all the fun of the fair...

I was going to post another "Musical Interlude", but I can't seem to find the lyrics to the song I wanted to post. Just as well, I suppose. In my hunt I've discovered that the artist in question is extremely protective of his material and prefers that his lyrics not be posted on the internet.

So, out of deference to him, instead I'll just direct you to his website. If y'all aren't familiar with Stephen Lynch, I urge you to rectify that error. He's one helluva funny, funny man. Talented and cute, to boot. Luckily he does provide a few songs for your listening pleasure on his site.

His humor isn't for everyone, especially the easily offended, but he's certainly worth getting to know. And if you ever stumble upon his Comedy Central special, stop whatever you're doing and watch it. No. I mean it. He's horribly twisted, but oh so right.

And yes, I'm eagerly awaiting the arrival of his CDs in the mail.

It's that I leap and then I look
At all the chances that I took
Feel the air, miss the catch
Then I have to swing back

My timing's all wrong
And the ladder is gone
And all I can do, is
Swing 'til it's all net below
All I can do, is
Swing 'til it's all net below
And I can let go

I am not faint of heart
But I get weak in the knees
I am tired for the world
For the wind in the trees

But we'll still find the song
Though the ladder is gone
It's all we can do, is
Swing 'til it's all net below
Swing 'til it's all net below
And we can let go

And I'll still look you in the eye
It's the longest goodbye
I'll feel the air, make the catch
But I won't swing back
My timing is clear
And I'll never fear

I'll swing 'til there's no net below
Yeah, I'll swing 'til there's no net below

No Net Below by Jonatha Brooke (from Back In the Circus)

Have I mentioned before how much I love Jonatha Brooke? I have? Well, too bad. It's my 'blog and I'll rave repeatedly if I want to. I love Jonatha Brooke.

It's pretty well-established that I have a tendency to wear my heart on my sleeve. I don't know how attractive that is, but I do know it's more than a little messy. A result of this tendency is my ability to swing on an emotional trapeze until such time as I think it's best to let go. Unfortunately, I tend to let go of that trapeze when there is absolutely no net to catch me. I can't begin to count how many times I've gotten a concussion that way (metaphorical, of course). And I can't help but wonder if there isn't a better way.

In a recent e-mail I asked CuteNerdBoy a question which I felt only he was truly qualified to answer. The totality of his answer gave me heart, certainly made me feel better about a number of things, but there was a portion of the e-mail which brought both a smile to my face and a bit of sadness to my soul.

In that portion (and I paraphrase) he said that, though he knows that I lead with my heart, which tends to get battered and bruised as a result, he couldn't counsel me to do otherwise, since 1) it's who I am and the chances are slim I could change that part of myself and 2) despite the bruising I'd get a fuller ride out of life and that I owe it to myself to experience life to the fullest.

I know that he's right, and I can't imagine being any other way, but sometimes a gal gets tired of the bumps and bruises. Still, back on that trapeze I'll go, because it really is all I know these days and I just can't see me turning back into the terrified little girl I once was.

And I say I'm not adventurous. *snort*

Labels: musical interlude

I'm sick.

Blecchhh.

Over the last couple of weeks I've been exposed to any number of people getting over some sort of icky bug, so who knows which of them has seen fit to pass their germs on to me. I started feeling that tale-tell tickle on Friday, but I had a Game Night to preside over (which went very well, despite the lack of presence of such hoped-for [but hardly expected] luminaries as CuteNerdBoy [out of town], WriterBoy [working on a deadline], Summer'85Boy [also out of town] and PythonMan and his lovely wife [don't know where they were] - the founder of LAPC showed up and told me she had a great time - whee!), so there was no taking it easy that day.

Saturday was a day of shopping and errands and a fund-raiser for a local theatre with my beloved Third Door Down playing, so I just couldn't take the time to rest then. Besides, I felt pretty good, full of energy and raring to go. I prayed that I would feel the same on Sunday.

No such luck. I ran two errands on Sunday morning, but the minute I got home the laundry and cleaning I had planned for the day fell to the wayside as those awful mucousy germs took over my head and lungs. Sunday and Monday were spent sleeping off and on, especially since I felt as if I had a low-grade fever for most of both days.

Yuck. At least I had Bring It On for part of Monday to assuage my discomfort. I'm not a teen movie kinda gal, but this is one I have to watch whenever I stumble across it. It's like a Buffy Who's Who! And Eliza Dushku kicks all sorts of ass that I love watching her.

I'm back at work today, feeling better than yesterday, but still fairly sick. I walked a few blocks to Urth Cafe to pick up lunch and by the time I got back to work. I was utterly and completely winded. Normally I don't start getting winded until I've walked a few miles, so you can see why I'm a tad concerned. And the Coke I'm drinking? Leaves a soapy after-taste. As does pretty much everything I've consumed in the last couple of days.

So no writing group for me tonight. I think I'll be leaving work around 3pm today and sleeping straight through until 6am tomorrow morning, at which time I hope I'll be feeling a bit better.

Time to crawl under my desk now.

Okay, y'all, it's time for a little ol' timey 'blogging:

* Are you an American citizen? Do you care about our Constitution? Then add your voice to those that are rising up against proposed anti-same-sex marriage amendments and FCC rulings - DontAmend.com and StopFCC.com are just the places to start. I don't think international folks can sign the petitions, but I'm sure donations will be welcome, if you've a mind to do so. And while you're clicking on links, check stee's and Pamie's entries on the idiocy of the FCC.

* As y'all may have guessed by now, I simply adore geeks and nerds. Well, there are a few young geek girls and boys in San Francisco that could use our help. Who knows what these kids may come up with next? Let's help them with their dream, help them to Bring It On. I've donated my $5, how about you?

There may be more links to follow...

...what a lovely time it is to geek out.

Check out this. And this. And don't forget about this.

(Oh, wait. I don't eat shrimp any more. Never mind.)

My geeky side - never far from the surface - says, "Whee!"

...I've been keeping a few things under wraps the last week and a half, because, as I've said before, I was waiting to mention it to a friend before letting the world at large know. The friend, as the sharper amongst you have no doubt guessed, is CuteNerdBoy. I had my chance last week when he and I went to see Pamie perform with her friend Liz (funny as hell, those two). But, for some reason, I chickened out. I don't know why.

Actually I do know why. Even though I know I can trust CuteNerdBoy and I know I can be honest with him, every once in a while those idiot insecurities creep up and fear of what he'll think of me holds my tongue still. I want him to think highly of me and how can he do that if he knows everything about me? Which is patently silly, because he already knows pretty much all there is to know about me. That's what comes from being an open book.

But, even though I'm not still not entirely sure why I felt I owed it to him to tell him first before spilling it to the world, aside from the whole "telling close friends new and exciting things" deal, I finally mentioned it as part of an e-mail to him. And now I feel okay about writing about it here.

Funny thing is, while it's kind of a big deal, it's also kind of not.

So. I met a boy at a party. It was the joint birthday party for Summer'85Boy and PythonMan. This boy is smart and cute and goofy and tall. He talked to me most of the night, actually looked me in the eye with the occasional surreptitious glance at my lovely cleavage. We clicked, went to another party afterwards. And well, while I didn't expect to sleep at home that night, since I was planning on crashing at Sarriah's, let's just say I was in an unfamiliar room come the daylight hours.

I'll admit there was a part of me that didn't expect to hear from WriterBoy again, mainly because I wanted to make sure not to get my hopes up, but when he called me that evening to see how I was doing and how my day went, I was rather touched. And more than a little pleased. I was also pleased by his unexpected phone call the following Thursday evening, after CuteNerdBoy dropped me off after going to Pamie's show, wanting to get together with me for drinks on Friday after work.

Turns out dinner was had instead, followed by a little book shopping and "dessert" back at his place. He took me back home late Saturday morning, and I ended up having to rush to meet Mom, BabySis and YoungerSis to get wedding stuff done for BabySis, which was a good, if somewhat tiring, time.

So. I like this WriterBoy. He's a lot of fun to be with, very sweet, intelligent, cute in that slightly geeky way that I find so very appealing. He makes me feel desirable and is a generous lover.

One tiny hitch. (Isn't there always?) Last Friday (perhaps it was Saturday by that point), as we lay in his bed, his long skinny limbs entwined with my somewhat more solid ones, conversation wended this way and that, much of it goofy and silly. Until it turned a bit more serious and he let me know that, for various reasons (which he confided in me) he's just not in a place for a relationship at this time.

Huh.

Of course, I was, and am, disappointed. Not that I seriously imagined an immediate relationship springing up. I mean, I had only recently met the fella. Still, the knowledge that it's not a consideration for him is a bit of a bummer, especially considering how much I do want a relationship at this stage in my life.

But. After much thought over the next few days, I realized that I'm tired. Tired of the hard work that looking for a lasting relationship entails. Tired of holding out hope for CuteNerdBoy to open those sweet brown eyes of his and see what an awesome girlfriend I would be. I think, right now, maybe for the next month or so, until my 38th birthday ruthlessly springs on me, I just want to have fun.

WriterBoy did say that he very much enjoyed hanging out with me, so perhaps I gained a new friend in the deal. I certainly appreciate his honesty with me. And it's possible that tall, cute, smart, silly, honest, kinda skinny, bespectacled, somewhat geeky (in a good way), sexy screenwritin' WriterBoy could become a friend with "benefits" and provide the sexual fun that I feel I need in my life right now.

I would be amenable to that.

As is my morning habit on weekdays, I was riding the bus on the way to work, this time sitting in a seat near the front, facing the seats on the other side of the bus. A woman stepped on and sat down almost opposite me. An older woman, perhaps in her 60s or youngish-looking 70s, dyed fair hair well-coiffed, full make-up in place, dressed nicely enough. Her face bore an expression that I had seen all too often on women of all ages, but seemed especially prevalent on the faces of well-preserved bus-riding women from her generation.

Sadness and disapproval.

The corners of her mouth were turned down in a permanent frown, deeply etched lines running down the sides of her chin pulled at her skin, furrows created shadowed dips between her eyebrows. Her eyes looked me over - with my reddish hair swept-up in its usual attractively messy updo, pale bare calves and lack of make up - and disapproval shone in those darkly sad eyes.

I wondered if it was my casual demeanor that caused such reproof or just my existence. I wondered what it was that life had thrown at her that would cause such an enduring appearance of antipathy for the world at large. And I wondered if she had always been such a serious person or if she had once been a bright, beautiful, laughing young woman broken by circumstances she felt were beyond her control.

Most of all I hoped that, no matter what life holds in store for me, I would never hold such a deeply ingrained distrust of the world on my face. Or in my heart.

Thanks to my current assignment at CFC, I spend a fair amount of time in West Hollywood. And much of that time is spent on Santa Monica Boulevard. Matter of fact, I usually catch one of my buses at the corner of Santa Monica and San Vincente Boulevards. And at that corner is the coolest piece of aural artwork.

Called Tonic: A Sound Installation, it takes the sounds of the traffic (which can be pretty cacophonous) and transforms them into a wonderful musicality, possessing an almost world music beat, with hints of didgeridoos. Many times I'll just turn off my CD player and listen to its soothing rhythms.

Yet one more cool thing about where I'm currently working.

Oh, by the way, Happy St. Patrick's Day to y'all! I happen to have a wee bit of Irish running through my veins, but I opted to not lift a pint tonight. I think the two Guinesses I had on Saturday night were enough for me, especially since I'm not much of a beer/stout/ale kind of gal.

Be safe!

Whee! Thanks again to my quiz pusher, Beth.

(Maybe I should introduce myself to her someday and let her know she's my quiz pusher...)

Book 'em! (Maybe I should read it someday...)

You're Watership Down!
by Richard Adams
Though many think of you as a bit young, even childish, you're actually incredibly deep and complex. You show people the need to rethink their assumptions, and confront them on everything from how they think to where they build their houses. You might be one of the greatest people of all time. You'd be recognized as such if you weren't always talking about talking rabbits.

Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

*************************

That first one below? That would have to be a "no". Mainly because, if my partner's good, there's no way I could play dead. Ya might say I'm a bit of a screamer. But they're damn right I look hot in lingerie. The chlamydia? Nope, I'm clean as a whistle.

Your Sexual Profile (you sexual deviant you...) by sparkledee
Name
Your Secret Kink Thing	You like to play dead.
Your Sexual Strength	How hot you look in lingerie.
Your Sexual Weakness	Your freaky noises during sex
Your Likely STD	Chlamydia
How Many Partners in Crime?	10
Created with quill18's MemeGen 3.0!

Tuesday nights are the nights my writing group meets. I go pretty much every Tuesday, except for the second Tuesday of each month, which is the night that BookCrossing meets. We sit, read things we've written over the course of the week, give suggestions or ideas. And we tend to do a ten minute writing exercise each week. For a long time we just used words picked out of books, but recently we decided to mix it up a little bit. Tonight's writing prompt was a song from one of my mix CDs and I have to say I rather like the result, sanguine as it is. So I thought I'd share it with y'all. It ain't pretty, and it's totally fictional, but it's always interesting (to me, at any rate) what can writhe its way out of my odd little brain.

The song: Blood Makes Noise by Suzanne Vega.

Rushing, rushing, through my veins, through my ears, through my head. It mounts until I feel I can stand it no longer. But it only grows louder, stronger.

I can't give in. I won't give in. To the lust, to the blood that screams for recognition after too, too long ignored. But the desire is too great and it's all I can do to not heed its seductive siren song.

Insanity teases the edges of my mind as the battle of wills rages on. What is real? What is fake? And why can't I tell the difference in that which is in every part of me, every cell?

A small cut, just a tiny one, to slowly release the liquid drowning my tissues with its iron-fisted rule. Surely the little red pearl forming on my fingertip will help to lessen the pounding in my all too fragile head.

Not enough. Never enough. But I suck on the crimson droplet, taking it back into myself. Better that than another innocent soul, one not cursed with this viral malady that infects me as surely as HIV might infect another.

Cooped up in my lonely room, I recycle the screaming blood.

...when a person wonders about the wisdom of revealing certain things about herself to others. Not often, because being the world's most open book, she's just not the prevaricating sort. And not because she thinks it'll come back to bite her in the ass, because she's pretty sure that it won't.

No, such ponderings bounce about her head because there are things that happen in her life that she wants to write about in her humble little online world. These things she's maybe not ready for others to read. At least not until she tells them about it personally. Because she feels she owes others that courtesy. It's just her nature.

Oh, fuck this whole third person writing. So this past weekend was a great weekend. The big birthday bash was terrific and afterwards Sarriah invited me and a few others (including MidWestRoomate) to a Burning Man affiliated Piscean party in Japantown. We went and that too was fabulous. Sunday was brunch with Sarriah and the play reading, both of which I enjoyed. Though in a way I sort of wished I didn't have the reading because CuteNerdBoy invited me to see The Reckoning, which is based on a book he recently finished that he really liked. He later told me that the movie was just okay.

This was one of those weekends where, in the end, I felt alive and vibrant. Beautiful and sexy and desirable again. I haven't felt seriously desirable since my time spent with LiterateLaywerGuy (yes, I know that wasn't all that long ago, but that was the first time in ages, so I was afraid it was going to be ages before I felt that way again). Beautiful and sexy, yes, but not desirable. Both Saturday and Sunday saw a change to that.

But I'm a little reluctant to share particulars right now. I know it seems a little shocking, especially from me, of all people, and I'm committing one of the biggest cardinal sins in the online journaling world: alluding to something intriguing without giving even general details. I just feel that I need to talk to a few people personally about certain aspects before blabbing it to the world at large.

So maybe I just shouldn't write anything at all. At least not until I have my little conversations. But those conversations may not be for a little while and I can't just gloss over the fabulously fun aspects of the weekend, or not write about it at all. I guess my self-control is a little lacking in that area.

(Hmmm, I guess on occasion I do make things a bit more complicated than they need to be. That answers one of my questions from last Sunday's entry, doesn't it? But I really try not to, I swear. Because I hate it when people complicate life needlessly.)

And I guess I don't want to jinx something. There is, possibly, something in the offing which could be tremendously cool. At least I hope so. If it does come to pass I will most definitely let y'all know.

Nearly another week has passed since my last entry. It's amazing how seven days can both fly and crawl simultaneously. I thought that was against the laws of physics.

So my time spent at the CommercialFurnitureCompany (hereafter known as CFC) is continuing apace. The woman for whom I'm covering went on maternity leave a few days early when her little baby boy decided that Wednesday would have been the perfect day to greet the world. And since babies aren't really clear on the whole "real world timing" thing, he pretty much did what he wanted and his mommy didn't have a whole lot of choice in the matter. But they're both doing well, she looked great the next day when NewYorkWriter (who got me the job at CFC) and I stopped by to visit and her little boy is just too cute and calm for words.

So as of Wednesday I was officially on my own. That day wasn't so bad. A lot of phones, most of which I was able to handle fine. Thursday and Friday were the testing days - a team meeting on Thursday meant all three regional sales reps and the VP were in the showroom. There is precious little desk space there, so there were a few times when we took breaks that we were all sort of working around each other. It was pretty hectic. And Friday I spent catching up with stuff I was unable to do on Thursday due to the meeting. Crazy times, I tell ya. I'm completely wiped by the time I get home each night.

Luckily I seem to be doing a pretty good job for someone who's never worked in furniture, has limited assistant/sales rep experience and received less than a week and a half of training, because all four reps keep telling me what a great job I'm doing and how much they appreciate me just jumping in and getting things done. I figure, I don't really have much choice, so why not? For once, I'm not actually dreading the work. It's been a long time since I experienced that, and that was when I was working as an audience page and TV extra. I must say, it's a refreshing feeling. And one of the reps for CFC's sister company, which shares space with CFC, is tall and cute and friendly and funny. And a screenwriter too. I know I'm not his type whatsoever, so I'm not even going to go there, but I've certainly got some very nice eye candy on the days he's in the office, which is most of the week. The other SisterCFC rep is also male, not really my type as he's much older, but he's a good guy and has a great voice that I enjoy listening to. Hey, I've got ear candy too!

(All of my reps are women - fabulously neat women, granted - so having a little testosterone around is pretty cool.)

What else is happening in the World of Carol? Not all that much, really. Boychik invited me to a live taping of Wait Wait... Don't Tell Me at CalTech on Thursday, which was a lot of fun. I think I've heard the show a couple of times while tooling about with Sarriah in her car, but I'm not sure. The panelists were terrific, especially Paula Poundstone and *sigh* Mo Rocca, with Jon Favreau very amusing as the special celebrity guest.

Tonight I'm going to a joint birthday bash for Summer'85Boy and PythonMan, as their birthdays are only a day apart. That promises to be a lot of fun. I kinda hope it's not quite as crowded as their last two parties that I attended, but I know it'll be great regardless. And tomorrow I'm attending a reading of a play written by a former co-worker of mine (he still works at Lions Gate, poor fella).

Nothing further has happened on the Mom front. I think it's pretty likely that we'll end up as roomies, but neither one of us can afford to move now, so it's going to take a little time to save up money. But she's all for it, as I knew she would be.

And things with CuteNerdBoy? Why, status quo, of course! Would they be anything else? I was feeling a little down about it all yesterday for various reasons, but extensive walking in my fabulous neighborhood on this gorgeously bright sunny day helped to dispel that mood, stirring my creative juices as I bopped into shops and restaurants I'd never really bopped into before.

(I was going to go visit Mom this morning, but between waking up too late, my first bus never showing up and the party tonight, I ended up not going. I'll definitely be visiting her next weekend.)

Not a bad week. Good things and slightly off things. Pretty much the way of my world these days. You know what? That's okay. Because that's what happens with life.

I just hope it won't be another week before I write. I'll try my best, 'k?

A few readers have expressed concern over my last entry. I've thanked them individually, but I just want to thank everyone for your concern. I'm okay, better than yesterday, certainly. I wasn't even all that down last night, just trying to find my bearings again and trying to come to terms with the vagaries of life. It's an ongoing struggle. It's just the way life is sometimes.

Besides which, March is going to be a rocking month. Nerve.com says so:

"The stars put you on house arrest last month, but your socio-sexual hiatus is officially over. Mars and Venus, the great cosmic lovers, are both in your sign, so you're emitting the rare I’m-hot-shit-in-the-sack pheromone. Even better news: Your confidence and prowess will extend beyond the boudoir. So if you don’t get any in the next couple of weeks, you have no one to blame but yourself. "

Now, I'd rather there be some emotional connection happening in conjunction with the whole "getting laid" aspect of the month. I'm just funny that way. Still, it's nice to know that if I want hot fucker-monkey sex, it's there for the taking, even if I end up not taking it.

Mmmm, hot fucker-monkey sex...

Walking down the street on the way home from the video store you notice the full moon in the sky. It's huge, bright, hanging low, shining on this neighborhood you've lived in for a little over ten years, this neighborhood that you love. You think about the last few weeks, its strange combination of ups and downs, and wonder if you'll ever again have longer than a month relatively free of stress.

You're learning a whole new industry and, after over ten years of working, in one form or another, in entertainment, you sometimes wonder if you'll ever get the hang of the commercial furniture business, especially working in a showroom that isn't exactly the hub of activity you've been accustomed to, what with only one other person in the same office on a regular basis. Oh, you know you'll get it eventually, you always do, and in a way you're grateful for the respite from the craziness you've dealt with for so long, happy that, at last, you're no longer dealing with numbers beyond the quoting and pricing the products your new company sells. Besides which, it's close to the Pacifc Design Center, The Bodhi Tree and the Urth Cafe, all of which excite you, and it's only for a few months, while you cover for someone going on maternity leave.

You think it's a good thing that it's only for a few months, because already you're missing entertainment. It's dysfunctional and warped and filled with divas and prima donnas, just the sort of self-entitled people you despise, but damn if you don't love that whacked-out industry. It truly is an addiction for you. You hope that these next few months will fill out your resume enough in non-numbers aspects that when you go back to entertainment, as you no doubt will, you can find a job that isn't numbers-centric.

You remember that you have to call the owner of that funky little four-chair salon where you had your hair cut and colored (for the first time by a professional) a few weeks ago, the day before that lovely keyboard found its way into your home (your thoughts swerve away from the fact that neither CuteNerdBoy, Sarriah or Boychik noticed your lovely new hair - after all, Boychik tends to be self-involved, Sarriah pleaded the distraction of an unexpected new color in the brand new top you were wearing and CuteNerdBoy, well, he was probably distracted by, um, other "features" of the top which prominently displayed that which you consider amongst your best physical assets - you know you saw his eyes drift in that direction more than once and, after all, isn't that the effect you wanted the top to have on him, even though you felt you had to cover up a little while you were watching that play because you feared, being in the front row of the extremely intimate theater, your pale cleavage might be a little distracting to the actors, even though they are consumate professionals, several of whom you admire [oh, how you've adored Harry for years, even before you became a Buffy addict]?). After talking to the owner for a little bit while another stylist worked on your hair, the conversation turned to painting and you mentioned that you've painted in the past. The owner told you that she wants to start hanging art by local artists and would like you to bring in some of your work. You've since told her that, being carless, you have to make arrangements to bring in your art and she responded by asking for your information and saying that maybe she could stop by and take a look at what you have.

You're very excited by this, and by teaching yourself to play the keyboard, and by the mix CD's you make and the writing you've been doing, not to mention, of course, the article that BookCrossing published. You're feeling creative again and it feels wonderful, though you're convinced that there's even more you could be doing because, after all, you actually have down time, don't you?

And don't forget your "wedding" to Sarriah on Leap Day, on the beautiful grounds of the La Brea Tar Pits (the grounds actually are very pretty and green), with the sun setting in the west and the statue of a grizzly serving as your witness.

But family issues rear their ugly heads again, after talks with OlderBro and BabySis about the State of Mom, that though she's better about some things, that she's still maybe not taking care of herself the way she should, and the conversation about her living with you comes up again and, this time, you think that maybe it should happen. But, much as you love your mother, you're terrified that, if she comes to live with you, you'll end up as her caretaker, with no life to call your own, no prospect of finding a significant other with whom to share your life and have children because, let's face it, it's tougher as you get older, not impossible, but certainly not easy, and how is having your mother living with you going to make it any easier?

Then you feel selfish for such thoughts, thinking maybe you're not such a good daughter, and you start kicking yourself. Besides which, haven't you been thinking that having a roommate would be a good thing, would help you to save money and be neater around the apartment? But she's not just a roommate, she's your mother, and though you love her and she loves you, there are reliance issues. Then you start thinking that maybe if you put a time limit on it, it might be a little easier in the end, but also knowing that it's possible that the end date could come and go and still you'd be living with your mother. And your four cats. You see the BitterOldSpinsterForOne table in the corner and it's got your name on the "Reserved" placard.

As you look at the big bright moon hovering low on the horizon, you think again about how nice it would be to have someone at home that you could turn to, talk about everything that's going on and he'd hold you and stroke your hair and tell you that it'll all be okay, you'll work it out somehow. But such thoughts remind you about the last time, the only time, really, you had someone to go home to, more years ago than you'd care to ponder right then, and how you recently discovered, though opening a trade magazine, your eyes lighting upon the picture and positive review of a local theater production, that not only was that someone married, which you found out a few months ago, but the woman that he married? Is a former mutual friend of yours that he had a thing for before you and he got together. A woman that shot him down less than a year before your first kiss. A woman that you very nearly lived with over ten years ago. The remembering doesn't leave you shaky, unlike when you first saw her picture, and you realize that maybe if he wants someone more neurotic than you (which she most definitely was, as least the last time you saw her over seven years ago - though, granted, maybe she's changed in the intervening years, because you sure as hell have - in some ways a stronger person, in some ways more jittery), then it's best that you never did marry him, as you so dearly wanted to once upon a time.

You open the front door to your apartment, greet your cats, and you wonder when life got so complicated. You wonder if you're making life more complicated than it needs to be. You wonder if it'll ever calm down. You wonder if you'll stop missing CuteNerdBoy, even though you're just good friends and after all, you did just see him a few nights ago when he helped move that "armoire" type thing from your place to Sarriah's place, even though you were both exhausted and you weren't looking your best, with no make-up and a bad hair day and fresh from a tiring day at your new assignment and clothes that, frankly, didn't look all that great on you. But he looked cute, as always, with that green polo shirt with his company name on it. He looked tired, true, but he wears tired better than you do. But he's not in town now, off to Vegas again, missing the upcoming BookCrossing meeting, as he did last month, and even though you generally don't call him up to do something spontaneous, knowing that you can't makes you the tiniest bit sad.

But it's time to look to the future, to put those feelings for him aside because, as you constantly remind yourself (seemingly to no avail), nothing is ever going to happen to validate those feelings. He has, more or less, told you so. Oh, maybe he hasn't outright said the words "never, ever", but it almost feels implicit, despite those mixed messages that both thrill and confuse you.

And you think about all the other things that have happened in the last two weeks, and know that life just isn't going to ever be simple again. You think about BestFriend, recently diagnosed with Epstein-Barr, and wish you could go out and visit right now, instead of waiting until June, for which you already have plane tickets. Her doctor says she could get better in a few weeks, if she takes it easy, but it's still rather frightening because you remember a friend of BestFriend's who once had Epstein-Barr and she never seemed to get better, though her other medical problems might have contributed to that.

You think about how, much as you love your friends, sometimes some of them get on your nerves, then you remember that sometimes you get on their nerves, so it all evens out, but you also remember a time when it didn't seem that such stresses existed between you and friends and you wonder when the hell all that happened, but maybe that's what happens as people mature and change and become more of who they were meant to be.

And then you think, as you type out your way-too involved long-ass thoughts for the world, maybe the universe, to read, that maybe, just maybe, it's time to get some sleep. Because, in the immortal words of Scarlett O'Hara, tomorrow is another day.

Besides which, the previously viewed copy of Enigma that you just bought awaits you in the VCR, where you will spy your adored Nicholas Rowe (shorn of his lovely curly locks) looking handsome in a British Naval uniform, uttering the immortal words, "Our intelligence has been cut off." It's almost his entire role, but it's enough.

Almost.

This is a great picture: Wesley looking hot with his determined expression, Fred looking trepidatious (is that even a word?), Gunn looking, well, a little bored, and Angel? Angel looking so freaking scowly and cute and puppety!

How can you not love something like this?

This is a stunning picture. Oh, how it thrills the SpaceGeek in me!

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I'm sorry I haven't updated in a week - it's been a crazy busy tiring week of learning a whole new industry: the commercial furniture industry. And I still am too tired and busy to do a proper entry. I hope to have a little time on Sunday night. And I'll tell you all about the new assignment! Excitement galore!