You never know who's going to read your diary when you post it on the Web. That's why I wasn't entirely surprised to receive an email from the subject of a 1998 entry entitled old boyfriend. I was pleased to hear he thought it was pretty funny. I imagine it was quite a surprise to find himself memorialized in that way. I'd love it if someone I used to know wrote about all the good times we had back in the day, but alas, none of my school chums seem to be writers. Oh, well. I myself can no longer truly remember what people were like in those days, back when the earth's crust was still cooling. But it was neat to hear from Gordy.
I went to Michael's birthday party today, and had a great time talking my head off. Trish Number One was there (we discussed the Other Trish's email woes - Ms. Ledoux, are you reading? Netcom is rejecting our attempts to reach you). We also talked about how indispensible we are to our respective offices, and how this occasionally backfires. Mine might be wishful thinking, of course, but it does seem to me that I have a lot of clients who think I'm the only one that can take care of them.
The Other Michael was there, looking dapper and tremendously clean. If I'd ever brought a boy like him home my parents would have been in seventh heaven. Of course, they wouldn't have realized what a wild man he is. Let me just point out that a waiter once called him "Mr. Freaky" without even knowing him.
There was cake, there were sugary drinks, there was festive bonhomie, and I gave the birthday boy a Celtic music CD by Kate Price that I hope he likes. I went to Hear Music to look for something offbeat. They always have such interesting selections there, not the normal Billboard favorites. I picked out a CD for myself, a techno-pop offering from Emiliana Torrini which I am becoming addicted to, called Love in the Time of Science. She sounds a bit like Bjork but less raw.
I've been trying to kickstart myself all weekend, but it isn't working. Most of last week I was fairly torpid as well. I missed jokes, clever comments, tricky writing, witty comebacks. I don't know what's wrong with me. It may be that this is my natural resting state and I only achieve cleverness and wittiness under stress, but I hope that's not true. Maybe my body chemisty is imbalanced and once I eat the right food or get enough electrolytes I'll be fine. I hope that's it. I hope I haven't already hit my peak mentally and now it's a long, slow descent into mushy thinking and cognitive stuttering.
Yeah, I know I'm overreacting, humor me. It's a particular fear of mine. It would kill me to get Alzheimer's, and I've always thought Flowers for Algernon was the saddest book in the world. Why do you think I'm so hellbent on getting my degree? I surround myself with smart people and I want to be able to keep up with them. I hate being the dumbest, slowest person in a room. But if I have to be, which seems inevitable given the people I hang out with and admire, then at least I'd like to be as educated as is possible for this lizard brain.
I'd really like, just once, to make a pun before Michael Rawdon thinks of it.
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