I fly so high … then fall so low

Trying to fall asleep listening to Moby causes strange sad songs to be stuck in your head all day, just fyi. They nag at you until you pull up your own playlist of Moby, look up lyrics, and try to pin down the snippets floating around in your brain…

At least we were together, holding hands … flying through the sky
Perhaps someone can explain to me why I never installed a popup blocker before today? The thing is damned handy in cruising these song lyric sites. I’ve only looked up five songs and it already says it’s blocked 43 popups. Sweeeeet. What a nifty invention.. popup blockers…I boldly tell an audience who yawns and thinks, “Yeah, yeah, dear. We’ve been using them for years to make cruising porn tolerable. Glad you joined the typical internet crowd.”

Speak to me baby, in the middle of the night. Pull your mouth close to mine…
Up late again… past 4. No reading.. no television.. no hot bubble bath was enough to calm the wildly-swirling storm of thoughts going on. One of those nights where the anxiety gets worse as you watch the clock tick later and later, as you think of all the things on the agenda for the next day. It’s especially worse thinking that you wasted valuable Monday time lying down because you were feeling ill, and thus not only didn’t finish Monday work but probably contributed to this 3am wakefulness that is going to make Tuesday hell.

Come clean, there’s no sun yet. The only lights here are made. I can’t speak, I can’t hear, but I know I’m real. There’s no warm here anyway
So of course, when I finally drag up from a marathon session of alarm snoozing, I am greeted by a pile of work emails, first on the list questions about yesterday’s items. I reply… didn’t feel well, up sick late, I’ll get to it today.. and within minutes get an understanding… no problemo, in a “we’re just happy you’re still around at all” sort of way. That’s the reaction I knew I’d get.

All round me burdens seem to fall. I’m not worried at all. I’m not worried at all.
All in all, it’s good I put off the site until today. I was fretting over how best to do a custom animation they wanted on a site that is already graphics heavy, and so I sat down to install a new toy, Wildform SWfx, but apparently didn’t have the right registration info. The Hawaii office bought the thing, so I had to write to them to get it. Today, I have that info, and the little program works like a dream.

Why does my heart feel so bad? Why does my soul feel so bad? These open doors…
8-11-2002, I started sending myself a daily e-mail nagging reminder.. a few angry words of wisdom in the hopes of motivating me to make some changes. I guess it worked for a little while. The proposal I got that Christmas helped, too. But, I am the human yo-yo, stuck in a never-ending around-the-world trick. To be honest, for the past… year? I get those emails and send them straight to deleted items. I don’t STOP them, just delete them. I don’t read the words, but trust that the memory of what the reminder is for is all I need to make it work. Well… that’s crap. Last night I read it again, for the first time in I don’t know how long, and it just made me very very upset. It’s the kind of motivation to improve that borders on motivation to just give up and fetch the straight razor.

Extreme ways are back again. Extreme places I didn’t know. I broke everything new again, everything that I’d owned. I threw it out the windows, came along. Extreme ways I know will part the colors of my sea. Perfect color me.
No success story for me to “get inspired”… I’m not ready to “commit”. I enjoy the moping around, being depressed all the time. It’s the feminine way of life, isn’t it? Constantly unhappy with themselves and taking their solace in chocolate. Sometimes I think I’m being held together by a very tiny piece of titanium… In my dreams I’m jealous all the time… and thus sometimes I can’t sleep without its reassuring weight on my hand.

You leave your home for days and days… And I know, said I know, you got another woman somewhere around
Who needs to leave their home? We have the internet… we have file sharing… we have men’s magazines like Stuff, FHM and Maxim which are so common they’ll be on tables at the doctor’s office soon as they hit the three-year-old issue mark. The internet may be killing Playboy and other “nudey” magazines, but there will always be a place for airbrush-objectifying of those girls-next-door from sports and television. On the contrary, the “women’s” section of magazines are largely comprised of magazines also with scantily clad or made-up women on the covers, but these are full of articles on how to BE those women so men will want you. Me, I just want my magazine full of hot, made-up men, talking about their best bedroom moves and what new movies are coming out, etc etc, in the style of a Maxim for Her… Where are those magazines? What’s a girl supposed to do? He can fill the house with magazines covered with hot women that make me feel insecure, but I have no way to retaliate…

Growing in numbers, growing in speed. Can’t fight the future, can’t fight what I see. People they come together. People they fall apart. No one can stop us now ’cause we are all made of stars.
I’m going to have to start e-baying for some old Spin magazines or something….