December 20th, 2004

teeter

like in the old days with the record player

Danged hypersensitive CD recorder, and/or a lousy CDRW, and another several tracks from various records not properly recorded. Now it's late at night, too, and I'm thinking maybe the fates are trying to tell me something about potential recipients by mail; no time tonight to get after those songs again, let alone the ones I didn't get to, and mail deadlines are fast approaching. I can't be overnighting in the ambivalent case.

Yeah, kinda vague I suppose, but I'm feeling a little vague about sharing this little conundrum.

I did do the dishes and a load of laundry and succeeded in not setting foot outside the house. What else. Watched that "Six Feet Under" DVD. That's some good shit, man. Didn't do the bills.

Playing old records & taping from them eats up time like crazy. It's a kind of time I usually like to be in, but it helps if I can stay up as late as I want---and feel free to enjoy, and go with the flows. And, boy, playing records has a history of keeping me up all night.

One of my friends, who used to live next door to me at college, reported wondering why she'd hear the very tail end of one song over and over again, and then the same with another song, and then another. Or maybe it was my former gf before she became by gf. It was either her or Laura, I'm pretty sure. What I was doing was a count of the gap between the end of one song and the beginning of the one I wanted, so's to catch the edit. Not have too much space between the two. Or, even worse, I might have been doing a "storytime"---a story told in clips of other songs. That was a specialty of me and pijeanf at one point.

It's not been a terrible day or anything, but sadness is with me today. Most decidedly so. Sitting next to me, or sidling up to whisper in my ear, or just having that presence in the room. Like one of the dead people who hang around the "Six Feet"ers. I'd try to tell it that its being the same old sadness is getting a bit tired, and inquire about whether maybe it doesn't feel a little silly & think maybe it should be moving along, but I know it's not going to listen to me. Not much, anyway.

Time for sleeping now. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz (that was quick) zzzzzzzzzz zzzz z zzzzzzzzzzz. .z..zz..zz.....
mich

Why is the coffee free at work?

There don't seem to be any VIPs around, but I'm not worried.

Sometimes I worry when the coffee's free & I can't figure out why. Sometimes it means a coworker, or the dog, is sick, or sicker, or has died. It can reflect an inconvenience, like that the water's out, or the heat (which'd be pretty bad today---it's 3 degrees F out there), or (perhaps most commonly) the fact that "important" visitors are in the building. Then there are throw-ins, like "it's Election Day," or some other borderline aspect of note to the day.

Today I'm betting it's cuz it's so cold. Notably unpleasant weather often gets us free coffee. It could be that it's the pre-holiday week, but I'd think it more likely that the coffee will be free for holiday reasons NEXT week. It could also be that our intern is in the house. He's home from U. Indiana on break, and he's come in, I gather, just cuz people were hoping he would. I don't think the office manager would necessarily provide free coffee to honor his presence, but I would.

In any case, there are plenty of possibilities besides something really bad. And our coworker with the repeatedly collapsing lung, who is having surgery today, seems to be doing well---is reportedly in good spirits, at least.


Turns out Paula didn't die from a viral infection---that was a false impression from the irregularities in her heart muscle. It was actually a "plasmacytoma, a relatively rare [and in this case very aggressive] expression of a relatively rare blood cancer called multiple myeloma," which caused extremely high levels of calcium in her blood, and "the hypercalcemia, in turn, caused the kidney and heart problems that killed her."

Her dear partner finds a positive angle for us on her memorial blog, pointing out that, from what he's read about the usual, more prolonged cases of this cancer, "I don't think she missed anything she would have wanted to experience."
mich

Okay, I admit it. I've got a lot on my mind.

The only thing is, it's not on the surface of my mind. That is, it's not sorted out by the processors enough for me even to know what all it's about, let alone have some synaptic trails down which to chase it. Or maybe a better metaphor would be that I'm still feeling for the opening of the endless, no-exit maze of synaptic paths I sense I'm about to start dashing through, doubling back on myself and, at the same time, filming the whole thing from above for later viewing.

And reviewing.

You know, I used to wonder---I really did---why "self-conscious" means what it means, has those negative connotations, calls up uncertainty and doubt and insecurity. What the hell could make one insecure, I thought, about being aware of one's self?