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November 10, 2000
So I'm lazy, okay?
Yeah, I haven't updated in ages. I've wanted to, honest, but I keep running out of time -- Beth's boyfriend has had his kids over almost every night, and they spend most of the evening playing on the computer, so I usually can't use it. Updating from work is always risky -- my boss isn't here today, so I can be sneaky. When she is here, she watches everyone like a hawk -- pausing for five minutes to check email tends to result in a grilling from her, followed by hours of little busywork projects. (I'm a little bit bitter today, because it's holiday, so the school is closed. The library is open, of course -- we only close on federal holidays. Usually, on a holiday like this one, we get the option of a paid day off. We're too shortstaffed for that now, though, so my boss told everyone that we couldn't afford to have anyone take the day off at all. What did she do next? Announced that she was taking today off. I'm peeved. I would have worked today anyway, but still. It's the principle of the thing.)
And no, I am not going to talk about politics. I don't want to think about it, I don't want to know what's going on in Florida, I want to forget there even was an election. Okay? If anyone tries to talk to me about it, I will be putting my fingers in my ears and skipping around singing "La la la, I can't hear you!" as loudly as possible. Consider yourselves warned.
I had about eight million things to write about, but since I haven't been able to get my ass in gear and write an entry lately, I have forgotten most of them. One thing that was kicking around in my little brain is a bit meta -- when I moved my journal from Diaryland to Diary-X (which ONE person noticed, and commented on. ONE. Joanne is the only person in the whole wide world who cares. Yes, I am sulking. Hmmph) I had to move each entry one at a time. Lots of cutting and pasting. It took forever, mostly because I was skimming through each entry as I read it -- correcting my email address in a few of them, fixing spelling errors, etc. I just got caught up reading some of them -- mostly thinking wow, that was a dull entry... or hmmmm, I do talk about my cat an awful lot, don't I? I hadn't actually gone back and read my old entries before -- reading what I've written, for me, is like hearing my voice on tape. It makes me cringe. That's not me! I don't really sound like that, do I? This time it was sort of fun -- even the entries that struck me as dull. It was also very sad -- especially reading the very early entries, the ones written just a couple of months after I got married, when I was writing all sorts of happy domestic-bliss stuff. It was like reading a novel -- I kept wincing, knowing this character was going to get smacked down soon, and knowing there was no way to change it. Knowing the train wreck was coming, and not being able to prevent it. I came very close to pulling the whole journal down during that train wreck, because I just didn't want to write about it -- I didn't want my own family to know what was going on, much less a bunch of strangers. I couldn't write about anything else, because I couldn't think about anything else. I briefly considered taking those entries out when I moved them, too -- but I decided it would be, well, dishonest. I don't plan on talking about my ex anymore -- it's old news, so unless anything new and dreadful happens, I'm going to do my best not to mention it. I'm tired of talking about it, tired of thinking about it, and tired of feeling like a goddamn victim. Well, after this entry, anyway. I left the entries up because, at the time, I needed to write about what was happening. The surprising result was, it helped. A lot. The emails I got from people, some of whom wrote me once, and then never again, some of whom have become friends, was startling, and wonderful. I really didn't think people would care -- if anything, I thought I'd lose readers. I got one hate mail, which I wish I'd saved because it was hilarious (essentially, it said I deserved to get cheated on because I talk about my cat too much. And that the person didn't believe any of it anyway, because I didn't show enough emotion. I did, dude, I was just showing my emotion to my cat. Okay?) And I liked seeing my own progression out of the train wreck. At the time, I honestly didn't think I would live through it. I didn't really want to, either. There were days -- weeks, even -- when the thought of just giving up altogether was very inviting. I think writing about it made that thought less appealing to me.
Anyway. I don't know what I'm getting at, here. It's cold and raining, my boss isn't here so I can goof off if I want to, I'm sleepy and a bit bored...
Posted by Mary Ellen at November 10, 2000 11:07 AM