And as much as I love reading about this stuff, I’m so, SO glad I’ve never actually lived it. Sex, drugs, and passing out in the ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend’s poolhouse with a bottle of Jack in my hand and 6 hours I can’t remember over the sound of my hangover:  not my lifestyle, not my life. Ever. Even the times I did spend intoxicated and technically did enjoy [rehashing with friends] served as successful reminders as to who/what/where should not happen again.

Speaking of rehashing with friends, every time I am approached by someone new or the prospect of creating a new relationship, I instantly crave the companionship of my old friends and am just ready to “shady dip” on the fresh one. Jay wants to have dinner next week, and Bri wants to hunker down during the daytime for tea. I don’t know how to tell either of them that I like them much better as potentials than as actuals. Fictional characters over guys I can touch and hug and punch. Well, I do know HOW, I just don’t know if that’s the best long-term action I can come up with. It’s not rocket science; familiarity feels safer, even if I decided that what I had wasn’t what I really needed.

I think about Andy here and there still – mostly images of him sitting here on the couch, over there by the window. Recounting his inability to listen to words in a song, sitting forward with his long legs open and face set with humorous determination. The two-year anniversary of his death is rapidly approaching. I can barely believe a year has passed, let alone two.

Anyone who has had the benefit/misfortune of constant e-contact with me has seen this video. The first time I saw it last week it made my day, and every day since has been a highlight. It’s the little things!

The upstairs is alive with the pitter-patter of Uggs and winter boots. Somehow I tricked myself into believing I would be upstairs-neighbor-free until summer. Not so! It will be interesting to find out how much attention my brain will dedicate to him/her moving around doing living things.

What needs to happen is me moving to a 3rd floor apartment. Mmmm, I would love it! Another thing I would love: having 3rd floor money.

On the docket today: not staying in my apartment but staying long enough to clean it, chicken parmesan and coming up with better things to do with my time.

What I need is The Book. And by The Book I mean that wonderful, over-the-top page-turner that compels me to drop everything and read (we called that DEAR time, in school ::snort::). I broke my habit and my preference by greatly anticipating then immeeeediately reading this book by one of the few authors I actually look forward to. And now that its over, nothing matches up to the anticipation and awesomeness, and in combinational with the seasonal cold-weather blah all I really feel like doing is involving my tv in most of my at-home stuff.

It is a stupid issue that is a clearly first-world problem. But my preoccupation with reading is what keeps me from a preoccupation with electronic stuff. So right now, the electronic stuff is winwinwinning.

A while ago I created a profile on an online dating/social site – part boredom, part curiosity – and after a week disabled it. Then one of my friends came over and wanted to look at my profile so I spun it up. Now I can’t disable it for another week so I’m getting messages again. And again, first-world problems! It’s kind of fun; I do like finding people to talk to in a non-stressful environment – people who want to talk to ME, by choice – and this gives me the opportunity to pick and choose how involved I want to be.

But I also don’t want it to teach me that I can manage my in-person relationships in the same way. A function of a real-life relationship is taking the good with the bad, and I need work on that already!

Well, onward. The chicken ain’t gonna parmesan itself.

I’m sure that I’m saying this as a person who owns 200+ books and has had to move them 5+ times, knowing that a fair number of them I am unlikely to read[again], and have very certainly wasted my money on, and can barely be bothered to take them someplace resale-related. But keeping in mind I’m also saying this as an avid-reader, a true fan of the physical book, and recognize that what it really comes down to is personal preference as everyone has their reasons for choosing one (physical/ebook) over another.

Let’s step over to the realistic corner for a moment. In the realistic corner we can rationalize that considering the books you’ve read over a lifetime, there are a very small percentage of that whole you will consider “take to the grave” texts. Say you’re fleeing the country– no, better yet, say that it’s the literal world of Equilibrium/1984. Books are being burned left and right. The authorities are on their way to your home to set your shit on fire and you have a choice: grab your favs and risk corporal punishment death by shoving a select few into your hidey-hole, or be done with the lot of it and go outside with your (empty) hands out.

I’m looking at 1 of my shelves of a 100, and *maybe* 9 of those would make it into that hidey-hole. And of those 9, 3 of them are part of a series likely gathered into a handy omnibus somewhere else on the planet. The remaining 91 are books that I would totally read again if the mood struck me (which is why I have them), but if I came down to shedding a stack of literary pounds, the 91 would make up the weight.

Anyway, I suppose my initial reaction to the “feel of a book” comment pertains more to the notion of practicality. E-book carriers are convenient and a natural step in the evolution of the written word, and “writing them off” BECAUSE of a tactile preoccupation (if it really IS the feel of the book that floats your boat, and not the image or status that comes with holding one in your hand, which is not a bad thing so long as you admit it!) is just crazypants.

Yes, I said it. Crazypants. Write down.

I was not a complete and total laze-ball today. I did a fair bit of pick up in the living room and even tackled the 6 layers of ridiculousness on my bedroom floor. How different the night will be without slamming my head/knee/ankles into something on my way to the can!

Round evening-time I decided to call the 800 number on the back of my gift card to see what could be done.

Sir: Hi, how can I help you?

Me: Yeah, so I got a gift card… well, as a gift. HA!

Sir: ::silence::

Me: Er, well, online it says I have a $10 balance, but when I went to two different stores I was told the card was inactive and never appeared to have carried a balance in the first place.

Sir: Hmmm… really?

Me: Yep.

Sir: ::silence::

Me: ::silence::

Sir: That’s really surprising. What’s the number? ::types in the number I give him:: Yeah, it says you have $10.

Me: … I know. So…?

Sir: … so…

Me: …SO WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO. Any suggestions?

Sir: I’m not quite sure why it’s not working…

Etc. etc.

In the end, I suggested (again *I*, as in me, the customer) that he send me a new one, and after agreeing, cautioned me against trying to use the card since it is now inactive – which I again stated would not be a problem, as it was not working in the first place – and told me to have a Happy New Year. Whew! Way too much effort expended on a) a gift and b) a gift under $10.

I neglected to mention that yesterday was failed attempt number 2, and the cashier gave me a free drink “because I said there was money on the card.” I wasn’t pushy about it – in fact, I had my debit card out. I felt weird about taking a free drink, but I wasn’t going to refuse! Pass out the free, Starbucks!

Hair.

Cats.

All these things await me when I descend CK’s steps and put the key I’ve managed to not lose yet into the door. My favorite cat utters a question as I approach. Maybe he’s saying “Is someone there?” or “Did you bring food?” and I usually answer with “Do not come outside this door or I will end you.” Followed up with a hug.

I’m glad that every once in a while I take care of the cats because every time I do I am reminded in great detail why I will never ever have a cat for myself. Let me first state that this is by no means an unpleasant task. Ever since the skinny one used his claws to climb my back I am paranoid as to his whereabouts in house, but feeding them is uncomplicated, and furry creatures are generally awesome and calming despite my mild allergies to them. Having a soft creature hanging out with you always makes the day better!

It’s more that checking in on them for 20 minutes at a time reminds me what it was like to have cats long-term, which I did not care for. Just like kids I guess; great because you get to give them back at the end of the day.

Its been an uneventful post-holiday week. CSI, games, shower, CSI, bed, CSI. It’s amazing that I’ve been able to distinguish one day from another, as similar as they have been.

Christmas was eventful as always. The Mexican mom and the Reverend mom both hosted me for dinner. Lots of food. Lots of discussions about significant others and their various names AND the creative ways in which to ask if one is a factor in your existence. “Do you have anyone special in your life?” asks the Reverend mom’s mom as she drives on the expressway. She’s spent most of the Christmas dinner chatting with the current lady loves of her grandsons, and I am so far away from what’s happening that it takes a Herculean effort to admit this is a reasonable question in light of her evening.

One of my sensitive “coworkers” gave me a Starbucks card for Christmas. When I went to use the card in store I was told there was nothing on it, had never carried anything on it. The look on the cashier’s face was adorable and priceless. “Did you get this as a GIFT?” “Yep! Merry Christmas.” Exits.

It was thoughtful of her, and probably not her fault that the card doesn’t work in person, but I’m annoyed that I have to spend time on making it work. And it’s just unfortunate that it reinforces my general perception of her as inconvenient, or causing inconveniency in my life. There is a direct correlation between a high rate of inconvenience and her participation in anything work related. I… am a jackass.

Unadulterated. Unprecedented. Uninterrupted.

Sort of.

Today is Day One of Ten of no work on the books. A year’s worth of three day weekends has taught me the fine art of not-doing-anything-in-particular, not-planning-anything-of-consequence, and accomplishing-little-to-nothing-intentionally. I intend to add to those lessons over the next week and a half.

I still run in to mentally shattered American workers who tell me they wouldn’t know what do with themselves if they had free time. This idea is shenanigans to me. Nothing is a pretty good start. Sitting one’s ass down – couch, bed, car, whatever pleases my lord – is also another entry-level option.

Anyways.

The past couple of months have not been necessarily uneventful, but without events that left a significant journal-worthy impression. My cousin came to visit recently, which was cool. I had a birthday, low-key. I did not trip over, fall into, or destroy anything due to clumsiness during a month there, which was a plus. I also did some online conversation, which is an interesting dialogue for another time.

However.

I did have a delayed-reaction revelation to the tune of five years too late. It was a comment that Chris made: I wish you had fought for me. Or something to that effect. Given the circumstances surrounding this comment at the time, I was pissed off and completely unwilling to dissect what he could possibly mean or why he would even think to say it. “How could I, given X?” and “How could you think X given Y?” Etc.

Yet this is a fact: I have this really bad habit of stating how I feel without following it up with “public” action. Suppose that in my mind, when I tell you, and you know me, there is no reason for you to believe that statement has changed and should take it as fact that I will continue to feel this way. Which is silly when you really observe people’s relationships with one another: friend, intimate, or otherwise. Relationships are a touchy-feely process, sticky with emotional content and given to change over time, for better or worse. Public action – as reassurance, by touch, words, or behaviors – is necessary and… difficult when you are accustomed to living a private life as I was. Am. Talking the talk and walking the walk both indoors and outdoors, no matter what comes up.

This is definitely what I wanted, believed I wasn’t getting, thought I was doing, and may not have been after all. Putting aside all of the things that happened during that year, “I wish you had fought for me” could very well could have meant “I wish you had shown me what I meant to you” during the course of the many things that happened later on that year.

I’d like to say my limited ability to use physical expressions is a consequence of working in a professional capacity for so long – ie situations in which emotions are removed from action by necessity – but that is no more than a partial truth. Perhaps it comes from a long history of expressing how I feel and being consequently shut down. As if I’m the only person who has gone through this, right? And its not as if I can’t do it; my emotional action-radar is just… off. I need practice to turn it on and keep it there.

But anyway, the point being I just woke up one day a few weeks ago and it dawned on me what he may have tried to get across… not that I will ever know for sure. And while I am not taking the situation with me – honestly, gratefully, my emotions of that time have fallen far far away – I am taking this revelation about myself into account and how I deal with people I truly care for.

Which is good.

Conveniently.

Oh! I’ve had internet in my apartment for over a month now and dear God is it amaaaaazing. Not that I got a bonus or anything for the holiday season, but I did decide the money I put down for it would be worth the effort. So now I can stop being a petty criminal (by stealing my neighbor’s limited internet) and start being a productive citizen of the insta-informational world.

Now That That’s Over.

Time to shower. And maybe make some plans to accomplish things I would not otherwise be able to do with my free time. Or not – who knows. Anything can happen with some effort – and if nothing happens, that will be all right too. Peace!

This is totally awesome. It means I can do Things outside of being comatose 3/4ths of the day. Like cleaning my house. Folding my clothes. Making a meal or two that doesn’t involve the microwave or instant cream of wheat (which I do still love, God help me). And I do love CSI, but I definitely would have been watching only 2 hours a day of it and reading for 8 instead of reading for 20 seconds and watching for 10.

Said corpus of mine has never gotten along with changes in season, and this transition to winter is Definitely no different. I ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS get backfisted by cold weather, damnit – but this time it was by corporal ineptitude and not by a 13 degree surprise. If only employers would add seasonal vacation benefits to the employment package I would be good to go!

Speaking of vacation, I totally forgot to take mine this year. My current schedule makes it easy to be lazy: get out of work before dark, enjoy a 3.5 day weekend every weekend. It has crossed my mind to not go but every time I want to call in I tell myself to Suck It Up. 5 hours in a virtually empty office is not the hardest thing in the world to do, no matter how much content is packed in there.

So when I brought this [vacation time] up to my boss, his response was

“Um… what does that document you found say?”

‘That document’ actually means an organizational handbook from 2004 I happened upon a few months ago that I’m gonna guess has not been edited since that time. And by asking me what ‘that document’ says, he means he doesn’t know. I have GOT to learn how to put my own self-interest first; I should have made up the policy and said that I should receive my unused time in cash on December 31st.

It doesn’t matter anyway. I have time to take some of it the last week of December and then plenty enough to take again before the end of January. What the hell am I going to do with 11 consecutive days off of work? Not that I’m complaining but anything I want to do I can do in 3, let alone 11…

I’m experimenting with Kindle blogs now. As much as I hate dealing with computers all day, reading tech/world news and other fine scienc-y facts into book format is the chocolate buttercream icing on the best cake in the world. It also means that when I’m bored with my current 700 page book I can actually learn on my commute. Groovy.

Ok, that’s it for now. I’m on 24, Dr. Jekyll. Maybe I’ll go back outside and find something amazing to do. The last time I did I found this amazing Truffle Merlot wine in a previously grocery/liquor store which is now just a liquor store run by rednecks talking about wine tastings. I’ll take it!

Me: .5

I don’t know that I’ve explained the centipedes in any detail. This summer was mainly spent on describing gnats, which magically appeared within hours of bananas landing in the pantry (maybe not magically). It’s like they multiply if I even think about buying a banana. Ever since my college roommate filled our trashcan with a mound of decomposing refuse and the space above my bed became the US Airways of Gnatville, my reaction to gnats has been violent and swift. My one-handed gnat crushing skills are without equal in this corner of the Midwest. My Ultra Palm-Palm Press would make Buddhist monks cower with fear.

Wait – this is about centipedes.

Actually, there is probably an entry some time back about them. I seem to remember saying something to the effect of “12 spiders put together,” which is still true. I probably also pointed out their habit of appearing abruptly at face-level.

Now my problem seems to be their appearing from behind various objects, progressing at a high speed. But they’re not running, they’re speed walking – and when they see me, they are running and I am screaming and it’s just unpleasant for everyone involved. And my room is a complete massacre, which doesn’t help anything.

I was literally sitting on the crapper today when a centipede came flying under the door. This is a position in which you can do absolutely nil about something of this nature. And if you do, there are other problems to deal with.

The .5 is a very technical win on my part. It was a baby, and to be fair probably didn’t even see me coming BUT I TAKE WHAT I CAN GET. Had I let it scuttle back to it’s monster mommy unharmed, the next time I saw it it would likely have been 5 inches long instead of 2 mm. In times of war you must do things for your own survival and never look back. This is one of those things.

Using Raid on centipedes is also one of those things. I’m sure there are piles of pesticides and other toxic items unsafe for apartment dwellers like me up in the basements and walls, so the bugs that make it up to my little home are generally so strong and decent-sized that they are resistant to puny human chemicals such as those. When I spray Raid I have to be max 3 inches away from them. Otherwise they flip out, motor somewhere I can’t see them, and live to terrify me another day.

And causing an enduring spray to take them out can also be overly unpleasant. Raid gets in your eyes and mouth and hair and mind. If I was SURE that putting a centipede outside would mean that I wouldn’t see it at double the size next time, I would do that. And if I could bear the audio and other sensory information involved in crushing them in napkins, I would do that. BUT WE CAN’T ALWAYS GET WHAT WE WANT, CAN WE.

And so it goes.

It takes 75 pages for lethargy to set in. After 75, I always feel ready for a good nap. This is not necessarily 75 pages of sitting in one position. No matter how many stops in between, this is the wakefulness cutoff point for me.

No distractions whatsoever. The couple downstairs has gone without screaming at one another for over a week. The demon child next door is gone, along with her refugee-like parents and family, vanished to another complex world (which is likely entirely unprepared for them). The girl upstairs moved out without much of a fuss, and has yet to be replaced.

Whether I have my phone or not, the world continues at its own particular pace with no input from me. Not having it, or needing to know where it is, is an expected relief. It is all too easy to say “What’s point, if life goes on without me?” I was up at 3 in the morning, thinking this very thing. Even I know this is a useless thought. The nighttime carries with it far too many burdens. The gift is in the capacity to sleep the fuck through it.

I continue to hear complaints about the CTA, which is just as useless to think about. If riders are going to bitch, they should carry on specifically about cost, not Just about being crammed up against other people in a moving boxcar. This is a fact of city life! If you don’t like it, there are many options available to you, and “don’t ride public transit” takes up 1-9 of them.

But that is a rant for another time.

Life is going on at an otherwise uninterrupted rate. My introvertedness seems to have reached new heights. The frequency with which strangers talk to me at length has neither increased nor decreased. Openly frowning seems to have no effect. I almost died twice at the nearby multi-road intersection when the stop lights were inexplicably down for four days. FOUR. Did it not occur to the city that 1 legit traffic cop could prevent a horrible accident from occurring during this time? The brave old morning crosswalk lady managed to conduct several children safely across the street during this business late one afternoon. A car almost hit her, but she was insistent that no one die on her watch and totally did this talk to the hand thing that made me want to hug her on the spot. Fortunately I did not as we would both probably be dead now, and no one would be available to tell this charming stop except for the evening news.

But anyway, time to go eat on some angel hair pasta, which I recently rediscovered as one of them most delicious things in the world…

Sam came to visit me over last weekend and it was completely amazing. If you told me in 1997 that she and I would be best friends, I would have laughed in your face. Yet here we are now, calling each other and appearing in each other’s homes (she’s better about this than I am). Sometimes I think it’s more a side product of history than effort on either part, but time has shown me history is not enough. Not that we agree on everything, or never get ticked off at each other… no relationship is without those moments. We are, I guess you can say, heart friends, and those don’t come along but every 1 million years.

Alex. Charming, swept-along, mooch-eristic Alex. Many, many moons ago he began visiting with me and together he and I would fill the day with Halo and Asian food and book talk. I don’t think I’ve met anyone as gifted at getting along as he is – getting along with new people, getting along in life, no matter how he interprets his circumstances. But he also has a tendency to overstay, at which point he always says or does something that encourages me to label him a Raging Asshole. That label never lasts, but that’s how it goes.

And Michael. Another videogamy, book talky, gift of the gab charmer I saw often, not too long ago, and will see very soon again. Boyfriendless and somewhat at a loss, I think, but what do you expect? I am also boyfriendless, not exactly lost but not exactly found either. We spend that boyfriendless time together, looking at zombies and shooting each other (virtually) in the back. He is handsome and gets on my nerves sometimes.

Michelle. Will I ever see her again? She is one of six people I never hold to their word, no matter how earnest they seem. She has kidnapped me at least three times and landed me in situations with alcohol and older men at 4am and I never knew that there were bars where the cops made a habit of appearing at closing time to make sure no one gets shot… until I met her.

Rob and I spent the summer together at the gay beach. Every day, watching condoms and sanitary napkins float past us (I decided the sanitary napkin part was the last straw). This summer he borrowed a book of mine that he also lent to his roommate. Between the two of them and the time it landed in my hands, the book was rent in two and entirely separated from the binding. Last year, he borrowed a DVD set for year, lost a disc, and avoided me for 6 months until he found it. He makes the best chai’s on the planet (outside of Kope) and rarely takes responsibility for his own actions, but isn’t even consistent about that. Smart for his age, and arrogant. Both he and his roommate put gas in my car before driving them places and have given me full bottles of alcohol with home-cooked food.

And Rooster. I so very much miss my Rooster, and I worry about him, and I wonder what he’s doing with that big artistic brain of his.

T-Bone.  She has this amazing sense of level-headedness mixed with naivete, and we often talk about people who lack common sense. T-Bone and I talk to a lot.

And Andy… I still think he’s floating amongst the stars somewhere. Playing chess with Chao Tzu (or Go, I guess) or something. He once sent me a bottle of natural dishwashing liquid in the mail; why he couldn’t just tell me to get it instead of paying $3 in extra postage for it I will never guess.

And the couples, most of whom contain friends that I miss very much, but that’s what happens when people you love find people they love… and that’s pretty great.

And the part-time players, lost to the Year Of Horror, but out there in the City where I run into them randomly and then spend the day.

Maybe I lost perspective on these influences in my life in a rush to get away from 2010… I don’t know. But these folks are everywhere, invading my life, and enriching it all the same.