030305 Whence the source of my ponderous dissatisfaction? Let's see.... • Ann revealed she hadn't been planning on getting a job while I'm in school. I can't do it, man. I can't work two and do school. I'm maxed out as it is. My spirit will die. I'll be sick. I can't do it. We'll have to work this out, and the notion of having to work things like that out with her brings apprehension. • I've been sick for two weeks, and I don't know why -- is it merely fatigue and stress, or is it toxic chemicals? Or what? • When she calls me at work, she sounds depressed. I have enough trouble keeping my own head above water in this choked little existence, let alone having to shore her up every day. She's injured physically and emotionally. In many ways, I'm married to a liability. I think those are the main sources right now, besides the fact that I almost never spend any time at home alone, and the house is almost always a fucking sty. Oh yeah, and we don't have enough money for rent, despite my working all the fucking time, and I don't know how the hell I'm going to pay for school. Other than that, things are pretty much okay. 030405 Yeah, yeah. The money. The mess. The voices. Sometimes, like last night, we'll be having a relatively peaceful evening at home. I'm eating sushi she made, she's on the computer laughing at some jackass, whatever. Then on the way up to bed I say one wrong word, or I give one sentence a slightly incorrect inflection, and the next time she turns around her mouth has that skeletal grimness, she won't look at me, if I ask what's wrong she mutters nothing and pushes past me. She gets disproportionately pissy about the blankets or the laundry. She tries to do everything, silently, seethingly, as if I can't do anything. She still talks nicely to the kids, at least. I cajole and wheedle, and try to get her to come back into her skin and talk to me, at least just tell me what's wrong -- and this is the weird part, because I KNOW by now what's wrong. I know it's "them," bothering her again, getting loud. But no matter how many times this happens, each time it throws me all over again. Each time I have to know, I have to hear it from her, even though there's precious little I can do about it. I cry to myself for a while out of utter frustration and helplessness. I feel alone, cut off, it's as if my whole family is temporarily stolen from me and held just outside of my reach. After a while, pressed up against me at last, she softly breaks down and says, "I guess -- I guess -- I feel lonely." Yeah. I'm tired. I'm just so incredibly tired. I don't think I've ever been this tired. I'm tired, I can't seem to get all the way warm, and I have ridiculous hair. 030505 Running Panther on the Wallstreet. Ha. It is definitely more disk-intensive. I gotta get more RAM on here if I'm going to keep doing this. A faster disk would be nice, too. Yeah, and so would a panty tree with crotchless leaves that sprout fifties and hundreds every day at dusk. 030905 Meggie thinks I'm a pirate. Reportedly, yesterday she told Ann that's what I'm doing every day when I go to work: being a pirate. Ahh, how I hate to disillusion her! 031505 I'm cheesed cuz Mestre always wants Tamandua to drum, not me. Either he doesn't know I can, or else he doesn't think I can. 031605 Yeah, yeah, she IS pretty. But not any prettier than I wish I were. 031905 "Just sit for twenty minutes and watch your mind. You will learn so much." – some monk on the radio 032405 "The opposite of real is optional." --some guy on the radio, talking about optionality and self-conscious self-representation in a mediated society undergoing virtual revolution.