Operation Mini-Skirt Status: -48.8 lbs.
Mood: Slightly disappointed. I was one pound away from yelling triumphantly, "I lost fifty pounds!" Now I'm one point two pounds, dammit."
I'm wearing my hearing aids today. The only thing that will be different is that I'll pick up sounds I don't need to hear. Like, right now, the clattering of my keyboard is threatening to drive me mad. What's even worse is that the bloody low-talkers in my office will not be amplified. If anything, they'll be drowned out by all the unnecessary crap that fills your very noisy world. Keyboards and fax machines. Whirring modems. Jingling change. The squeal of brakes as a truck turns the corner. Stuff you guys don't even hear anymore, because you're so used to it. And God forbid I eat lunch with anyone today. The sound of my own chewing is like a sonic roar in my ears, completely swallowing outside voices.
It's always like this. Everytime I make an attempt at wearing my hearing aids, the first few days is like being trapped in my own private, insane asylum-type hell.
* * *
The end is near. Another twenty, maybe twenty-five pounds to go. I can do it, dammit.
* * *
I went to see Henry Rollins speak on Saturday night. I didn't really know much about him, but my sister Teacher, and her boyfriend, Conspiracy Theorist, had seen him three times already, and are big fans.
I was really astounded, actually. For one thing, Rollins walks up onto the stage, and there was whooping and hollering - it was something akin to Beatle-mania. I didn't realise his following was so... devout! But I can see why. From the moment he opened his mouth, he had me hooked. The man spoke for three hours straight - no breaks, no intermission, no hemming, no hawing. His concentration is ferociously strong, I suspect. Technically, it's a lot of work to be able to do that.
And you know, my mind did not wander off once. My attention was caught and held fast for the duration. He's really got some interesting things to say, but what I love is that he digresses the hell out his story before he gets to the point. It's like, he's in Toronto, and he's trying to get to New York, so he goes by way of Des Moines to get there. But it's such a smooth ride, such an enjoyable, funny, interesting, landmark-filled ride, that you rather enjoy taking the scenic route.
I really dug the crowd, too. Students - both post- and undergrads. Generation Xers like me. Intelligent faces abounded. Bright eyes, avid thinkers, stylish confident beings... I don't know... Maybe I'm being fanciful, but as I scanned the crowd, I had to admit that there were dozens of people with whom I would have loved to sit down and have a drink.
Silly, isn't it?
* * *
Toronto's sky this morning was streaked with the most glorious shades of crimson and ginger and orange. It was a surprisingly humane temperature, which is a change from the bitter cold that's been freezing our blood over the last couple of weeks. I wanted to fling my arms wide and dance in the rays, before I remembered that a red sky at night is a sailor's delight, but a red sky at morning should serve as a warning. Cripes. We're in for some kind of evil precipitation.
* * *
Seventeen years ago, it was Challenger. On Saturday, it was Columbia. Another seven people, gone. They were something like a hundred and sixteen minutes away from landing. In the name of all that is holy... what was the point? If there really is a Supreme Being... and I've always hedged my bets and assumed there was... really... what was the point? Hmm? From the bottom of my heart, I wish their families comfort and peace through this horrible time.
* * *
I had a dream that Dr. Romano on ER was interested in me. I have no idea what that means, but only remember feeling wonderfully giddy because I caught him looking at me fondly as I walked away.
Perhaps I should abstain from spicier foods late at night.
* * *
Two years ago yesterday, I fell down and broke two bones in my leg. Aside from a knee that still hurts from being immobilised for 7 months, and an ankle that is perhaps knobbier than it's mate, I've made a full recovery. Two years ago today, I was full of pain and an all-consuming rage. I hope to God I never feel either again. I don't know which was worse.
* * *
Monday. Mine will be sufficiently busy enough to keep me dwelling on what's missing from my life. This is fortuitous, because it's the kind of Monday that would have me sighing; picking things up and putting things down, unable to concentrate on anything. This way, the pressures of an expanding in-tray and looming deadlines keep me from becoming ridiculous.
* * *
Have a productive day, everybody. And remember to count your blessings.
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