let's see what I can write in 5 minutes.

So. Friday night felt like Saturday night because I was up so late but had a nice time hanging out with MelRo's Lesbian Law School Friend and her partner, the Stand-up. We went to Spin briefly, and afterward I passed on the diner because I was really really drunk and needed to be home.

Saturday....hmmm....oh, grocery store trip. An aborted attempt to see Tara at the airport. Then Myles came over and we had dinner (a more successful pot roast and the famous family corn casserole), then a viewing of Wet Hot American Summer, which was rather hilarious.

Sunday....nothing. I watched Strange Invaders, a favorite movie from my middle childhood (the elementary school years?), and it wasn't as scary this time, though it was edited, which I found ridiculous. Though maybe it really was scary and I'm assuming my reaction is due solely to my age. The people shrinking away and then converting to blue floating balls just didn't horrify me as much this time around, nor did the Avon Lady's green blood. But deleting a few seconds from each scene went a long way to making something innocuous.

The past couple nights I've had dreams about my new toy, the glorious wonderful Akai which will most likely be delivered today. I called yesterday to track the package and it was in Illinois as of Saturday. Oh my, I'm excited.

Friend Co-Worker is calling in sick today. So I need to hop in the shower and get to work early to take care of things. Hence me posting from home. And now my 5 minutes is up.

***This just in. According to VH1 tickertape, Britney and Justin broke up!****

there is no self.

I was reading something yesterday about the concept of "self" and what it means to make it permanent, and thinking about the metaphor of self as a stream or river and being an 'entity' but not made up of one static concept or object. And I'm thinking of this because I'm not the same person I was 2 hours ago when I posted. Which true in general and everyday and every hour, but I'm noticing it more right now.

I barely new Lefare in the grand scheme of things and life and such, but he had quite a dynamic personality that made a big impact on our acquaintanceship (the two things I remember most are his story about being on the crowded bus with a client: "Lefare! Lefare! I'm gonna suck your dick!"; and more recently, him making me blush hard by flirting shamelessly when I wore my suit to work for an event). More importantly, he was a dear friend of Niecie's and she lost him unexpectedly. I want to attend his services with Niecie, but his homphobic hating mother is in charge and may cause difficulty in letting his real friends and family attend.

Which of course made me think about my own parents and their lack of participation in my life. And then what happens? My father just e-mailed me. At my work account. From his work account. And he's all like "how are you? haven't heard from you in awhile." (Maybe because I was waiting on a reply from you.) Also, they bought a new house. Which means I may have to make a visit soon to retrieve old items I'm "storing" there.

I'm going to write my self-review instead of thinking.

"evil" gays.

I think I've somewhat adequately addressed Lefare's death, but have chosen to keep my parents out of my mind for another day or so. It probably didn't help that my dad told me that a friend of my mom's passed away over the weekend too. Though I'm mad about the way he explained who she was -- I KNOW all the women from her aerobics class, especially Louise since she also was a paraprofessional at my high school. Hell, I even already knew she was dealing with cancer -- she has been for years. For some I reason, I often feel irked when my parents act as if I don't know people in Atlanta -- just because I "ran away from home" didn't mean I blocked out 10 years from my memory. I sometimes wonder if they see me as some heartless forgetful person who ran far, far away and pretend my past life didn't exist. It's not exactly my fault that I can no longer interact with my extended family. And they sure as hell aren't doing anything to help me out -- they're complicit in keeping my ostracized.

Maybe I'll just wait three weeks to reply, and I'll address none of the things in my father's e-mail. Or at any rate, I should avoid typing anything until I calm down a little. Hmm, all signs point to yes.

Instead I'll just be mad at UPS for not delivering my package today. I guess there's still a chance -- delivery routes often run until early evening.

I have a piece of mail on my desk that's infused with the smell of cigarette smoke. It's from a prisoner. He must smoke a lot if it made it through the delivery system and I can still smell it from 2 feet away. Though I would be doing the same if I were him. I'd like to think I could inspire myself to rehabilitate myself if I were locked-up, but who knows what actions I would take in reality. I'm not always inspirational to myself.