Nights Home Alone, Med Trials, and Fucking Mornings

~~September 8 2007~~



I
can see seven hot air balloons up in the sky, not too far from here.

All I have to do is tilt my head from this monitor screen to the window. The balloon races are an annual Reno event. Maybe someone will see that poor bastard Fossett. He still hasn’t been found and his plane supposedly went down close to here.
Rebecca had to drive her son out at 5:00 am yesterday to help in the search.

Yeppers nothing like being a parent.
Guess Steve should have waited and used another balloon instead of his plane.

Good Morning Balloons.
Good Morning fresh coffee.
Good Morning coffin nail smoking next to me.
Good Morning silly Lizzie Borden.

Mornings are the worst I think.
Nothing has changed my attitude about this and the funny thing is that when I was younger, even into my twenties, I loved mornings.
Each day promised something new to experience.

Now mornings just mean another interminable stretch of 20 hours awake and alone with my screwy head. Make the bed, comb the cat, eat something, do a bit of work if concentration allows, maybe a meeting. Spend too much time at the computer.
Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

I was supposed to go to the Green Room last night and see Gabe, Lenora, and Evan play (Love’s Proxy). Wound up being too tired and the depression too intense.

Went as far as taking a shower at 9:00 pm and then just got into bed with a book.
Must make my apologies to Gabe today since he promised to be my date –smile-. Yeah yeah sure he’s with Lenora, and he would have been busy playing guitar on stage but it’s the thought that counts!

Now there are eight colorful hot air balloons over the treetops.

Today I have to pack for my trip to southern California. Spoke with my dad last night and he said that one of the docs I’m supposed to see is in the hospital himself. Argh.
The sonogram and hospital crap can all be completed but the medication reviews and new trial meds for the bi-polar disorder will probably be a no-go for now.
I’ve had lumps, headaches and other abnormalities before so I’m sure that this is going to be the same deal when the test results come back; pretty damned normal.
It’s the trials I was looking forward to.

Hey look outside! 9 Luft Balloons.

So yesterday I put a profile on Match.com
Eeek. My girlfriend has been meeting some interesting men this way and I thought ‘Oh fuck why not.’ It couldn’t hurt right.

I don’t go out anymore so my meeting new people is therefore logically restricted.
Anyway I write this dumbass fucking profile, upload a picture, and do not pay the money to join. This makes the entire exercise null and void since I cannot contact anyone there. At the very least perhaps this will give me something to do when I am not planning world domination.

Here’s what killed me though: In looking through other profiles who do I come across but the man who so recently and unceremoniously dumped me via an email.
Hi TK. Good thing I’ve been pining and crying for two months. I am an eeeeediot.

Yes kids it’s clear I make an indelible impression upon the men in my life.
That impression is: Hey there IS definitely a woman out there better than Rach. Go find that bitch!

Did I mention that mornings are not good?

Sarcasm, Observations and Bon Mots to Follow.

I’ve come across some really cretinous and unintentionally funny personal ads already.
Hell, reading CL doesn’t even compare anymore. These people are PAYING MONEY to post their foibles, ignorance and misspellings to the world.

Providing the Xanax kicks in, I finish a new main page for damnedgames.com (which is no more) and upload some code for Tinfoil Hat Guy I’ll share a few.
Who knows. Maybe somewhere else a guy is dissecting my profile and laughing his ass off.

~Miss R

Currently listening:
From a Basement on the Hill
By: Elliott Smith
Release date: 19 October, 2004

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