I had fun with my new sixteen year old friend Phil last night. He got me using MSN to chat with him and I'm getting used to it. I've been such an AOL dependant baby for so long that everything else feels scary and new. We even connected using this program where he can see everything on my screen and move my mouse around. He had to transfer some photo files that didn't make the big image transfer sessions we had at his house, and while that was going on he scribbled crazy things all over my screen and we chatted about funny domain names he's registering. I'd tell you the names but for the fact that he may not have snapped them up yet.
I can't wait to go over to my Mom's house and show her all of our Burning Man pictures. I'm dying to share them with you and am working on them. I just have so much basic practical stuff that I have to get out of the way first, like returning the RV and ordering Beau's school books. My neck is so tense that my head is pinging back and forth like a mini version of Katherine Hepburn. I'm praying its tension and not something more serious than that.
I love my cats so much. Sydsu just looked at me and gave me the cutest meow greeting. His stripey tabby fur is so soft to the touch. I wish I didn't have so much cat hair on the new computer though.
Ana is driving me crazy. I care about her and I am immensely grateful for her help, and the good fortune I have been blessed with, that allows me to have anyone's help here, but I seriously doubt I will ever care for her the way I care for Irma. I miss Irma and her kids desperately. I can't make myself understood by Ana and I can't understand her. It gets wearysome when you have to say something at least three times before you are only partly understood, and then twice more before it gets partially done. I speak fluent Spanish so it isn't me. We are all rolling our eyes at eachother behind her back and it feels mean and reminds me of high school and I hate it. Everyone in my life, including all of the people who speak Spanish, are already seriously fed up with her, but I keep hanging in there, hoping her willingness, cheerful attitude that may mask something darker underneath, and well meaningness, will make up for her residing just that much lower on the intelligence scale than anyone we've ever had here before. That sounded so elitist and mean, I hate myself for writing this, but you know me -- no boundaries. I just have to get it out or it'll fester. I worry though that her family might somehow find their way here and read this to her and I would never want to hurt her. She has this fake way of behaving when she's trying to ingratiate herself -- very actressy and false -- that goes along with this braying hee-haw laugh that drives me mad. I don't know what to do. I just know I'm not up to fishing through piles of applicants for this job and trying to break in, trust, and train another person to live in our home with us. I get stuck in a rut thinking this may be the best we can do, our fish in the hand kind of thing, the devil you know etc.
I just had to ask her for some quiet because I can't think and write and listen to her talking to herself and asking me stupid questions all at the same time. I know it's not like I'm writing the great american novel here on Live Journal but I need quiet all the same. I was listening to a book on tape, or CD really, (Three Weeks With My Brother by Nicholas Sparks,) on our long drive through the flatlands and the High Sierras, (oh what beauty), and found it interesting that he says he can write in any situation, with his five kids clamboring all over him, and that he doesn't need quiet to concentrate. Now there's a guy who doesn't have a problem with attention, lucky successful bastard ; )
Although maybe I should give myself credit for getting anything done around here with the number of people and animal lives I've got moving and breathing around me at any given moment. I wasn't even counting the cats when I was thinking about how I need quiet to write because I rarely seem to get a break from them -- they're everywhere. I am writing after all, and with all of these feline folks playing and biting and running around me, and even now Swanky is nibbling on my breakfast while Ruby is sitting right on top of my telephone, Jake is making more noise than a vacuum cleaner while he bathes himself with that asthmatic wheeze of his and Ping is yowling. I think it's just Ana who is driving me mad this morning, poor thing, and I felt so guilty asking her if I could have some privacy.
I remember that when Scott has often said he doesn't exactly feel like being Mr. Sexuality here with all of these kids and pets running in and out and around us, I thought, "Harumph, how uptight is he," but now in a perfect, karmic, twist of self education I find that I am feeling much the same way. I had thought that with all of the sexual stimulation that is part and parcel of the whole Burning Man experience, I would surely wear the poor man out when I got home and was able to put my starving hands on him, but when he came over the night before last I completely shut down from exhaustion and stress and the feeling that he's been right all along, my bedroom is not conducive to sexuality, there's just too much going on all the time around here and it's too cluttered.
I guess I'll just have to go to his place, but sadly he will be moving soon into his own house, which is a good drive and a half away from here, and just when I'd decided to start riding my bike over there rather than driving so I could get exercise and cut down on being a gas guzzling comsumer at the same time, damn.
I'm actually excited and looking forward to Scott's moving into his new home. I am going to hate his being farther away from us, but I completely support his needing to do this. I want him to have his own home -- to not have to deal with the selfish, partying, and careless college kids in his apartment building who drive him crazy, and to make some money with the little bit of money he got from his father after having to split it down the middle with his secret sister -- and buying property seems like the best way to do this.
I can't wait to help him move, organize and decorate his new place. I'm really looking forward to swimming naked with him in his big new Jacuzzi tub -- now there's something that will make me feel sexual, but I don't think it'll do too much for him. He's missing the, I-Wanna-Fuck-You-In-Water gene, that I have more than enough of to spare. Someone should study my DNA strands because there'd be a big fat watery section that would decode out to say something like, "This person is descended from mermaids, seals, and sea snails, better love her up in the water and pronto if you want to keep her." Although Scott's disinterest in watery sex play may wind up being a good thing for me, because hopefully that will mean his new hot tub won't become Scott's version of Robby's, (my ex,) Eh-Chiquita-You-Like-My-Mama's-Nice-Hot-J
Oh crap, I left my nightstand drawer open and Swanky or Sammy, (I never know which because they're twins and they always tear each others collars off), just hopped up, snuck his nose in there and grabbed one of my orange spongey ear plugs, ran off and ate it. Argh. I don't know why he likes them so much. They don't hurt him because he just poops them out, thank God, but if I so much as crack that drawer open the least little bit, he's there in a flash trying to wriggle it open just that little bit wider so he can snag an ear plug. These ear plugs belong in my ears and not in naughty little cat's bellies.
We would have had even more cat guests to fix up and find homes for if I'd been able to catch any of the many feral ones that we saw at gas stations all along the road. It was so sad. I even caught a frog at one gas station and brought him to the RV to meet Beau but he was so scared, and after doing the usual, "I'm going to pee all over you so you'll put me down," frog thing, twice, he started to make the saddest froggy sound -- kind of like a bleating lamb -- and this made me feel like the meanest human monster in the world for having disturbed him so I rushed him back to the spot where I found him and let him go.
Then last night, or it might have been the night before, (time has become kind of compressed and strange for me since returning), an old friend and neighbor of mine came over while we were cleaning out the RV and asked me if I would take in a cat they had adopted from the shelter because it was driving them crazy with all of the meowing it was doing. With all the recent animal stress we've been through, I've put us into full no-more-pet-adoption lock down mode, which only means I will try not to take in any more animals whose owners can damned well find homes for them themselves, but something about the way Web asked me, and his description of their kitty, who they've named Chai, made me go, "Oh what the hell, bring him over." But then he never did, so I'm thinking that between his wife and two daughters Web was overruled and will have to learn to be more patient and compassionate with his new yowling pussy...cat.
I had a scary dream last night where this careless, casual, asshat doctor told me that I had cancer of the stomach and intestines and was going to die within three months, maybe sooner. He wouldn't tell me what kind of cancer I had exactly and didn't diagnose this with any kind of blood test or scan or anything you'd think you would need for this kind of diagnosis. He just listened to my list of symptoms, poked around my tender belly and gave me this dire news.
I was so upset, I was crying and wandering around telling anyone who would listen that I was going to die. I was more upset for Beau than I was for myself. Then someone told me I should call this special number at UCLA to get in touch with a bitchy receptionist who would squeeze me in with a specialist who might be able to help me out so I did and this team of doctors were suddenly on my case and helping me out.
There was also a lot of stuff about rafts and kayaks and the sea. I usually dream about the ocean and water because I feel so tied to it.
My old computer/laptop was about to blow so I charged a new one at Best Buys, sigh, and now my cards are all maxed out so I'm going to be somewhat poorish for a while here. Let's see...it's a Toshiba Harman/Kardan Special Edition with an Intel(R) Pentium(R) M processor 1.70GHz and 512 MB RAM and Satellite nVidia GForce FX bla bla bla whatever, if that means anything to you. You know, just thought I'd help you out by telling you what you'll be getting if you follow my journal to figure out the best time to break in and steal things.
Oh man I have so much to do...it's always like this for me isn't it? I so want to be laying on a comfy beach chair on an island somewhere, with a cold tropical drink in my hand, staring at the water, with only one decision to make; should I go snorkeling or diving and when.