march 3, 2001. Yes, I know pink month is over. Until my main computer gets fixed, I can't make new graphics. Deal. Last night was beautifully tense, wonderfully abstract. I was dog tired: spent all afternoon standing in front of a display on the Middle Ages, making conversation with similarly-afflicted education students, and by the time the Boy showed up at 5 p.m. I was ready to collapse. But that was the plan. I was supposed to nap, eat & head to the Axe for some post-display fair fun. Instead I: burst into tears - calmed down & read 60 pages of Pilgrim by Timothy Findley - had a series of small fights with the Boy - went to bed - got up & dressed in black PVC, much happier - ate fast food - and ended up in the house of the Anti-Stephen. Did he invite us? No, I invited the Boy & myself. Was it fun? Damn, it’s frustrating to be around him. He’s full of unexpected edges and pockets of pure ornery-ness. Last night he delighted in listening to my musical requests with a sympathetic manner, then ignoring them. Instead we heard a parade of the songs we'd heard the last time, which improve on second listen. But I realized that I'd been premature in assigning him to the St. Jack role in my life: yes, he has a lot of obscure vinyl and yes, he likes Tom Waits. But he's not Jack. I could itemize it, but why make a list to prove the blindingly obvious? I will not miss Jack less because I know the Anti-Stehpen. End discussion. We gossiped about the program & traded stories about living in various parts of the country. Jerry speculated aloud on how to maxime the living space in the Anti-Stephen's tiny apartment, pausing to remark drily, "can you tell that I used to live in a van?" Kerri & I had a brief conversation about unleashing her inner slut (I've had the same conversation with Pixie, and I never tire of it). That part was unabashedly enjoyable...I loved hanging out with Jerry & Kerri, who I don’t see socially because they don’t do bars. Kilted Will asked me my politics & somehow concluded that I was close enough to libertarian (!) for his purposes. The Boy smoked a small amount of pot & went into a stupor in the corner. I sat & drank my beer and thought about very little. When we got into the Axe parkinglot, we had what my communications professor would call an 'adult' situation, where we acted in the moment. What happened was that upon leaving the van, we immediately came across a collegue who seemed really upset, so we turned right around and drove her home. It was a bit of a surprise to see her nearly helpless, as she's a very 'together' person in class. I was proud of the fact that we could just do what was needed for her without being overly concerned with the silly details that clog up so many of our attempts at altruism. I felt good about myself, and that's happening more & more these days. By the time we got back from our errand of mercy, it was too late to get into the Axe. So we just went home. But it was a good going home. I hadn’t had my nap and at 11 p.m. there was nothing more attractive than going home to bed & listening to the Boy fall asleep. His heat signature talks to me. Of course, we’ve spent the whole day fighting like cats. C’est la vie. C’est ma vie, at least. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I’m sleepy as a motherfucker, I mean I just can’t get started. I took an extremely ill-advised nap at 4:30 today, not waking up until 6:30...and consequently I’m fucking useless and will be for the rest of the night. I’m irritated by absolutely everything I come into contact with, including the fact that I don’t have the energy or buoyancy to fix any of the things that annoy me. Yargh. There’s nothing like spending your Sunday as a big ball of yuck for no discernible reason.