what about, what about.

In other random news, the pot roast is officially played out -- it's so five minutes ago. Which is a shame since there's one in the freezer. But maybe in a few weeks I'll do it right -- the 6 hour cook off. But the cornbread dressing was good, though I maybe should have cooked it in the smaller pan so it'd be thicker.

Cooking is one of the few things in my life I can be truly critical of in a healthy way. Every meal is a learning experience, I'm capable of being proud and satisfied to a certain extent, but I'm always brainstorming how to make it better the next time. I rarely beat myself up about it. I'm truly content while doing it 99% of the time. I think this is how music is to me. I hope it is, for the sake of my future career.

In other news, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SIR RIDS!!. We're that rare breed of twins that were born exactly 3 months apart. In different years. But whatever.

And in the random column today, I was watching some program awhile back discussing the definition of "so five minutes ago", and I was unexpectedly upset by the fact that no one was properly defining it. They kept using words like "old-school" and "back in the day" and gave examples of things that were big 5-10 years ago. Um, no, that's not "five minutes ago". The proper definition is a trend that is probably still popular among the general population, but it's on its way out the door. Why do I know these things? Have you seen what I'm wearing today? Corduroy cargo pants and a fake old-timey t-shirt. But damn are they comfortable.

Woody Allen was in my dream last night. He had designed a movie/live-action video game, that worked almost like an amusement park type puzzle/challenge, and I was in the group testing it out. One level involved sliding through approximately 18 inches of water filled with small fish. Then the next level involved finding a secret tunnel that I figured out with the help of the hamster. The hamster later hissed at me. Similar to Bunny Chick's rabbits hissing at me over the weekend when I was playing a game with them involving broccoli. Did you know rabbits could hiss? Neither did I and it scared the isht out of me. So when it happened in my dream last night, I was slightly more prepared.

My co-worker just spent 5 minutes ranting about lesbians making poor personal decisions involving work. It's a shocking trend in my job and in my acquaintances (and hers too) about women dating they're supervisors, teachers, etc. When will they learn?? I mean, I'm not saying this is limited to dykes, but they're the ones who call us astounded that it blew up in their faces. Oh please. We are not here to litigate drama.

P.S. angeltrouble is in my thoughts today -- best of luck to you, darling.

it's always them.

Sometime after lunch. Sometime after lunch I was actually working. Moving files, moving between my desk and my boss's office because she left for lunch and I wanted the freedom of walking back and forth as freely as possible. Sometime after lunch I was working, and I started writing a letter in my head. I wrote the letter I've always wanted to write, everything I've wanted to say. I recited passages in my head while my fingers felt for the manila folders and I pushed the paper around and pushed the paragraphs around, editing the letter in my head. Then I just slipped. I slipped, and I fell, slumped down into my chair, at a slightly faster rate than normal, with slightly less control. Nearly imperceptible to anyone standing nearby (though no one was) and I slipped. I simultaneously put my hand to my forehead and my elbow to the desk and felt my face start to crumple. Then my heart slipped.
Then I felt ridiculous for being at work. Ridiculous for being so dramatic. I sat up and kept moving.

If it's possible to cry for 0.5 seconds, that's probably what I did. But it happened so quickly, even I didn't notice.

Maybe I'll do it. Maybe I'll write the huge letter of everything. I'll be coming out as everything, everything I am, not just who I fuck or what name I use. I'll come out about what I expect and want and hope from them.

But then what? Then what will happen when they don't write back? Would that letter officially be the straw that broke the coffin? The nail that sealed the came? Why must everything be so ridiculous?

It's funny what I hold onto. Weird moments will resonate with me, and I'll hold them close to my heart for several weeks. Lately, it's been a random comment from Educating Esme that she made when we had dinner. She asked about my family, and I just gave a general update, basically saying I was trying to waste too much energy on them. And she commented that it was really nice of me to have a separate e-mail account that was gender-neutral. It was just a small thing. But it just felt good to have someone notice that I try so goddamn hard, because the people who I'm trying to help certainly don't notice. Or if they do, but they don't tell me.

So what do I want? Maybe I do want it all articulated. Maybe that's why my memory has been spitting out extensive long-forgotten entries. Maybe it would work if the letter wasn't really just for them, but if it was for me. Then even if I don't know where I stand with them, I would know where they stand with me and where I stand with myself. And maybe then I can let go. But I would be putting it down, not letting it crush me. Or letting it slip from my hands.

( p.s. )