So three days ago this guy roadrages on me. I provoked him, and I'm not really worried about it. What gets me is, three days later, and I stilled haven't fully grokked my own role in the activity. So here's the story, before we get to what bugs me about it.

I'm passing a tan Saturn fourdoor, Enterprise rental car with some guy talkin on his phone on his left ear and his arm and hand blocking his view out the left side of his car. He starts drifting into me, runs me half off the road, and then, when he realizes his predicament, simply drifts back into the righthand lane, not even acknowledging to me that he had nearly killed me. So I did the reasonable thing, and I flicked him off. More accurately, I pulled in front of him, held a perfectly formed bird in his sight, and changed lanes whenever he did so that he couldn't avoid seeing my middle finger. He's still talking on the phone when I see his face shift from a pale caucasian color to redder than a Native American in a 50's Disney Movie. He doesn't press a button on the phone, or even move it away from his face as he begins shouting what can only be profanity. He's wearing a blue shirt, a tie that's wide enough to really show off the V in it, woven from two colors to make it look like one of those color shifting cars, and I can't help but guessing that he was on a business call when I finally broke him, and that was more than anything my revenge for being run off the road.

Eventually, as he's chasing me down the Riverchase Parkway, I make a stupid move, an attempt at a blind U-Turn that means I nearly hit an on coming car, and the gentleman in the Saturn has a chance to block me in. I go into reverse, and as I'm reversing, dude jumps out of his car, cell phone in his right hand now, and runs towards my car. I go into drive and swing around his car, and as I'm passing he throws his cell phone into the side of my car.

He caught up with me at the next light, and chased me for a little while until I managed to take a right turn into a parking lot from the left lane, which was immediately occupied by a lawnmowing service truck, as accorcing to plan.

So that's what happened, and overall I did okay, but not nearly as well as previous times I've provoked roadrage from deserving fellow drivers. Here's some of the main things that bother me:
- I started a fight on an empty tank of gas. I'm perfectly happy with getting on I-20 and driving to Atlanta if some guy is willing to follow me that far, but I was going to run out of gas before I lost this guy, probably before I got to a gas station.
- I let the guy get in front of me. Rookie moves nearly cost me the game, and I'm not a rookie.
- I didn't lock my doors. The guy left the largest dent my car has, with his cell phone. If he'd managed to pull me out of the car, I'd be dead.

Now I know I'm passive aggressive and that's why I start fights I have no intention of finishing. But this time, I started a fight and left myself almost no out. Sky divers start to do crazier and crazier things, looking for that next rush. Hopefully this is something from along those lines, and not a more sinister urge towards self destruction.

Waiting until fullness is.

- Robert Goddam

I'm glad to announce that I've gotten more votes for this, a fucking daylog, than for any of my actual write-ups. That's 22 upvotes (that it doesn't deserve) and 8 downvotes (which it more likely deserves.) Since you care and all.

Knowing I only had 5 hours to go, he told me to stay up for the full 24 hours. Why? No good reason really. I find myself asking "why?" all the time.

Why did we have such a great turn out tonight? (I work at a coffee house. Wally Pleasant came. Everyone loves his charm and sweet folksy style). Why did I watch that movie?? Blue Velvet. So intense. Makes my guts hurt.

Why did amber introduce me to yet ANOTHER site that will keep me up all night writing (who am I kidding? I love this stuff...)?

Most importantly, why am I so god damned lonely? All I can think about... now that I only have 2 hours and 40 minutes to go until I have been up for the full 24... for the first time in my life... that i can remember... All I can think about is how badly I want:

*arms around me (so cliche but you know the feeling. it's stable. it's comfortable. it's wonderful. you know it is).

*fingers tracing the lines in my corderoys

*toes gently brushing the side of my foot... which leads to feet firmly pressed upon each other playing a soothing game of "who wants who more... who's pushing whose foot harder..." but it's never rough... its too sexy to be rough.

They're giving up on me, and he says he wants to go to sleep. He kicked me out of his bed, even though it is quite definatly the most comfortable in the house (I've tried all five)... I only have two hours and 35 minutes to go, but after this first encounter with e2... after my best attempt to write how I truely feel with out limiting what I say and do not say... after this I'm going to sleep. I mean what really is the point in staying up?


I mean, I am wearing khaki colored string bikini undies under my light khaki corderoy pants and the undies have chocolate brown text sprawling over and over across the fabric that matches almost exactly the chocolate brown t-shirt i wear, and the text reads "I love sleeping" over and over and over.

How can I resist sleep any longer?

and how can they resist me so much?

How can i tell her it will be ok, when i am not there with her?

How can i hold her hand during the tests, and tell her they are going to come out clean?

How can i hug her and hold her and tell her i love her when the results come out negative?

How can i be there to be sure she doesn't try to end her life?

How do i make sure the man gets what he deserves, and not a light ass sentence from a judge?

How can i do any of this, when she is so so far away?

All i can do, is pray, and wait till her name appears on my msn list.

Update: At 5am, i walked indoors from talking with my mate and she was on. No sperm was found, however the intruder confessed to raping her and is charged with first degree rape. I thank you all for your prays.

Update: September 18: The fucker pleaded not guilty and is now free as a bird until the trial. Fuck i hate the US Justice System.

I wonder how my mom is going to take the news that I'm going to move back in with her. That, nine months short of completing my degree, I'm going to give up and come back to the town that I grew up in. Well, that's not exactly true, I'm not going back to the town I grew up in, I don't plan to leave the house much at all. This isn't even the house I grew up in, so it's not really regressing.

I doubt she'll take the news very well at all. "What are you going to do with your life?" Yeah, she won't be very happy at all. "Where are you going to get a job?" My answer? I'm not going to get one, of course. I have some money...if I don't have to pay rent, all you really need is food, right? I don't eat much, and if you never leave the house, it's not like you need incredible amounts of energy. I could live for years this way...

My mother has three jobs, just to give herself something to do. She is almost never at home. I would have this huge suburban house all to myself. My mother's last Christmas gift to my dad was a 200 CD player to add to our stereo system, and it is filled with wonderful CDs. My parents have a great collection, The Beatles, the Stones, Bob Dylan, the Doors. Some Paul Simon. Classical and Opera. The stereo rocks, I can hear whatever I'm playing from any room in the house. My dad left behind tons of books, all nonfiction with the exception of a few classics. He never got through Paradise Lost, that'd be a good place for me to start.

I know I'll need a project sooner or later, us Type A personalities can't sit still for too long. But I always have my body to work on, and there's a room in the basement devoted to a Nordic Track and a weight bench, and the walls are so bare. It's been driving me nuts all morning. I'll venture out of doors once or twice to purchase art supplies and make art. Lots of art to hang on the walls. This project will take years, as well, with all the bare space I have to fill. So what if I don't know jack about art? I have all the time in the world...

I can't figure out if I want to make this house a chrysalis or a tomb. All I know is that I've spent the entire day lying around listening to Beatles records and reading, and I've enjoyed it very much. I feel safe and warm. Wouldn't it be nice to do this all the time?

There is never any shame in feeling patriotism for one's country. I like having my own ideas and opinions. I will not apologize.

Only one person made an attempt to answer one question in my last day log.

I maintain that truth is the biggest casualty of war. It's no great surprise to hear yesterday about a Canadian poll that 85% of the respondents believe America is at fault for bringing the 9-11 attacks about.

I am still outraged that so many voters are indifferent to our democracy. So few choose to participate in a political system that so many seem to ardently revere, shedding tears, waving flags and singing patriotic songs. When I read this morning’s local paper about the primaries only 20.9% of registered Arizona voters bothered to do one of the most patriotic acts available to Americans: vote.

The last time I know of an actual leader running for office was 1960. Voter participation rates have declined regardless of how many "little old ladies" have been helped across the streets of America then or now. If the 2000 voting ratio had been the same as the 1960 ratio, 25 million more citizens would have voted. Voting is hardly a panacea. The citizen participation loss is equivalent to 6 entire states the size of Florida's vote. Despite brain tumors and Pop Tarts I am informed.

To the majority who thanked me for
'saying all I did. It was needed AND appreciated!'
"Don't let the whiners and complainers get you down.
You (and your message) are excellent! “,
"has anyone thanked you today for being here? let me chime in among them. you rock, lady."
I thank you for your kind and generous support.

To the passive aggressive teeming with rebellion hidden in angst and apathy. I refuse to believe that your entire urban communities are ridden with gun toting school children and angry black youths rapping from jail over the TV. While it may not matter to you it matters to others.

The inability of not seeing the events of this year as a defining moment in your lifetime means that you have not lived long enough to gain perspective and that's okay.

To those of you who politely inquired about my point of view and responded respectfully I applaud you and relate my sincerest thanks for an intelligent and thought provoking discourse. Public argumentation help define one's own personal beliefs about a given situation; however, it is still actions that speak louder than words. Remember we all have to live with the consequences of those actions.

This subject is no longer open for discussion. I find myself having to detach. I have turned off the TV, put down the newspapers, planted wildflowers, buried gems in the node gel and baked cookies for fellow noders.

Kindest regards.

I am Secure:
For God has not given us a spirit of timidity, but of power and love and discipline.
~2 Timothy 1:7 (NASB)

I have not been given a spirit of fear, but of power, love and discipline.


Thursday, I had my first job interview in almost 4 months. I thought that it went very, very well. I met with more than a dozen people over the course of an 8-hour interview and, by the end of the day, the people I was talking to had stopped using the hypothetical voice when talking about the projects that were coming up. It is usually a good sign when the tenor of the conversation shifts from "this is the sort of project that you would be working on" to "on our next project you'll be focusing on low-level protocol issues".

Yesterday they called back and said that they decided that they weren't going to hire me. Their process requires that every person you interview with recommend hiring you but, in my case, there was a single holdout who didn't think I was right for the job.

We put our house on the market today. My wife and I cried after the real estate agent left. Like everyone, we worked our asses off to get the house. We love this place. We love the backyard with its beautiful 50-year old cherry tree that I hung a rope swing off of for the kids. We love the kitchen that has hosted so many good meals, that brought forth the first Christmas dinner our son ever had in the first year that Santa Claus came down our chimney. We love the neighborhood. This is home.

Our kids don't understand, they just know that we're moving back to Colorado because Daddy can't find a job in Seattle. They don't understand why Mommy and Daddy are always so grumpy, or why they can't go to dance class or gymnastics anymore. But they still laugh infectiously as we chase each other through the rapidly growing pile of boxes. That's something, at least, kids are kids and will find a way to be happy no matter what is going on around them.

We don't know what will happen next. We haven't found a place to live, yet, back there. We're hoping that a friend's mom with a basement apartment that she rents out will be willing to rent it to a family of four. If that should not come through we're afraid that we may end up crashing in my mother-in-law's basement until we get our feet back under us.

I know this isn't traumatic by overall global standards. There is absolutely no possibility that we are going to end up homeless in the sense that our kids are getting rained on or sleeping in snow drifts. None of us have missed any meals, nor will we. From the perspective of a single mother in Afghanistan we've still got it fucking made. But from here, inside the American Dream, things are looking pretty grim.


I left about a half hour early for my weekly volleyball game with Edward and his gang. Arriving at East Beach at 11:30, I commandeered a picnic table from a sea gull, and resumed my reading of Cryptonomicon.

When the sun reached its zenith, I wasn't really surprised that nobody had shown up yet. Edward hosted a LAN party the night before, and while he had affirmed that the volleyball would take place as normal, he would probably be getting up not too long beforehand. I waited until 12:25 before calling him; a friend of his answered his phone, and said the game was likely scrubbed, since everybody else was still unconscious. I agree, and continue reading, planning to leave at the end of the chapter. Just a few minutes later, with only two pages to go, Aimée shows up. She sits at the table with me and I update her on the (non-)plan, then we just go on talking.

Aimée has been seen at the weekly game a few times recently, so we know each other's names, and we've exchanged a few words before. Nonetheless, as usual, I am a bit uncomfortable conversing with someone I don't know, but I determine to stick it out and hold up my end. At one o'clock, I ask her what she's going to do now, sans volleyball. She says she doesn't know, and inquires if I'd like to go get some lunch. That had indeed been on my mind, but I was, for whatever reason, reluctant to mention it myself. I agreed, and suggested a nearby Japanese fast food place, when she asked where.

The restaurant is a little hut colocated with a batting range. I asked her if she ever liked to go to such a place, as I had had a habit of doing several years ago. She did, and mentioned that she's normally on a women's softball team, both of which provided some fodder for further conversation while we waited for our food (broccoli beef for her, shrimp bowl for me) to arrive. Our conversation went from there in many different directions after that, and we parted at 2:30. As we left the place, she thanked me for buying her lunch and said she'd have to return the favor soon. I said "You're welcome" (is there a verb for that? Not welcome, obviously.), and said maybe we'd come back and hit some balls together.

I spent two hours with her, acquitted myself quite satisfactorily I think, and we both had a nice time. I was quite proud of myself. And I'm trying to get up the nerve to ask her over to watch a movie that, during our discussions, she made me promise to watch.

One of the things that came up in our talk was the fact that she doesn't know her father. I come from a perhaps slightly different era (having been born in 1960), but I realize you can't swing a cat these days, particularly in a crowd of younger people, without hitting one or more people whose parents are divorced, or who hate each other, or whose parents were not married, etc., etc.

While not having married myself, nor being an extreme right social conservative, I am distressed by the amount of easy divorces, throwaway marriages, and bastard children in our society. While I will always treat them civilly, in my mind there is always a black mark on the chart of people I meet who are divorced (especially if more than once).

The timing of this particular part of my conversation with Aimée was apt, because tomorrow is my parents' wedding anniversary. They have been living apart for several years. While I've never been tremendously close to my family, I told my mother after that that I had trouble visiting them, even the annual Thanksgiving visit that had been my wont, separately. She said she understood. I'm not proud of myself for that, though, nor of the fact that I won't be calling them tomorrow. What would I say anyway?

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