dial up is for the birds
i hate high tech gadgetry, only having learned about any of it, studying it much as one studies an enemy.
but this dial up notonmyowncomputer stuff is for the birds. i need a lap top. in fact. i don’t even care if it has anything on it but a satellite connection. and word.it actually doesn’t need too much space, mozilla preferably. and maybe aim. i don’t update because i don’t have my own computer. and at work there is little time for anything but work.
but apparently getting anything but a lousy dial up connection is the only thing that can be afforded to me by my cinderblocked mansion of doom. fucking time warner, or cablevision or whatever they are don’t recognize my space as an apartment, instead they have me zoned as penthouse 2, an office space. strange, yeah. so if i were willing to pay corporate rates they would make it over here speedily, but since i don’t. well then, fuck me. i even invited them to see the individual bedrooms and kitchen, living room and bathroom. they aren’t too interested but whatever.
i would love to take a leave of absence from my life, a vacation from my vacations, a dismissal from where and who i am supposed to be for quite some time. this would probably be the only thing to make me feel better, because lately, i don’t feel so hot at all. literally, figuratively, whatever you imagine. i never get on the computer at home anymore but to check my own messages, voice practice a near impossibility since i can’t go anywhere to do it, except the other night when i worked a “burning man” reunion party which was nothing more than a glossed up rave party full of idiots. then i could sing and practice and get all the stuff I wanted out because no one was listening.
listen listen listen. i don’t want to go home to masshell for these 4 nights and 3 days. who does? i want to go somewhere warm sometime soon. i thought of flying to denver, but if i am going to be stranded in any airport anywhere it should be one within close range of some palm trees and pina coladas. yeah, that.
i feel disgusting like i could itch and scratch and peel myself apart if i could. and i think i would. if it wasn’t so messy. give me an island, a ticket, a laptop or portable writing device and life would be pretty serene. i am sick of being sick of, of being sick of, and over and over again.
life is juicy. juicy bad, juicy good, juicy rot. whatever. at least it has some stick to it.
