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Ahhh, you've found your way to the heartbeat of The Nid. No, no, come in, come in! I've made it nice and comfy for you here. Don't worry, I'm usually pretty good at keeping the personal stuff private. Ah! I see. That's what you're looking for? Then perhaps you should journey over to my erotic poetry instead.
No? Well then, welcome to my world. For a semi-complete cast of characters, look under Who's who.
| Good morning, sunshine. | |||
| You know, I walk around all day at work, composing journals for this page in my head. But, when I get home, I'm too busy or my system is too slow and I don't end up writing them down for you. In a way, it's a good thing, because I'm sure you wouldn't wade through novella-length journal entries. But there's always something I wish I had more time to talk about here. Or the liberty to. | |||
| I've been reading a lot of online journals. Ok. Not a lot. A few others. I don't know if this is a good idea or not. I mean, on one hand, I'm trying to spiff up my page now, new tables etc. But I'm also trying to go with a theme every journal entry. Maybe even add titles to them, who knows? | |||
| So, influence can be good.* But it makes me insecure in a couple of ways. 1. I started this journal more or less so my mother could check it and find out how I was doing. Brian and Kellie, too, since they both had web access at startup. It was like a general letter to people I knew. But that means I can't say just anything up here. There's stuff I'd tell Kellie that I wouldn't tell mom, so that gets cut. Then I read other journals, journals where you have to get a secret URL to visit them, so the author can make sure they don't know you personally. And I get jealous, because if no one I knew was reading this, I could really dish. (And, boy, would the hits go up then)! Which brings me to 2. I worry that either other journalers (peers, if you will) either don't read this page, or have read it once and found it wanting and have never come back. And then I don't know which bothers me worse...that I'm losing readers or that I even care what everyone thinks. | *Although I definitely don't want this to happen. Sunday, I had written a long rant on jealousy, with links to Mary Anne's page and everything. It was probably ok, but I'm a wimp and would most likely feel I had to get her ok before I posted it. Perhaps I should start an "evil twin" page where I can really dish . . . and ask those I know not to read it. Yeah. I know. I would read it too. | ||
| Because I think mom was just happy with this journal the way it was. Oh, sure, she'll be thrilled if I really do manage to have daily journal entries. She might even like the themed entries. But I'm no longer talking just to her. I want strangers to read this journal. And like it. | |||
| Later: I can never tell you everything. There are things I want to talk about and never do; sometimes I even think I've written about them, but when I check, the entries aren't there. It's like those dreams that are so vivid that you think they've happened, and it's not until you see your roommate and she actually talks to you that you realize you never lost it and dumped spaghetti sauce all over her bed. Either that or she hasn't found it yet. | |||
| David and I went shopping on Sunday. We were buying me a desk . . . ok, David was buying me a computer desk, because he hadn't gotten me a birthday present yet, and it was, "an easy out". While we were at Target*, I finally convinced him to pick up some more T-shirts and socks. David's style is very basic: jeans, t-shirt and flannel/cardigan. And his T-shirts are never printed with anything (he hates that). So we didn't even have to look through racks of clothing - Hanes Pocket T's come in packages. He let me pick out the colors. And, at the risk of annoying him by sounding too "couplely", I really got a kick out of helping him do this. I love shopping, it's something I'm good at. I felt very close to him, picking out his essentials like that. I felt very girlfriendy even reminding him that most of his wardrobe was getting holes in it. Oh, hell, I'll admit it: I was just thrilled to get him to do something that needed to be done. He's always so practical; it was nice to be the responsible one for a change. | *What, do you think we're made of money here? Bring on the pressboard! | ||
| We went hottubbing Saturday night. Jodi and Carol had rented out Kiva for Jodi's birthday, so it was just people we knew. Well, people Carol and Jodi knew. The drive from San Jose to Santa Cruz was terrifying; it was raining alley cats and rabid wolves, and we were trying to negotiate the Santa Cruz mountains . . . ugh. So, we were nice and tense and ready to plunge our nekkid bodies into the steaming water. | |||
| I make it sound like something exciting happened next, don't I? | |||
| Have you ever hottubbed in the pouring rain? It was a freezing run from the house to the tubs*, but the immediate warmth as we sank into the bubbling water was amazing. It was as if we were in a bad sitcom, each nude body shivering and chattering until the moment the heat sank in and "AAHHhhhhhhhhh". Ok, I don't know any sitcoms like that either. Anyway, the tubs always get too hot after awhile, but that night, with the big, cold drops of rain dropping on us constantly, we found we could sit for longer before we had to prop ourselves half-out of the water to cool off. | *Although David and I brought our flip-flops, so at least we weren't walking barefooted on those cold rocks. | ||
| The rain eased up after awhile. People came and went between the different tubs and the sauna, and at one point, I realized I was the only woman in a tub full of 7 men -- and I made the mistake of pointing this out (too proudly). Whoo boy, it may have just been me, but it suddenly got very quiet (after the initial burst of hey-hey kind of laughter). David left at that point, and Ian was grinning at me, and I was trying to figure out how to leave the tub gracefully without anyone noticing that I was fleeing. I wanted to back out, too. Anyhow, I took a deep breath and went out onto the grass, away from the tubs, where I let the cool sensation of the rain fall against my cooling body. And I danced. |