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Jun. 18th, 2003
(no subject)
Jun. 18th, 2003 10:12 pmThis day has not gone the way i wanted it to go. i suppose i was fantasizing all hearts and roses and whispering breezes and billowing clouds. What i got was broken dishes, a car stranded in the desert and someone putting words in my mouth when i have tried explaining my relationship with Master.
The broken dishes i don't care about. Actually they weren't dishes they were glasses. Today i killed three of them. i never really liked them, and i didn't drop them on purpose. i've always had a problem holding on to things. There was a time when i considered going to a specialist because i was always dropping things. For whatever reason that did not get accomplished. i have trained myself to be more focused when i pick something up now, so days can go by without me dropping something. Then there are days like today. Three separate times, three separate glasses. Broken. Three separate messes to clean up. Two after i had mopped the kitchen floor to pick up any shards the broom might have missed. i didn't cut myself, another problem i seem to have with objects with a sharp edge, which is about the only good thing i can say.
This was supposed to be my week of vacation before summer school. i've gone into work everyday. i've had to be the bearer of bad news, among other things, and i've had to listen to the VDSA explain to me why talking to a teacher about a third section of summer school was after i had patiently explained to him the reasons we couldn't do it, one of them being there are no teachers available, was not the same as going behind my back so he can stay the 'good ol' boy' to the students and make me,the foreign infidel, the baddie. The work is done and i have the weekend to spend with Master. A lot of good that is going to do me.
Emerson may have to be on life support for a while. Master said the minor problems i've been having with the car would not become major problems for a long time. Certainly not before He got back here. He was just about right. i wasn't paying attention on the run today. i was watching Max bedevil a piece of plywood. The car stalled and the engine died and i couldn't get it started again. It is my fault, i suppose, i tempted the fates by thinking i should call G and ask him if he wanted to meet me in the desert one last time for old time's sake. (private joke) i never should have given that thought head room. because that is just exactly what i had to do. He couldn't get Emerson started so there he sits, alone and lonely in the desert. Perhaps a lizard will be his companion for the night to keep him from being afraid. i hope there are no wild parties out there tonight with irresponsible kuwaiti males finding Emerson and beating him up just because they can.
i know better than to try to describe my life to someone who doesn't know me. Now i have several people i don't know from Adam, who think they know what i mean but don't look at the words i write. Arm chair psychologists who know a few buzzwords and have the jargon of alternative living down, but wouldn't know a fetish from a gnochi if one or the other them landed in their lap. i don't do it very often, and i'm not sure why i tried again. i now have to decide whether, yet again, i am going to have to go back and point out word by word that what they are telling me is not what i have written. Or, just let them think they have proved their point and leave.
It makes no difference to me what they believe they read i said. i will probably never meet them face-to-face and even if by chance one of them lived across the street from me, or in the same building as me, they would never know who i am. Why should i care what faceless strangers think about me and mine? Is it worth it? They are so het up on their own translation of my words they would argue with me anyway. And from what i've seen, i'm a far better word-smith than either of them. i can type rings around them, but do i want to make the effort? Right now, i think not.
My life is beautiful, ok, if the reader disregards the previous paragraphs of this entry, my life is beautiful. i am happy and i don't have to prove that to anyone. Why do i try? Who knows?
1 hour and four minutes and counting. i have to go bathe. G is taking me to the airport, so the welcome home will have to wait until Master is really home. But i can be clean and good smelling for Him on the drive back from the airport. i need to change the bed linen.
The broken dishes i don't care about. Actually they weren't dishes they were glasses. Today i killed three of them. i never really liked them, and i didn't drop them on purpose. i've always had a problem holding on to things. There was a time when i considered going to a specialist because i was always dropping things. For whatever reason that did not get accomplished. i have trained myself to be more focused when i pick something up now, so days can go by without me dropping something. Then there are days like today. Three separate times, three separate glasses. Broken. Three separate messes to clean up. Two after i had mopped the kitchen floor to pick up any shards the broom might have missed. i didn't cut myself, another problem i seem to have with objects with a sharp edge, which is about the only good thing i can say.
This was supposed to be my week of vacation before summer school. i've gone into work everyday. i've had to be the bearer of bad news, among other things, and i've had to listen to the VDSA explain to me why talking to a teacher about a third section of summer school was after i had patiently explained to him the reasons we couldn't do it, one of them being there are no teachers available, was not the same as going behind my back so he can stay the 'good ol' boy' to the students and make me,the foreign infidel, the baddie. The work is done and i have the weekend to spend with Master. A lot of good that is going to do me.
Emerson may have to be on life support for a while. Master said the minor problems i've been having with the car would not become major problems for a long time. Certainly not before He got back here. He was just about right. i wasn't paying attention on the run today. i was watching Max bedevil a piece of plywood. The car stalled and the engine died and i couldn't get it started again. It is my fault, i suppose, i tempted the fates by thinking i should call G and ask him if he wanted to meet me in the desert one last time for old time's sake. (private joke) i never should have given that thought head room. because that is just exactly what i had to do. He couldn't get Emerson started so there he sits, alone and lonely in the desert. Perhaps a lizard will be his companion for the night to keep him from being afraid. i hope there are no wild parties out there tonight with irresponsible kuwaiti males finding Emerson and beating him up just because they can.
i know better than to try to describe my life to someone who doesn't know me. Now i have several people i don't know from Adam, who think they know what i mean but don't look at the words i write. Arm chair psychologists who know a few buzzwords and have the jargon of alternative living down, but wouldn't know a fetish from a gnochi if one or the other them landed in their lap. i don't do it very often, and i'm not sure why i tried again. i now have to decide whether, yet again, i am going to have to go back and point out word by word that what they are telling me is not what i have written. Or, just let them think they have proved their point and leave.
It makes no difference to me what they believe they read i said. i will probably never meet them face-to-face and even if by chance one of them lived across the street from me, or in the same building as me, they would never know who i am. Why should i care what faceless strangers think about me and mine? Is it worth it? They are so het up on their own translation of my words they would argue with me anyway. And from what i've seen, i'm a far better word-smith than either of them. i can type rings around them, but do i want to make the effort? Right now, i think not.
My life is beautiful, ok, if the reader disregards the previous paragraphs of this entry, my life is beautiful. i am happy and i don't have to prove that to anyone. Why do i try? Who knows?
1 hour and four minutes and counting. i have to go bathe. G is taking me to the airport, so the welcome home will have to wait until Master is really home. But i can be clean and good smelling for Him on the drive back from the airport. i need to change the bed linen.
