Hg(CNO) 2.2
2001-07-26 03:13:36 (UTC)

et tu, brute

i am writing this entry off line, being that i, to use the
technical wording, "fucked up" my computer over the
weekend and have the nagging feeling that the solution
will be of Pre-K (un)complexity. alas, the quote
"ignorance is bliss" has it's theoretical limitations. just
ask my imac...he hates me now, don't you boy? (it

note: i am back on. i figured out the problem. (don't ask,
trying to get by on rations as far as pride is concerned.
it's like a pre-law loan student at the end of the month
with ramen.)

work as i know it continues to adhere to it's charmingly
surreal atmosphere. we offer endless e-stem,
sonogram smorgasbord, lumbar and cervical gadgets
like the inspector himself...yet at prof.physical therapy
THAT is not enough. no, friends, the real "hot items"
are - due to the findings in a course stephanie, my
coworker and mrs. tin cup of biomedical supplies, took -
plungers and beach balls, or the GNP of PPT.
plungers, apparently, aid in myofascial release
(layman=back popping) of those with l.b. pain and
beach balls (half inflated) make superior C-6/C-7 rolls
(layman=neck pillows). of course, this is the same
place where my boss john introduces me to patients as
"multibomb" for reasons unknown. where every so
often everyone (all employees inc. self) will show up
donning the same color clothing. where dr.phil is a
religous event that is attended every tuesday in the
office. where the females outnumber the male (yes,
singular) 9:1 yet the male surpasses all the females in
moodiness. and then there's the patients...

my cat, fat mcgee, a failed van gough among felines (he
only digests the paint), has began to roll around in the
dirt. daily. it's very odd, much too primitive for an animal
that only 'hunts' mechanical mice, diet Cat Chow, and
the occasional daddy long legs. i shared this with
sheila (genus: coworker) and she found it in the norm. though
she once told me of a cat that was, officially, a "mouser" and how
this cat killed all mice but one. and how the spared rodent is not
just the asassian's ally, but also his best friend. they sleep
together. you have to wonder what exactly
the other nimmlings are thinking...perhaps they are
plotting revenge on this whiskered brutus, or maybe
they are questioning what he has that they don't. even
more intriguing, though is her one about the stray dog
whom, so-and-so discovered, catches rocks and
subsequently places them in a neat row... don't you
want to see this?! WWDD (what would darwin do).

my dedication to this online journal astounds me. i
write friends and family with questionable regularity but
i have been completely loyal about showing up here, to
reveal EveryThing to NoOne. or perhaps we are always
writing to someone, even if we don't know at the time
who that said "person" might be. an apparition, the
friend we never had, the one we love yet never have
met, the one we met yet never could love, a voice, a
dream, a dreamer, a blur in a photograph, the first to
make us smile, the last to make us cry, a stranger who
shows up in phase iv of the sleep cycle, a case of deja
vu, a lost cause, the sun, the stars, the night, the world,

actually, i once revealed EveryThing, as in 'once' the
infamous prep. phrase 'upon a time' sans the Happily
and Ever-After, please (and a small strawberry milk
shake to go, hold the olives). today i have taken the
entries - that were not ridden with a style similar to the
literary result of fusing the mad hatter and the cheshire,
as you are seeing here, but rather an exploit of the
anti-hero i am - and deleted them to oblivion. a spindle
of words that should have been a cocoon but instead
became a web (for the metaphorically inept: the
distinction between the analogous subjects is simply a
matter of percieved trust/security). the catalyst, my spider that
goes by NoOne, first made me upset. now i feel pity.

sorry you will not get to see me, as i am, from now on.

sorry you hurt someone you cared for...i know that pain,

sorry you tried to force open a rose bud, only to succeed
in ripping off a handful of petals.

sorry all the demonstrations of support and
compassion were in vain (you were the syllabus for my
every lesson, how could you not learn)