egypt. "How many of your mates came back, Tommy?" we asked, after he'd settled in with his pint of Guiness.

Tommy reached into his jacket pocket (it was his best suit, he later told us, having come from a doctor's appointment earlier in the day), and showed us an old yellowed photograph, tatty on the corners and faded with years. "Three of us" he said, and jabbed his finger at three fresh, youthful faces, posing for a long-dead Egyptian cameraman, amongst a total of 18 young blokes in uniform.

It was a poignant moment. Tommy wasn't bitter, like the stereotypical old Digger, and he told us of his alcoholic wife, who died at the age of 40, his three month bender in London after he was demobbed at the conclusion of WW2, his work driving bulldozers to build the great Snowy Mountains Hydro-Electric Scheme, at the time the largest public works project in the world...

We shared another pint, Gemma and I answered his polite questions as to our work and lifestyle, and we left him with a half, a "packet of smokes", and a tenner in his pocket.

Later, as we were eating our dinner, outdoors, at a nice Italian restaurant around the corner, here came old Tommy, on his stick, at a top speed of perhaps 2 metres per minute. We called to him and he joined us for dinner, although the menu befuddled him, so we ordered him a nice basic steak and a Peroni. He thought it hilarious to be drinking "Eye-tie Beer" (Italian), as he'd "kicked their bums during the war". We enjoyed the moment.

We drove Tommy home to his little apartment, and then went home ourselves, feeling extremely appreciative of Tommy's -- and his long dead mates -- efforts for us all those decades ago.

Oh, how the universe has a sense of humour.

My previous employer, the {censored} idiot (see here) had his come-uppance. I had just gotten back from lunch - I am afraid to say it was McDonalds - and I walk in to my building, and the fire alarms went off. It was luckily only sprinkling, the three previous fire alarms this MONTH have been when it was raining. Anyway, we all wait for the fire department, all 1,000 people in the building, and finally get the all clear. When we walk in, we hear that the cause of it was a malfunctioning computer in my former employers office! HA!

Anyway, on the work front, I lugged yet ANOTHER Uninterruptable Power Supply from head office today - this one was 3000VA and weighed 69kgs (150lbs for you Americans out there). OUCH. Unfortunatley, it is a 15V input, and the standard wiring in the building is only 10V. So now I have to don my electrician's hat and rewire a power outlet. And find an appropriate power cord.

Legs are STILL sore from the gym. Luckily today was chest and arms. Yesterday, I forgot to log the fact I saw one of my best uni firends at the gym, Merinda, who is this gorgeous 6'3" lesbian, who goes out with one of Australia's biggest Broadway show stars, Amber ???. Name to follow once I call her to confirm. Anyway, they were working out and they invited me over to their house again - being close friends, and having no expectations whatsoever because they are so in love, we just chill and have fun. And a smoke every so often.

Dinner last night was chicken cachetori.

It all came together today.

Hollow Heroes

A kid in a time without heroes has lost his sense of right and wrong. Finger pointing pointless. BUT. Fact remains. Columbine used to be the name of my mother’s favorite flower. Gone now amid gunfire. Where are the heroes? Where was the super hero to stop the bullets? No end in sight.

Is this our gift to the history books? An election which does not choose a leader and an endless string of children who know not right nor wrong? All these things will be used to stereotype our childhood, the days when we came of age. Hollow music flys off the shelves, hollow music into the ears. Hollow heroes on the TV, into the eyes. Why do you wonder why your children are hollow? Raised in a time of one big party, there is no great war. They see no struggle, they see nothing unfiltered. Nothing is real, so killing classmates doesn’t matter. Kids raised by adults merely going through the motions, the same methods but without the meaning. Hollow.

OK, I hate this, completely.. OK yea, I'm just a lowly moron trying to get up to the next level and yea, I'm a complete hoor...  I'm stuck tho...  I'm sitting here balls to the wall, 11:57 and I have nothing to write-up...  I have nothing decent to say at all...  I had a good day today, I got a lot done at work...  and this particular write-up is the last one I need to move up a level...  I feel so cheap, so dirty, as if I climbed into someone's smelly sheets nude and I can feel the fleas flicking and writhing in my leg hair. Ugh...  don't you feel dirty just for having read that?  Reading it again gave me the creeps.  I have to post this before I just delete the whole thing just to stamp that last phrase from my mind like some  skittering spider...

But I've just stooped and I hate that - it makes the triumph I should feel by moving to the next level feel as if I'm slinking by it and hoping that no one will notice me with my face hid beneath a hood. I have to do it tho...  I can't walk away and go to bed with that last write-up glaring at me....oh well

I guess, while I'm here in sleaze-town, I might as well pick up a Big Mac and fries. Today's stuff?

  • Managed to get out of teaching a class to my co-workers? (and wondering if I can put it off another week?)
  • After the disaster I thought my class was (last week), I realized I'd actually learned something about Perl and JavaScript(shock)
  • The "little" project I'd been putting off and putting off came to a head today and I managed to pull it off and feel like a hero...  weird...
  • I watched Babylon 5:A Call to Arms on sci-fi and was depressed to find that it was just a set-up movie for their failed "crusade" series...  sigh.
  • I realized that people haven't posted a lot of the music I listened to when I was in high-school.  I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.
  • Now I'm listening to Fraiser (on the TV in the other room) and trying to think of a way to wrap this up without pandering to my usual: end it on a trick phrase...  I'm giving up....goodnight
Ah my faithful audience...
You all amaze me with your interest into the humble goings on in my life here in Italia...

Since I keep getting such high marks on these little day logs, I'd like to open them up to your input... what do you the anonomys E2 reader want to hear me write about... other than see me improve my spelling that is...

Just Msg me and let me know... for starters i'll offer these options:

Blast From The Past: In which I'll delve into my history and tell you a story about myself

. Work Stories: Tales of jobs I've done over the jears or a story about the job I currently have

Opinions on Politics and Religion: nuff' said

My hobbies: nuff' said.

So if you want to be interacting with me... just spot me a message... Once again thanks for all the votes I get on these... you are all too kind!

Now to the real meat of this log--->
I went out last night to Cafe Des Arts... they had some drummers from Camaroon singing and drumming and drumming... very nice... plus 2 of my 3 drinks were on the house. I had gone in earlier in the day to show them the flyer for the upcomin' photo show when I found out about the drummers. I also was introduced to Ivan of the B. Brew Quintet, who is the house jazz band leader and his group is now signed on to play at the Inagurazione a they say it here in Italy. Very kewl!!! and he comes for free...

I had a very interesting meeting with Leonardo Chiariglione, learned a lot more about his involvement in setting up the MPEG standardization group and his opinions on Napster, the ethics of downloading free music... his 18th century farmhouse and the fireplace he sits by on the weekends... As well as the fact that his wife makes wine for the familly. Very nice man... I'll be updating his node latter on in the day, please stop by and check it out... if not for Leonardo there might not have been the push for standardization in digital audio and video, resulting in a world without MP3, MPEG-4, Video Discs, DVD, Digital TV, etc...

Other than that it was a nice slow day... ate Chineese takeout at midnight after the concert, very yummy, $5 for a plate of glass noodles with veggies and chineese mushrooms + another plate of chicken with bamboo and mushrooms.

Food is super cheap here in Italy... see my entry on Porta Pallazo some day when I write it... PP is the largest open air market in Europe and the prices for food are incredibly cheap... red and yellow peppers are on average $2 a kilo... fresh salmon steaks are about $5-6 a kilo (or $3 a pound) fresh chicken breast is even cheaper... neadless to say I eat a lot more seafood here than I could ever afford to back home in either Chicago or Eugene, Oregon. No red meat because of mucca pazza AKA mad cow disease... Not that I ever ate much red meat... Was even a vegitarian for a few years when I was younger...

Well, gonna go and do some work... thanks again everbody for making my time here at E2 an enjoyable way to slack and think, write and communicate in English... ciao,
Matt Crow AKA NL4E

I saw M yesterday for a few minutes. We kissed. It was just rapture. I shouldn't have kissed him, I'm definitely getting a cold. I did warn him earlier. We are supposed to get together tonight and I know what I want to do but I don't want to give him a cold. Too late for that now!

It's so funny - I dumped him because I felt like I wasn't in love with him anymore. Things just felt wrong. Even though I knew I loved him, I just didn't want to be with him. I felt confined, chained down to the wrong man. Now I feel like I'm going to lose him for good, and I'm afraid that I will, and I'm afraid that he won't change, and I will and then I won't want him anymore anyway - and it's all confused and a mishmash of conflicting thoughts and feelings that change daily.

I feel like my mind is playing tricks on me in some way I can't figure out yet; and when I do, it will be too late. But it doesn't matter, because I know, as I've known for years, that I really love this guy. He's captured part of my heart forever. I don't know which part! If I knew, I would know!

Well, as Zedd would put it, Bags, bags, and double bags.
written to srini at unamerican.com at 8:12 am
what purpose is there for continued support of a system that cannot be changed?
 it is said that good and evil do not exist but in the minds of men. i have seen evil. 
i agree, evil is the corporations, the pollutants, the 49 cent jungle burgers and the 
overpriced cancer stick. it's inherent in everything we do, in the plastic smiles of
 the news anchorman, and it even dares invade the movies we'd like to think were
 even the least bit subversive (that spells advertising folks).  i live with people every 
day, people who don't understand. people who couldn't understand. (or they do, 
but they don't care). i fall on my face several times a day. i think perhaps i'm just 
looking for something to believe in. i have no job. i think it's pathetic that i feel pathetic
 for not having a job. i mooch off of my g/f and my parents. i "contribute" lyrics to an 
online db (www.everything2.com(heh, could that be considered embedded advertising?))
 that operates on a semi-democratic system. people seem to like it when i write angsty
 bullshit more than when i write something else. maybe i just write there because i feel 
there's a slight chance that someone will listen to me. whatever. i don't even remember
 the point of this. maybe just venting. fuck, no one'll read this anyhow. and if anyone does,
 you won't care either. i'm not nearly as loved or as smart or as important. every day i 
wake up, and every day that same feeling of self hate and worthlessness returns. and
 there's nothing i can do about it. 
i have no voice and yet i must scream

i suck
Well, I'm somewhat in shock. I figured, dollars to doughnuts, that my daylog from yesterday would get downvoted into oblivion, and potentially send my XP to the depths of the ocean. I took the time to bitch and moan about something that bothered me in E2 (specifically, soft linking as criticism, and criticism that I found unfounded), and if I've picked up one thing so far about the E2 community it is that this meta-community is very proud of their collective creation. This pride (much deserved, IMHO) breeds as sense of protection for the site, which in turn results in a fire storm of protest when someone criticizes E2. This is particularly the case when it's a newbie doing the critiquing, as they often (and I include myself in this statement) don't quite understand the complex chimera that is E2.

However, much to my surprise, I got a number of + votes for my write up, and not "You suck!" messages in my inbox. Well, perhaps it's because I actually hit upon something True (that's True with a capital T) in my thinking. Or, perhaps people just liked my anecdote defending St. Valentine's day, and looked past the lunatic ravings I posted first.

Anyway, to all who's fingers hovered lustily above that little "-" button but refrained out of some sense of charity, I thank you.

Now, on to more interesting things, at least for me. This coming Tuesday, I am leaving for Calgary to visit my father and step-mother which is an exciting enough prospect in-and-of itself. I haven't seen my father in two months, and I haven't seen my step-mother in six. What has got me so wired that I can barely sit still is the fact that Wednesday the 21st is my father's 60th birthday, and our entire family is coming in to surprise him. I cannot wait to see him stand there in stunned silence as the slightest moisture gathers at the corner of his eye. In fact, I'm tearing up just thinking about it now.

What is going to make this so special for me and my family is the fact that I am bringing my 1 year old son to visit with me, and my aunts and uncles will have their first chance to see him. We are going to spend a whole week visiting, and the chance to sit and relax and hike in the mountains and go shopping and just spend butt-loads of time together is going to be so important for me, for my son and my family.

Thinking about all of this makes me reflect on the dynamics of long distance relationships. I haven't lived in the same city as my mother or father for almost ten years, and now the distance between us is measured in the thousands of kilometers. When I was younger, in university and wrapped up in my own world, this was so much easier. I guess that when you're eighteen or twenty, you can more easily delude yourself into thinking that the world is all about you. However, at least for me, as we age I believe that we become acutely aware of how our lives intersect and interact with the lives of others.

For me, I guess I always missed my parents, even when I wasn't thinking about them or my family. But with the birth of my son, I think I'm confronted with the reality that they are so far away. Each time I look into my son's eyes and see his love and apprectiation of me or my fiancée, it makes me realize that my parents looked (and still look) at me like that, and I am aware of how hard it must be for them to go so long without the chance to do what I take for granted.

Sleep is good

This morning I awoke more rested then when I went to bed for the second time in 2 days.
And then I had to go to school.
And then I had to stay after school and work with Scott on our yearbook page. And I was hungry all day. That sucked too.

it's friday. mmm pizza

I woke up this morning and split seconds after doing so, my mobile phone rang... which may seem quite usual. But at 5:45am! ... my dad had got up to go to work, the dustbin men were only just starting to come down the road. I suppose it was my fault for leaving the sound turned up on it, even though I woke before it rang. It was nine9 sending me a text message, which was pretty dandy, he was at work. This was the start of a strange day.
It wasnt strange as in people were all walking around without talking or something, but something wasnt right. Sure it was the last day of this half term, so everyone was a little bit more energetic than usual ... apart from the teachers. Yet everything was in a reverse kind of way. Our first lesson we had we went in and started to revise for our exams. We usually end up working and working end on end with this specific teacher, as he is very strict. But this day he was more interested in letting us fix his filing cabinet. He had broken it and it wouldnt shut properly ... hitting it didnt work, no matter how many times you did it and no matter how big the object you hit it with. The stories of how he had battered it over the years started to roll out, how he has wooden filing cabinets that dont break, and armour plated ones that have taken battering for 50 years. It was rather unusual as this usually happens in every lesson but this one.
We all had dinner and then went on to our last lesson of the day. As I had mentioned earlier everyone was behaving to the reverse that they usually would. Myself and everyone else thats usually quiet were very noisy, we were bickering between ourselves. Causing a little disruption in the class where she doesnt like it ;) and in the one where she doesnt mind however much we shout and take the piss out of her, we also made a noise (we have two teachers for the same subject). Yet the people who usually take on the role of what we were doing were being quiet and less so noisy ... Strange eh?

Work, node, node, work, node.

I spent the day sifting through logs, reading my E-mail, eating Altoids, drinking coffee and hot chocolate, answering my phone, writing E-Mails, and noding.

Yes, friends, another day at work.

Last night's network activity was pretty light, so I got caught up quickly this morning. I usually don't drink coffee, but I had some today. (I usually have either Cocoa or Tea.)

Our facilities director left the company, so there's an office that I'd sure like to move into. It's got a window, a locking door, and plenty of room for my shit. I doubt I'll get it, though, as there are some people who have priority over me. Bah. I had an office in our OLD building. I want one here too!

Lunch Log: Subway Club. Lettuce, Extra Onions, Green Peppers, Spicy Mustard, Salt & Pepper, Oil & Vinegar. Yum. I also had a small cup of Subway's Chicken Noodle Soup.

Life never ceases to surprise me.

How can a week filled with such drama and turmoil spawn such a beautiful day? The cold rain is drizzling, but I feel joyful, because today I found parts of myself that lay dormant for over twenty years. Today in class, I reached inside during an emotional recall exercise and found a reserve of hope and strength that I had forgotten.

Today I knew that I could become Creon in the upcoming production of Antigone and do him justice. Today I saw Antigone glittering in Melanie's eyes and knew she was born to play this role. That revelation came while shivering inside a stadium blanket outside her dorm building, waiting for electricity from my engine to revive hers.

We give and take energy every day, in so many ways, from our friends and enemies. For a moment, I was aware of the exchange, and felt something spark. I think I'm going to run to the mall and buy Mel an Ani DiFranco cd before tonight's show. Our professor is disgusted with Kentucky Wesleyan College and its blatant disregard for the arts, and we're pulling out all the stops with Antigone. She mentioned using Ani's 'Napoleon' and 'Untouchable Face' and 'Both Hands' as preshow music for Antigone. I pointed out the questionable lyrics, and after a beat we laughed and exclaimed, "Screw 'em if they can't cope!" We're through limiting ourselves, holding back and playing to the Victorian sensibilities of this backwards suburban hellhole!

I just got back from my Jr.High science club. Before class started I stopped by my old Language Arts teacher's class, Mrs. Koshak, and chatted for a while. I asked her if she saw me in the paper, she said she was proud of me, and we got to talking about underachievers, overachievers, GATE kids, all sorts of stuff. She told me she remembers me as a super-overachiever, and she said there's one story she remembers of me that she shares with her kids each year.

I had been working in a group project on some presentation we had to do for the class, and we'd all done our parts and we were ready to turn in the project, sitting there in class, but I just wasn't happy with it. She said I sat there all fidgety and upset saying "It just needs something... it needs something." I got up and walked around the class, looking here and there for whatever it was that I thought it "needed", until I found myself a piece of yellow construction paper. She said I cut out four little triangles of yellow paper, and glued them to the four corners of the front page of the report and I stepped back and looked at it and said "There. Now it's perfect."

It was just a tiny little detail, so insignificant that no one but me would notice it, but to me, it was vitally important to bringing the whole thing together.

She said she uses that as an example of the difference between good, and wonderful.

Now, what struck me about her telling of this story was not the fact that she thought I was wonderful, but the fact that she told this story to her kids. Do you remember being in Jr.High, sitting in your desk, and your teachers would always recount funny or interesting stories from kids they'd taught before? I used to sit there in my desk and think to myself "Some day they're going to tell stories about me."

Of course after I left Jr.High and school in general, I never thought about it anymore. It wasn't important to me if my teachers told stories. But now I know that they do... I'm that person. I'm the one that left a lasting impression and set the standards for "wonderful" for all the little kids in school today. I'm that kid the teachers remember, and they cut my articles out of the paper and save them in a scrapbook of kids they did a good job on. The ones that succeeded.

And I'm one of them.

It's really weird. I'm not telling you this to brag or to boast or anything that I normally do. But just because I felt a weird kind of peace when she told me that. It gave me a second to step back and look at myself on a whole, and stop complaining about the fact that I'm behind on my rent, or my waist is inches bigger than it used to be, or I still bite my nails.

I've succeeded. I've left a mark. They remember my name. I'm an overachiever. I set the standard for wonderful.

Yeah for me.
some days you just open your mouth and the fnords come pouring out. i'm at werk, and i just had to deliver a stack of papers to a guy in the publications office. so i walk into the office and the middle-aged female at the desk says something generic and chipper, to which i reply: "i come bearing fnords for john." she promptly looked surprised and told me john wasn't in. "oh, i know," i said, "can i leave them on his desk?" at this point, a smirking female snuck up behind me, eyes all a-twinkle with the power of the fnords, and relieved me of my papers, saying she'd make certain he got them. smiling blandly and trying not to burst out laughing, i thanked her and disappeared into the brisk february afternoon.

later commentary:
my mother just ran up and pounded on my door, handed me a heavy dinner fork, and sprinted into the evening, cackling. i have no idea what to say to this.

You can't ignore your subconscious. It will eventually take hold of you and make you its bitch. A few years ago I had a journal and my first boyfriend. In this journal I had written every step of our blossoming relationship from the very first moment when he looked at me and I just melted. As we continued to become more and more intimate, I recorded every dirty little detail. One day my mother found the journal. She learned that my boyfriend and I were having sex. She was very upset, and needless to say so was I. Ever since that occurrence I could not regularly write in my journal. It was tainted. My most stupid, heart-felt, insignifcant, momentous emotions were in that damn little book. Someone had read it other than me. Noone was supposed to have read it but me. I was so angry. I just couldn't write anymore. I loved to write, but I just stopped. Every once in a while I would try to write about my day. It just wouldn't happen. It was so forced and biting, yet I had the urge to write. I really wanted to but couldn't. Today I was at the union and I bought a notebook and a pen. A brand new cute little pink notebook with no pain or stigma attached to it. I wrote about all the things I had been thinking about lately. It felt lovely and natural. I enjoyed it immensely and it made me very happy to write again.

My housemate beat me up last night in a drunken rage. The stated reason was that he was annoyed at me for refusing to pay the heating bill (reasonable, considering his habit of opening all the windows and doors and then turning the heat up because he's cold...)

Ironically, during the course of the fight he pulled my body in such a way to pop my back. My spine hasn't felt this good in months.

(formatting retained from original journal entry written while waiting around after school)

Jesus Christ...

I feel worse now than I did the night she dumped me. I dunno. Now I have to worry about stupid shit, like how much better at kissing he is than me, or how un-shy he is.

I know I'm going to break down crying tonight, early this morning, sometime...

Why the fuck does she still insist on calling me "cutes"? It's like she knows it makes me want to die, and she just wants to hurt me even more than she already has. I ought to just kill myself and make her job easier -- only then, I wouldn't get to see her reaction...?

Why is it that all I can picture is them making out? or groping madly at each other? or her sucking him off? or them fucking? As said before:

It wouldn't be nearly so bad if I didn't know what I was missing.

The siren outside bleeds through the night, sobbing its way into eternity outside my window. A city, oozing with rain, flattens out for miles around me, the orange-grey skies soaked, a wet woolen blanket pressing down...

The insides of my thighs are damp with blood; warm feminine smells, soft familiar pain, an empty yearning for something that I didn't think I wanted. Curtains flutter gently, the world breathes in breathes out in deep expanding sighs. My heart is pained, my insides are broken, my mind is stained.

"Should have known better than to cheat a friend, the wasted chance that I've been given; so I'm never gonna dance again, the way I danced with you..."

Maybe I really don't know what love is. It seems that whenever I think I really have found it, I'm only misleading myself; and the times I think are too comfortable, too domestic, too quiet and peaceful are always the ones I have to wreck-- the ones that always haunt me later. Why do I insist on sabotaging the good and holding on to the bad? Will I ever learn...?

"It's raining in Baltimore, baby, but everything else is the same...There's things I remember and things I forget; I miss you, I guess that I should...Three thousand five hundred miles away, but what would you change if you could...?"

Whatever happens will happen... maybe this time, I won't take the nice guys for granted.
So I'm really lucky....and I'm really thankful.

I got the phonecall at about 4:15....about five and a half hours after I had the blood drawn. I am not pregnant..... but I had five days to agonize over an EPT that came out positive! I don't wish that anxiety on anyone....'specially when taking the damn test was just a 'I wonder'. They wanted me to look at different forms of birth control. I said "Listen lady, between marriage and celibacy, I don't think this problem is going to pop up again for a long time if ever." Sheez...that comment even depressed me.

And don't ask me who the father would have been....that's a really dumb question.....Let's see....2 days after Christmas....you only have one horse to bet on here folks. Any takers?

But it's done and gone and everyone's free to move about in their skins again......and don't remain seated during the turbulence.

Now it's time to make some really big changes....and I know right where I want to start....maybe now you should fasten your seatbelts.

I went into work early so that I could leave early, just in case something interesting came up. I didn't have anything planned though.

I am still excited from Sara's response to my valentine's day gift and I wrote her a reply last night and sent it off to her this morning. She wondered what it was that I saw in her that made me think she was so special, so I told her.

I wound up writing a novel.

I got a reply to that later on in the day and she said she was going away for the weekend and would give me the proper response when she gets back. She wants to get together for lunch on Friday as well. Whee :)

CR wanted to show me how to use worldcraft to build half-life games so we decided to get together over at my apartment to do a little bit of lan gaming and for him to introduce me to worldcraft. It's a pretty nice program.. I have a feeling I'm going to have less free time :)

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