Friday, July 30, 2004


I don’t have much to say today, or at least not much that’s connected to anything else.

The sky is grey and it’s reminding me of a Dire Straits song (from the “Making Movies” CD):
The sky is crying,
the streets are full of tears.
Rain come down,
wash away my fears.
And all this writing on the walls,
oh I can read between the lines.


John has been talking to me every day. He paces when he gets uptight. On Wednesday afternoon, we walked around the building 5 times. This is not a small building—we walked for an hour and a half. I couldn’t very well tell my boss that I had work to do, so I ended up staying at the office until 5:30 (that’s a big deal—I get here around 7:00 and I usually have to leave no later than 4:30 to pick up Em at daycare). No one at home was pleased.

I was/am happy to give him my ear and advice, however I find myself reliving my own break-ups when I’m listening to him and I end up feeling pretty depressed. This morning while talking, I was relating a bit of my own story to him (it was relevant to the conversation) and I started crying. Then he started crying. I have to wonder if I’m putting my job in jeopardy by letting my boss cry in front of me. Will he be man enough to get past the embarrassment when he’s over the lions-share of the hurt? God I hope so. Dastard , to calm your concerns, I’ll promise you now I’m not going to have an affair with this one. He’s hurting too much and far too vulnerable. It wouldn’t have the “Fun” factor the others had.

I’ve already had a cup of coffee and three cups of tea, hoping it’s just tiredness keeping me feeling, as Vader says, like Holden Caulfield, but I can’t seem to shake this foreboding sense of grey. I spent the morning in meetings today, so even though it’s already 1:30, I haven’t gotten a bit of work done. That’s not helping my mood. And the constant ramblings in my head about who is who and who can I trust aren’t helping much either. I don’t like feeling like I’m not living in reality. It bothers me. I had a dream about Mike last night (stop that—It wasn’t that kind of dream); he was telling me about the people in bloggsville, as if he knew every one of you individually. Who I could trust, who to watch out for, what not to say. And throughout the dream, I kept wondering, “but who are YOU?” No answers. Still no answers. It’s unsettling.

There are a few people, strangers though you may all be, whose good opinion I value. I don’t need their feedback to the extent that I’ll be anyone other than who I am, but they seem like such good souls that I trust their insights. I hope I’m not mistaken. One of those people is Sloth —and I’m delighted that she complimented me not once but twice yesterday. Thank you, Mistress Slotherson. I’m not going to come forth with any other names, but I believe you know who you are. Those of you who have touched my life in a real and positive way, thank you.

I’m going to try to get some work done now before the weekend is upon us. And I’ll try to write something good and happy this weekend. Until then, love to you real individuals.