November 3, 1998.

This is driving me utterly crazy. I can't connect without a persistence bordering on the obsessive. There's only so long I can listen to a screaming baud tone before I get a headache...then really upset...then murderous. I've grown to hate the harmless, over-friendly Asian voices spilling from my modem, as if they were evil spirits harrying me. It takes me 45 minutes to connect for a sum total of 2 minutes: the time I need to get email & upload entries. My nerves are going to pieces, but man, is my FreeCell game ever improving.

So, what's new with me? Well, not much. Went home yesterday to visit/scavenge supplies & cash. It's an operation I find terribly stressful. I started working at a very young age, and my sense of rightful financial independence was warped as a result. Damn it, I don't want to ask my parents to pay my rent...but I have no choice. The job thing didn't work out too well last year, and this year at least 40% of my time & energy is taken up by Trevor. Not that I begrudge that, any more than pet owners begrudge feeding, brushing, etc. Hmm, bad analogy. But I can't think of anything else that involves the same level of commitment to a living thing. Relationships defy analogies, I guess. It's just another fact to be worked around.

I just wish I wasn't so damn tired all the time. I'd get a lot more done if I could keep my mind on it. Especially this week, when I've roped myself into reading 3 cantos of Spencer's Faerie Queene a night until Book 3 is done. Are you acquainted with the work? It's interesting, richly visualized and quite funny...but it was written in the 16th century by a man who was trying to make it sound ancient. A typical verse runs as follows:

Yet these, and all that else had puissaunce,
Cannot with noble Britomart compare,
Aswell for glory of great valiaunce,
As for pure chastitie and vertue rare,
That all her goodly deeds do well declare.
Well worthy stock, from which the branches sprong,
That in late yeares so faire a blossome bare,
As thee, O Queene, the matter of my song,
Whose lignage from this Lady I derive along.

50 to 60 verses a Canto. 11 Cantos to Book 3. Not horrifying, just time-consuming. I just wish I could concentrate, damn it!!

one year ago today: kind of salty