Confessions of an Internet Junkie

Well, I haven't had this intense a spot of insomnia in a hell of a long time. That's the good news, I guess. The bad news is that it's well past the time that I can take something to knock me out. I'd sleep until 11 or so, and that would just put me in more trouble tonight. Unless I really drug myself tonight. Huh. Excuse me while I talk to myself, OK?

I suppose I can feed the cats. I got out of bed about an hour ago to go the bathroom, and when I came out I had six of the eight cats all clumped together around the door. Heh. Poor disappointed kitties when I threaded my way through them and went back to my room.

I watched Obama's infomercial tonight. Impressive. I'll tell you one thing: I really wish I were back in the States so I could volunteer for his campaign during this last week. I swore after going door-to-door for Eugene McCarthy way back when that I would never do that again. But I think I'd do it for this election.

I mailed my absentee ballot in last week, but I'm still keeping an eye out for my official ballot. If that comes in, I have to mail it back because it takes precedence over the one I downloaded. So, in the natural course of events in my life lately, I expect that I'll receive my official ballot on Nov. 3, and the fact that I won't be able to get it back to MA in time will cancel out the vote I did send in. Hopefully I'm just being paranoid. (Who me?)

Yeah. I think I'll go feed the cats.

I miss my Bailey's. Where are the good old days of those Bailey's/Ambien cocktails and the concomitant arrival of the little blue men dancing around my computer screen? My life is absolutely no fun anymore. (Of course I'm no longer slipping into a semi-comatose state as a result of said B/A cocktail, but hey . . . the cocktail giveth, the cocktail taketh away.)

Here kitty, kitty!

I sleep with a scarf across my eyes. Meet my sleep scarf. I love my sleep scarf. I love my teddy bear, too. His name is UT, pronounced "OohTay". Urus theodorus. I don't sleep with him anymore. I love him but he wears a vest. Way too Young Republican of him. but lightning struck and I love him, conservative stuffed bear tht he is.

but back to the scrf. I used to have silk, but this is cotton. Much better for washing because I drool. In my sleep. There, you have the better of me. Or least the damp of me.

Time to take m y scarfie to sleep now. It keeps out the light. I'm a light sleeper (understatement of the eon.) My room is lit up like a cheap bar with white light from my Mac, flashing green from the hub booster, glowing red from various power cords and the Big Daddy, this soft but metallic blue that covers the room from the onswitch of the fan that I run at night for the white noise. But tonight, I plan to add earplugs to the mix. Just someone break down and buy mean a sensory deprivation tank for me to sleep in, OK>


Me and my colorful accoutrement (tye-dyed disco bondage! Yay!) shall attempt to gain entrance to the Land of Nod. Winken and blinken having run off together to open a B&B in Ptown. Poor Nod. He'll let us in just for the company. And my fabulous scarf. Which wishes you a good night.

Why am I still awake? Good question. It's been about 20 hours now on just a couple of hours sleep, and I'm going strong. Stronger than most of the day, actually. It's perverse. I'm perverse. We are all perverse. Perversions are we. Not wee, we. Well, maybe wee. Wee-wee like. That was my mother's euphemism for penis, btw: wee-wee. And poodle. Perverse, babies.

We had a poodle once. Neatest dog in the world. Max. Maximillian, Sir Walter of Kenyon. But just Max to us common folk. My brother and I decided that he was way too cool to be a poodle (of the canine, not penile sort) so I decreed that he was instead a rare, white Abyssinian tiger. Were there tigers in Abyssinia? Who the hell knows. Not I. I just thought that it sounded cool and the rhythm of it worked. Max was a mini poodle, so also not so much looking liking a tiger on that score, either. But gods he was a great doggie. Smart and sassy. And weird. But really smart. We had these door stops built into the walls; they were about three inches long made of tightly coiled metal with a little rubber stopper on the end. Maxie would hit it with his paw and make it twanggggggg, and that was the signal that he wanted to go outside. Cute! And smart! So my mother decides to put a bell on the stopper because ven the though house is hella tiny (and it was), we didn't always hear the twanging going on. so the bell makes it louder, yes? So what we end up with is Max hitting the bell (ringgggg!) and one of us would come trotting out to let him outside. Pavlov would have been so fucking proud. If we didn't get there quickly enough to suit Sir doggie, he'd start whacking the shit out of it - ring, ring, ring, ring ring rinnnnnnnnng, fucking ring damnit, come here and let me ouuuuuuuuut, you stupid humans! And sometimes he'd just get bored and whack it for the hell of it, and then he'd hide. And one of us would show up, no dog, we'd go back to doing whatever and he'd come out and whack it again. And again. Because we were slow to learn. No biscuits for us.

Man, i loved that dog. I lost him in the divorce. My mother couldn't take him and my father didn't want him. He ended up being given away to a friend of an acquaintance of a friend. Bu tone day, i swear to god, i was driving in Hartford and this car pulls up next to me and Max was there in the passenger seat. And he saw me and he started barking and jumping around and I'm calling max? is that you? Maxie! adn he's jumping and barking and I'm calling and starting to cry and then the light turns and the car takes off and I never saw Max again. Fucking broke my heart. Divorce. No one thinks of the animals. Or the kids in this case.

Uh, this pill should really be working by now. But no. Just make me fall over onto the keyboard already, pelase. I'll sleep here, honest.

I hate my hair in its current state. Which is overgrown. My bangs are like down to my knees. I'm expecting to get my hair cut in a couple of weeks, (Dar too. her hair. not getting her cut.) so I don't wnat to start hacking at my bangs on my own. Although I have fantasies about it, oh yes, I do. Anyway, the grey is really starting to show. I thought I'd get like all grey roots, but it's not coming like that. Instead I'm able to see whole strands of grey, but it's sublte. So far. Then of course there's the solid grey/white/silver clutch of hairs around my temples and forehaead. And eyebrowns. I like the grey hairs on my head, but I'm not a big fan of the eyebrows. I'll have to do something about that.

Did Gore win? anybody know? he showed up in a tux and everything. Awwwwww. I love my Al.

I want mushy cake. Where is the mushy cake? Rum cake. Yummmy to die for. The Franklin St Italian bakery on Franklin St. in hartford. Oh my god. Best rum cake in the world. it's almost impossible to find here in my part of Canukistan. No rum cake. No jewish delis. I'm in barbarianland. Eeeeeeee! Send me rum cake. Send me babke and blintzes and Hamentaschen and real cannolis. Oh and some dark chocolate whil you're at it. Mushy, mush cake.

When i was on a liquid diet after getting my jaw surgery, my favorite thing to put in the blender was pound cake and ice cream. To freakin' die for. Followed by chili in a blender. And meatloaf with gravy and just lttle bit of mashd potatoes. But never ever ever do pasta in a blender because you end iwth paste. Gross, gross, gross. Instant breakfast and ice cream and fruit was good, too. And you know, I lost a butt load of weight on that food cuz I had to eat if foor six weeks. I grew tired f a lot of it but not the cake and ice cream mix.

Oh for chris sake, please just knock me out. or at least send me little blue guys on me keyboard. Not that I need them because I'm ahllucinating on my own these days, hellooooo. Auditory hallucinations. Adn they're gettig mroe fequent. It's what kept waking me up all night. I'd hear the TV in the living room go on; I couldn't make out the voices, but the tone was very serious like something very bad had ahppened. That happened twice last night. i heard the phone ringing, expect it wsn't the phone. It's never th ephone and I hear that little hallucination all fo the reaking time. That can stop. I hear people alking but I cna't make out what they're saying. I told Dar this morning that I think sometimes that I'm going crazy. It must be stress or a nuerological thing or maybe I really am going crazy. If I'm going to hear strange things, then why can't my cats talke to me. I'd love to carry on a conversation with any of them. Talk to me, kitties I'll listen I'm a great lstener. I'd be a rockin' interview, too. I generally find most people to be fascinatin, and I'm happy to find out what make y'all tick. Anyone want to be interviewed by bme? My play writing teacher said that the vast majority of people thingk that everyday conversation si boring, but I didn't. i think that's why I have a decent hadn at writing dialogue; I enjoy eaves droppig in public places and catching the way someone turns a phrase or the cadence of a local dialect. I get msyelf into trouble sometimes - evne with friends - because I'll repeat back something they've just said. I'm not making fu; just the opposite - I'm appreciating the phrase or phrsaing that you've used; I'm rolling it around my tongue and mouth, tasting it, chewing on it, hopefully storing it away f or fututre use. (If I were a squirrel, i'd be storing it in my pouchy mouth, isn't that fabulous?) And if there were any justice, i would have the squirrel as my totem. Instead I have an ealge, which eats squirrels (bastuhd!) which probably exlplains why I'm such a conflicted and angsty individual. Sort of. My totems are entirely incompatiblige, man. Not good for the psyche or the chakras. Run little squirrel of my heart - my totem is on a ram[agae. Try selling that to the cops when you're out in a field beatig the living crap out of yoursel all alone and screaming in two different voices Stand stil! It won't hurt; I mut eat you, it's my nature"! And then yelling bak in a high chatter, Get the fucka way ffomr me you big beaked feathered sadist! It would b e unhappy for all involved.


I give up. Maybe if I retend to sleep, I can trick my subconcsious. I need new kepbord becuse this one cn't spell for shit.\\

Sleep. Please ocme and do your lethrgic thigie. Just put me to sleep . Oh, but not in the Mokie way. Mokie! We got another condolensce cll from our vet, becsue she rocks and she know we loved the Mokiwesauru and it was hard to kill her (spada a sape, guys)

maoser just busted down the door and wandered in. My little giu. He's been so affectionate latel,tht it's feaking me out. Aww he all steached ou so seductively beside me in his best Playcat "Pet me" pose. And I wil. Maoser =, y moamaomaoamao.

No blue men, but a perfectly find fur guy. I win.

Sleeep, dmnit. and rum cake. I'll love you for the rest of my life,which if my somewhat prophetic dreams don't kick in should be fairly long time. Loveeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

OOps. Tried to rise to stretch. Not moving ll that well. Thanks god I just hve to fall of the ahcir backwards to hti the bed. Let's try in shall we? byeeeeeeeee!

Huzzah@ Look, I'm Michael J. Foz; I' ind of sloppig around all ove the desk and th keyboard. I feel as if I should take this aoppurtuntiy to drum up support for hs tance on stemscell research Hi, I Michael J fox and this is what MS has one to me: turned me into an overweight, face-filling-in middle-aged woman; ou gould advert this tragedy by voiting fr increasing stem sell lines. Do it, please. I was menat to die cute, eh. Or hopefully not di at all. I think id could work.

No post. No movies. Barely no TV. No books. My odo (god) I've been zombified. Quick! Gt [Unknown site tag] here; she'll problably kill meo rfeed me Subwau. I vote for the latter.

Mostly I want to sleep. OUr alpacas are cangeing colors. And m key tags are moving around th fucking keyboard and the clorors are w=sswirling a bit. Pretty astetls and I say tat as someone who doesn' like pastels. Flowers, yes,me no.

Michael the asshole on Seindfled. What a fucking racist jerkQ Don't let him get away with it and his sudden (save by ass_ apology. Puhleeze. You don't just pull that shit out of nowhere; you had sitting and fermenting for quite som time; I say you just own u to and pu that pointy head undr a paoiny white sheet where it belongs. And fits.

I worry abo the alpacas. Gertie's been shaking; we're both worried. I think we need to come pu wuth a coat of a serape (cuz it's Peru, peublo), becuse the poor girl is cold. Dar thinks that she could be farther along in their pregrnacy than the Stewarts thought, se we kind of head out there now thinking that we'll find a cria. Cooooooooooooool Babu cria? A little girl.

I want to wind the lottery and win fucking millions of filtjy lucre. And then spend it. On a specatucal farm and property. We need a gret well and loads of pasture land and a proper large barm ( or series of smaller barnsO with heat and camera and easily mucked out staals and acreas and acreas of paddocks because I want to raise three (mabe four) lines: one for pure Peruvian Suri line, one for fleece, and one for some crossing of Peruviam and Bolivian ilnes. Then do add in some Chileans and start breeding to shee what the strenghts and weakness qre.

but firs we have to get through the winter. And the darnkess at night. There is no light. NOOOOO> LIIIIIIIIIGht. Like a complete abscence. It's freaky because I'm getting older and I'm losing a lot of my night vision. I kow for a fact taht I will not be driving down those dark country roads in any sort of precitpitation unlesee it's an emergency. Because I'm halfway to blind, babies. Fery scary.

What they never tell you about aging. Gather around my chillun. Hear me when I sat in my wooden rocking chair by the fire? That was the chair creaking and groaning, no it was my bones andmy muscles. And no that's not poppcorn off in teh distance, that's my muscles and tendons popping as I get up. You can't see for shit, browsing in a store is more of a torture than a pleasure. Have rotating shelves that go around like a carrosel, because I can only read book titles that are about level with my face; it they were automated I could move the shelves into position. What's not to love? [Unknown site tag] work on that, OK. I'd buy ever so many more books if I could just please be able to fucking. see. the titles! Gaaaaaaah.

but I love caerwyns. She sent me a squirrel card, but not just a squirrel car it wa a card with a door that you could open to see all the squirrels making themselves to squirrely home. I loved it, and she's just way so thoughtful. I admire that. I'm not a thoughtful person - thoughtful about making people happy, that is. I'm very full oof thoughts, so that makes thoughtful at base. Earning me no karmic points, et me tell you.

What am I writing? Why aren't I writing? I have an essay that I've been working on for I bet close to a year now. I need to finish it; I need to come to terms with it; I need to get it out of my back. Off of my back. Pick a preposition. And I need to dive into that database and maybe make a new one of my vry own. I need to make my mark on the world. Evryone wants to leave a mark. I think mine might be more of a scar, and that would be sad.

I want to dance. Dar, take lessons with me, OK? Anything you want: latin (I can sway my hips like they're attached to gyros, baby), swing is probably out because I couldreally shaek up your brain (and not in a good way). OOOh, apache dancing! We'll take turns dragging each other across the floor to tango musci! Belly dancing. I got th ebelly for it, for sure; the rest of me can go along for the ride. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaltz. Let's go out waltzing. We'll rent gowns, or I can go in drag in tux (and then we can switch off during the break.)Whaddya say, honey. Dance with me!

I miss you guys, even if you don't dance with me. (See, I don't hold a grudge. I'm a god. Well, according to one meme, I'm Anubis. But I think he was grudge holder, so take that as you will. Still it kidn of cool to be part jackal. Or is dog. Dogkal. Doggerel. Oh God, I am become the god of bad poetry! That's shitty poety, right? I'd go look i up fo sue, but kind of wasted.

So pedictions for Heroes: Peter and Claire hook up. Hiro and Charlie hook up. AWwwwwwwwww. Nathan goes evil. That's all I got. Except Hiro should somehow pop over to Lost just to fuck with Locke a little. Oooooh, and Jack would truly hate him! See, it would be great.

off for more booze, because really, I should be flat on my face by now. Or maybe that happens when I try to get up. Wish me luck. And if I don't make, rememver tat I love you all, and everyone gets dibs on my books. Oooh, I should so make u[ a will!

Hannibal kickd me twice today. Delilah is delightful. Wher is fucking cole porter when he should be here righting s sng about delightful delilah? Where? Sad, sad, sad.

More booze. bye-bye.