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Listening to: From the Choirgirl Hotel. Not for long, though... it's not really matching my mood quite like I was expecting it too.

Currently Reading: Just barely started Jonathan Lethem's Gun, With Occasional Music. Kind of saving it for the train, as well as a stack of others (both fiction and non). Also, I recently read Laurie Notaro's I Love Everybody (and Other Atrocious Lies): True Tales of a Loudmouth Girl (again) in like two days, and peed myself laughing. Highly recommended. I also devoured The Broke Diaries by Angela Nissel in, like, a mere few days. Laughed until I peed. Also highly recommended.

Wishing: income. Lots of it. Other than that, life's pretty good.

I couldn't be more The current mood of ronkc@diaryland.com at www.imood.com right now.

Buy "Civilised Conversation..." Merchandise! Please? All the cool kids are doing it....

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Do you love me?

12 November 2001 | 1:25 PM

Sexy, sexy, sexy.

Okay.

Now I'm sitting in my Philosophy class, and I'm noticing how sexy my professor is. I hope he's not reading.

Maybe part of me does want for him to be reading. I don't know.

The point is that my philosophy professor is sexy, sexy, sexy. He's smart and beautiful and a "Hegelian Left," and he's politically liberal, and a "half-Jew." I would give teeth to date him. I would die to buy him some of that vile, vile coffee on which he sips throughout class. I would do nearly anything to have some wild, scandalous relationship with him. I know it's insane, but in my dream world, I wear a huge crown and reign as a sovreign king, and my philosophy professor is Prince Charming. Sigh.

So I keep noticing sexy men lately. What's more is that I'm noticing them as sexy, which seems a bit foreign. Sure, I've evaluated people as attractive, but I haven't been genuinely attracted to people.

I think that part of the reason I don't find myself attracted to anyone is because I find attraction wasteful. (This is what my book is about, partly.) I have found myself putting time and energy into attraction, when the outcome of the investment is either nothingatall, or something detrimental. I fear the detriment, and I fear wasting my time and energy. This loss of attraction for others has become part of what has me wondering about religious life (priesthood).

But then I think, what if I make a terrific attourney? What if my book becomes an international bestseller and I become a guru of wallowing in complexity? What if I'm not really living my religion to full potential? What if I'm not capable of that to begin with? Terrifying.

I really need to talk to my therapist(s) about all of this, about not being able to begin to be romantically/sexually active. At nineteen. I'm past my sexual peak, and I probably could not care less, as far as all that crap in concerned. Buh! What a waste.

But by saying, "what a waste," I'm presupposing that I need

Right?

I mean, I can... I... Right?!?

Four more days until therapy. Four. Heuh.

I sometimes hear about how "the war" has compromised our freedom and privacy. They say that our telephone calls and emails are being screened. Part of me thinks, I have nothing to hide, so I have nothing to worry about, and then this little part of me wonders what happens to the people who tell us these things. Where did they get that information? And what happens when the screeners find out what everyone has been told? Assuming, of course, that the screening is top secret or whatever.

My back is totally killing me. Damned good thing I have a doctor's appointment soon. Maybe he'll give me a back brace or a steel rod or something. If I got a steel rod, you could call me "Rod." I would have so much more fun with refridgerator magnets than ever before. Like in Romy And Michelle's High School Reunion.

I haven't used my abtronic in a few days. I'm going to need to get back in that habit, asap.

I'm writing my notes in pencil this afternoon. I'm writing more slowly and carefully, too. I think this is a very significant occasion. I remember a time in my life when I was much less confident and content and fulfilled. At that time, I was all about pens. I pressed down very hard when I would write. I became especially interested in large, permanent markers. Shipping markers. Marks-a-lots. I wanted to make art by writing deep words on things. In capital letters. In large, permanent shipping marker. Today, however, this afternoon, I'm writing in pencil. Petel's Techniclick 0.7 millimetre lead mechanical pencil.

Sometimes I get bright flashes of insight like that. It's like lightening. And it kind of exhausts me.

I wish I could make money by writing stuff like this. That's probably a big part of why I want to write my book.

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