1945 Frustrating Omissions

Saturday, August 9, 2008

I dove into the village after dark this evening. Now I have a huge bat-shaped dust mark on my windshield. It hit so hard I was surprised the glass didn't break. On my way past the spot going home a few minutes later, I looked to see if the beasty was lying on or near the road, but there was nothing. Maybe it was a vampire (unkillable, you know).

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I've been a bit frustrated lately because when I started this journal, I meant for it to chronicle the events in my life, what I'm doing and what I'm thinking, everything I come across. I wanted to be completely open.

That was all ruined one year ago, when I discovered that the biggest gossip I knew locally had found it, and was handing out the URL, and I had to move it.

I'm sort of hidden now, mostly, maybe, I think. I hope. But there are a few people subscribed through Bloglines, and a few through Google-whatsis, and who knows how-wise else, and I don't know who they are.

So I have become somewhat circumspect. I'm still sensitive to the wrong people finding it.

But it's incredibly frustrating! There are things I want to write about that I can't! The stories I have to tell! Oh, the opinions I have that I can't express! "We come in peace. Shoot to kill! Shoot to kill!"

In an attempt to give some release to my frustration, I started another journal on my hard disk, for my eyes only, where I can reveal the most amazing things. Someday, if anybody ever finds it, it might make a great novel.

I have never in my life been able to keep a secret. Everybody who knows me well knows that. When I re-found one of my best college friends a few years ago, I was floored by some of the things that had gone on back then among my best friends, that I knew nothing about - because no one told me, because they knew I couldn't keep a secret.

Maybe it's because there are no secrets** in my own life. I'm completely open. That kind of keeps me from doing anything I'm ashamed of, and maybe I apply that same standard to others. One problem this has caused is that when people hear about mild things, they assume that if I let that out, how much worse am I hiding, so they make things up. I've heard some of the most amazing things about myself, which people swear they know to be true.

[**There was one exception - one very big secret that I kept for 30 years, but only because no one involved asked. The first time I was asked, I spilled it all, and was very relieved.]

Right now I'm not writing or talking about an ongoing scam I'm watching. I've never seen anything like it in my life. The scammer is the best I've ever seen, and I've seen a few. We're talking PHD. My psycho ex-girlfriend is a kindergartener by comparison. The target of the scam is a willing victim, and won't listen to reason. There's a chance I'm wrong, so I'm not pushing it, and not knowing who might be reading, I can't "talk" about it. But it really is fascinating to watch. If it seems to go too far, well, I don't know what I'll do. I suspect that interference would not be welcomed.

Right now I'm not writing or talking about a mystery unfolding, with a hero and a villain, but no one is absolutely sure which is which. It's one of the most intriguing stories I've ever heard. One or both of them is seriously disturbed, but who can be sure which? Can they, themselves, be sure? The deeper insanity becomes, the more consistent it becomes, until it wraps around and looks like sanity. (And no, one of them is not Zig. Nor FW, either.) Every time I am confident in which is the hero, a new question comes up. If I don't chose correctly, I could get hurt.

Right now I'm not writing or talking about a dear friend who seems to be going through some kind of midlife crisis or something, which is causing a sort of absentmindedness, that might ultimately cost customers and the business. I'm very worried. All I can do is provide an ear.

Right now I'm not writing or talking about The Man, other than to note when I've seen him, and the lightest of references. He knows this journal exists, and for all I know could be reading it (one of those Bloglines or Google folks?). He says he doesn't want to read it because he doesn't want to read about "us". So that's part of my restraint - I don't want him to read my thoughts about "us" either. But there's a lot more. There are a LOT of confusing things, and confusing feelings, and I don't even know where to start. So I haven't. With anyone. Not even him, although I have tried, and every time something intervened. No one else knows anything, really, not even his real name. All anyone knows is that I'm involved with a man.

[And for anyone who has been around a while, this story is even better than the Roman story (although it has nothing in common), so you know how crazy it's got to be making me.]

Right now I'm also not writing or talking about a few other things going on, because, well, just because. I've proven I can keep a 30-year secret. I guess I can keep a few more.

The necessity is all very frustrating. This post is the proof.

Sometimes when I drive through residential areas at night, and I see lights on behind curtains, I wonder what stories are beyond those curtains. Some of the calmest exteriors hide the most horrific tales. People thought my parents were charming.

I'll shut up now. Curtains closed.
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1944 Thud

Friday, August 8, 2008

Piper said something today about not understanding what is wrong with today's youth, and then we laughed about how we're starting to sound like those "old folks" of our youth, who complained about everything all the time. Oh Good Grief, we're turning into our parents!

Well, yeah.

I guess with age comes experience, and we old folks have seen a lot. We pretty much know by now what works and what doesn't (if we're not stuck in a mental rut), and we're impatient when we see younger people making mistakes, and not accepting our advice because --- we're OLD! Obviously we don't understand "today's issues".

Sigh.

So, another Thud complaint. Category: Useless inventions.

I stopped at the deli to buy a cigarette lighter. They had small opaque ones, larger opaque ones, and transparent ones. I prefer transparent, because I like to know how much fluid is left.

But these transparents looked odd. Usually there are two columns of fluid. These had only one. The other side had something else going on.

I picked one up and examined it, and found a button on the side, which, when pushed, produced a tiny flashlight beam out of the bottom.

The kid behind the counter said, "Wow, that's neat. For like when you have to find a keyhole or something."

I said, "Not really. If it's dark and I'm going to dig in my purse or pocket for a cigarette lighter, I'm going to end up pulling out a cigarette lighter [flicking the flame on], so what would I need a flashlight for?" The kid looked stunned for a moment, then laughed.

And for this, I get half the fluid.

I guess the flashlight could come in handy after I run out of flame, except that I'd have bought another lighter by then.
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1943 Thud and Cringe

Thursday, August 7, 2008

I hope the blogger I'm about to talk about doesn't read this post, and if there's anyone who reads both blogs (and I know there's at least one), I hope you won't alert her. Ok? I don't intend to be mean, and I'm not making fun of her. It's how she's been taught to relate.

I just can't let it go without reacting.

She wrote an entry about exploring an idea, a proposition, a possible approach, with a group of people, I assume in a meeting, like at at conference table. And she ended her proposal with "Does that make sense?"

Aaaaaagh!

This old feminist promptly went into brain-freeze, lost all muscle tone, and slumped in her chair.

Ok everyone, and especially the young women out there, no one, and especially not a woman, especially if the attendees are mostly men, should ever end a proposal with "Does that make sense?" It's asking for validation. All it needed was a wagging tail.

Better to ask if there are any questions, any comments, any additional points to be considered, any suggestions, any objections, anything that needs clarification, whatever.

You MUST ASSUME you make sense. Otherwise you should have kept quiet. And took notes and baked the cookies and got the coffee.

My stomach hurts.
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1942 Lunch

Thursday, August 7, 2008

I like this one:



Although, if it were Jasper, he'd be asking for the back half, "U can haz de frunt haff, Mommy."
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1941 Internet Has the Flu

Thursday, August 7, 2008

My internet connection was very slow today (yesterday, Wednesday, whatever! Don't confuse me!). Links kept timing out, videos kept going into "connecting...", and my broadband whatsis kept dropping, like every 45 minutes. I was trying to pay my phone bill online tonight, and the line kept dropping, forcing me to start over about six times. I've been very frustrated.

Apparently it's not just me. A few other bloggers have mentioned it. This link was posted on the local Mensa board today, and it may explain what's happening:

http://www.cnn.com/2008/TECH/biztech/08/06/internet.security.ap/index.html

Read it. It's scary. If you've been seeing popup ads when you know you absolutely did not click on the ad, and besides, you are blocking popups anyway, well, you've seen it. The slowdown today may be due to cleanup efforts.

At least I hope that's what it is.

Oh, and if you use Sitemeter, check this out: http://mashable.com/2008/08/02/sitemeter-down/?referer=sphere_related_content
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1940 Basic Instructions

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

It's time for me to push my favorite cartoon site again: http://www.basicinstructions.net/

1939 I'm Baaaaaack!

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

Heh heh. I haven't written anything in this journal since last Wednesday. Betcha didn't even know.

I was away over the weekend. I used Blogger's predate (or is that postdate?) facility to write a bunch of posts on Wednesday, that were then published on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, as if I was home.

It works! If y'all haven't tried it yet, and if you're using Blogger, click on the blue "post options" in the lower left corner of the edit window, and then just change the date and time.

I joined The Man on Thursday, and we went to a tournament in Pennsylvania. Got home Sunday evening. It was a good trip, even though:

• we had a flat tire on Friday that required a new rim, and his car takes a 17" rim, which is not easy to find, especially in a strange area,
• the female half of a couple from SC that we befriended in the hotel bar pulled a pistol out of her purse, right there in the bar, which completely freaked The Man out, and
• my back went out on Saturday.

The back wasn't so bad that I couldn't stand or walk, but it did apparently affect the nerves enough that peristalsis stopped, and I had horrible cramps and flatulence Saturday evening and all day Sunday. Relationship test, I guess. I think we passed. (I didn't mean that as a pun, but go ahead and snicker.)

When I got home Sunday, Bloglines and both email accounts were so backed up I didn't get through them until, well, midday today.

The back is feeling a lot better, just a leftover fragility that tweaks me every so often if I move wrong.

I know exactly what's causing it, by the way. The hotel chain The Man always uses is very proud of the fact that they have completely refurbished all rooms in every variation of the chain, --- including the mattresses. The mattresses are now WAY too soft, and they have topped them with a feather bed, which makes it even worse. I absolutely require a firm mattress. The Man is upset because he wants me to be comfortable. He suggested removing the feather bed, but that doesn't matter so much - it's the mattress. I can press my fist 5" into it without even trying. I'm going to search the internet for a narrow folding bedboard. If I put it under the feather bed, that might work.

We had left my car at the Saddle Brook Marriott. While waiting for The Man there on Thursday, I noticed a very thin very friendly black on white female cat hanging around. When we returned on Sunday, she was there again. She meowed at me, rubbed against my ankles, and asked for food. I had opened my car doors to let it cool a bit, and while The Man and I were talking, the cat climbed into my car, and explored it. I briefly but seriously considered just closing the door and adopting her, but The Man said no! He said I can't "go around adopting stray cats from Marriott parking lots!" (That's how I got Jasper.) He actually hung around and shepherded me out of the lot to make sure I didn't snag her after he left.

And now, of course, she's haunting me.
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