| | |  This is a very surreal display. All of a sudden everybody who's anybody in the online journal world is flying banners for a fellow online journal keeper, though she's not dead, nor sick, nor off across the ocean rotting in a Turkish prison. Evidently, she's just a little traumatized and down in the dumps. What exactly is bothering her, she's unwilling to say directly, and no one else is talking either. They're just flying the banners and writing in their journals about what a fine artist and gentle soul she was is. It's all very somber and serious and funereal. If people were to do such things for my benefit, the egotistical rush would be more than offset by an overwhelming feeling of dread. Why is everyone gathered here on my doorstep to tell me they love me? Have I been selected as the sacrifice? It kind of reminds me of the days of elementary school when a kid would be in the hospital or experience the death of a parent. The teacher would organize the purchase of a token present, and all the kids would feel pressure to contribute, even if they didn't particularly like the unfortunate classmate. When I was fifteen, I spent seventeen days in the University of Virginia Medical Center getting my Meckels Diverticulum snipped out, and my classmates all chipped in on a copy of Carl Sagan's The Dragons of Eden, because they all knew what a dork I was. It was good light reading while on demerol.
But not wanting to miss out on participating in a popular cause (even those I don't really understand -it's a parade and I want to join), I mixed in a Ginkgo support banner with the various faces you see at random on the musings homepage. I am a team player. Go team.
Jessika once used a sports metaphor (I forget the context), and I was very surprised and even a little delighted. Strategic use of sports metaphors by those uninterested in sports can communicate an unusually large blast of information, most unlike Bob Dylan's son covering "We Can Be Heroes," that anthem by William Gates.  Now, as for me, if it's not one medical problem it's another. My feet have completely driven off the fungal invaders about which I've been complaining for days, but today I had a distractingly bad head ache from the moment I woke up until late into the evening. I banged my head pretty hard yesterday rooting around for packed-up electronic goods in the Honey House attic, and it hasn't felt the same since. I have a pretty thick skull (Jessika once broke a beer bottle over my head without my falling down), but perhaps I thumped a weak cranial fissure when I accidentally head-butted that rafter.
For a time, it was rather hot today. My computer automatically stops the processor if its temperature crosses a certain threshold, so every now and then it would just hang and wait a half second (120 million cycles) to cool down. Later on there was yet another hard shower, and then the mercury fell to a more pleasant level. I mostly kept inside, surfing the web and what not. My lower back is sore from the prolonged half-sitting, half-lying posture I assume here in the bunk in front of my Windows 95 machine.
This is my first entry typed entirely in the bunk (using Homesite 3.01).
| | | All that anyone will say is that some mysterious and despicably evil "mad journaler" is out to destroy Ginkgo, publishing lies and acting in a "feverishly envious and cruel" manner. Sounds like the work of heinovision man to me (the fact that Terrapin Dream dude is part of the throng lends support to this hypothesis), but only the inner sanctum knows for sure.
Later:
My hypothesis was all wrong. But I have the answer now, thanks to an anonymous source. For Ginkgo's vague reference to this whole affair, see her May 19th entry. Jeez, this is even better than the Elly wars. I really love the ex-pression "pity party" for some reason, and I'm hearing it used again for the first time in years. |
