2004-09-23 - 3:49 p.m.

So tired...

So I wrote a big chunk of a story last night and also wrote a 3 paragraph email and it took me about two hours because I'm a total spaz and I posted a second diaryland entry last night. All that is old news. What I didn't mention was that I was on the highway to insomnia. It has a juncture with the highway to Hell, and oddly enough both of them pass through my hometown.

I'm trying to work in a half-dazed state which isn't all that unusual but I tend to get maudlin when I'm sleep deprived, so there is a not too slim chance that I will burst into tears because I find a bug in a piece of code or something. Plus I've already had some completely nonsensical interactions with co-workers so I'm guessing they have called HR who will demand I take a piss test or something. On top of this even, I'm listening to a very sad Bebo Norman song on my iPod. A curse upon all of you melancholy, "adult contemporary" singer-songwriters and your acoustic guitars!


So I get to say "so long" to my brother tonight. This fucking sucks and it is only starting to sink in because I don't spend a whole lot of time with him right now but there was something so comforting about knowing that I had a family member who I could see by taking the T rather than taking an airplane which is always a risky proposition since Cat Stevens is apparently on the loose.

On the plus side, my brother is giving me a bunch of wonderful, framed posters advertising old movies like Plan 9 from Outer Space, King Kong, Metropolis etc.... On the downside this means I will have to pay for a cab to get home as I don't see how I could get all these things home on the T without breaking the frames or losing my mind.

I'm messing up passwords all over the place at work today. Who knows, maybe I'll accidentally take down a server or two and they'll finally fire me. Oh, frabjous day! It wont happen, but it's so groovy to dream. I can't believe I just wrote "groovy". I must be over tired.

Actually, this would be kind of a sucky month to get fired as I seemed to have nickled and dimed my way through several thousand dollars I had in my checking account. Where did it go?

I was planning on doing my "Fall Music Spectacular" entry today, but I'm too tired. I'll have to put it off for a few days. Instead, I'm going to start a series about how to speak Bostonian. It'll basically be a definition of a word that does not exist outside of Boston or New England or a word which takes on a special meaning in Boston. Todays word is "Sox Fan"

Sox Fan - noun - 1 - A drunken, spastic, wife beating jerk who never sets foot in Boston except when the Sox are playing a home game. Can usually be spotted clogging up public transportation. 2 - The son of a Sox Fan. These variants can be spotted by their blond crew cuts. 3 - A woman who thinks that baseball uniforms make men look hot or who is married to a male Sox Fan and has had to give up all her dreams to keep her failing marriage alive. See also "Fuck-tard". NB. As bad as the Sox Fan sounds, he is an infinite improvement over the hideous Yankees Fan who is know to sacrifice small children to their unholy gods.

Ok. So I'm a little harsh on the Sox fans, but hear me out. These guys are the biggest bunch of jerks I've ever seen. Let's roll back the clock to two nights ago. I'm on the orange line headed home after a particularly long and stressful day at work (Hey! It takes a lot of work to make myself look busy without actually working!) and the train is really crowded, but there is this one guy who acts like he is the only man on the train. He has his legs crossed in a particularly space consuming way and he is waving his arms around like there is nothing he could possibly hit. I put up with this for a little while because I think maybe the guy has Mafia connections or something, but at one point he waves his hand around and nearly smacks this little old Asian woman and I say to myself: "That's it. The next time he does anything obnoxious I'm going to yell at him - 'Are you even cognizant of the fact that there are other people on this train?'."

It didn't come to that as he got off at the next station without any fuss, but even in getting off the train he managed to annoy me. I had to lean out of my way for him to get to the door into a very uncomfortable position which was really hurting my already aching back (my futon frame is dying!) and instead of just going by, he just stands there, obviously wanting to get off but not walking out - just letting me hang there with my back twisted up into a knot.

Finally he gets off with a bunch of other old farts all wearing Red Sox shirts and yelling "Where's the shuttle bus?" as if everyone in the station has nothing better to do than direct them to the fucking shuttle bus.

Again, I say "Feh!".

I got two positive comments about my journal in the last 24 hours. I'm on top of the world. Neither of the people who said they liked my journal offered me money, power or sex, but I guess I'll take what I can get, and God knows I need some form of validation or else why would I be spending so much time writing this junk when I could be at a strip club drinking over-priced watered-down bourbon?

Anyway, if y'all really liked my journal, you'd click my clix link and help me move from the third page of search results to the second. I promise it will only take you a moment and it could be the difference between me being psychotically happy or a messy, grotesque suicide. No pressure.


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