Wednesday, May 12, 2004

Many things are surreal.

Me, for instance.

I have a sense of something. A sense of the image I want to project to the world. Of a sober, thoughtful, somewhat intelligent person. And when reality does not coincide with that image... then weird things happen. For example, i am munching on wheat toast, and the screen is shaking a bit. A bit too much, perhaps. I am having difficulty tracking the cursor. Am I looking at two screens, perhaps? Where did the other one come from? Why is it that I am making all sorts of silly spelling errors? Why does the ground seem so fluid? Where is up? What direction, specifically, is down? Why is it that I can shut my eyes and I could be on a boat? Oh to be on the water... to feel the boat rocking, to hear the waves lapping on the hull, that would be lovely. To be making sweet love, on a boat, in a harbour, listening to the waves, synchronizing oneself to the rhythm of the water.

I confess, I deleted a bunch of yesterday's entry because it wasn't conistent with the propaganda. My inner Goering disapproved. Now I feel kind of bad, like I betrayed some retarded cousin, some inner, mute idiot. Where is the damn camelback...

Ah, water.

So, I am respecting the inner Code of Conduct, avoiding the bad words. My mother has added words to the list of the verboten. The 5-year-old is not allowed to say "bummer" anymore. Evidently she over-used it. She has yet to learn that words grow stale from over-use. She can't say "fart" either. She takes it very seriously. She allows her mis-behaving invisible jets to say the bad words, but she herself doesn't say them. So I am not letting [paragraph deleted] stand for the forbidden this time. This time, I am really naked. Warts and bad grammar and all. big butt and cellulite. double chins and entendre. I won't blame it all on Camille (the usual scape-goat). She is so convenient, the proverbial evil-twin. But, then again, schizophrenia runs in the family, and paranoia. SCARY. Maybe I'll blame some of it. Just a little bit. An eensy, weensy little bit. What is my conscience protecting, anyways? Dunno. Dunno anything really. Except that I have to teach in 9 hours, and be in LA in 8...

bed time.


good night.

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I blog about life and soup, but mostly soup.