September 30, 1999.

I've been dinking around with my other webpage tonight. It's been months since I even felt remotely interested in design. You know what I think it is? Having a giant, highres b&w pic of the Boy at my disposal. You don't know how much I enjoy incorporating it into different web designs.

And what's happened to me over my semi-regular departure? The usual things. Tuesday left me so dog tired that I was unable to write (as usual). Wednesday is my commuting in for class day (no change there). And today is the day I feel guiltily obligated to send you all a digital postcard, whether I'm feeling the accumulated fatigue of eleven straight early mornings or not. I am, by the way.

My mailroom job is barely cerebral; on Thursdays I spent a surprising amount of time lugging heavy, awkward objects short distances...for hours at a time. I hate physical labour. Hate. When I'm forced to lift, heave or carry heavy objects, I hate existence with a passion. But ironically, I make more per hour at this position than I would if I was doing analogous things in an industrial setting. It's like they're compensating me for the loss of my higher functions (higher functions of an admin. assistant consisting of the best way to duplicate a spread sheet formula).

Having a good time in class so far...in fact, the best time I've ever had at a night class. When I was full time, I fidgeted & wished it over with. Now it takes me such a numbingly long time to get there, I can't help but perk up at the sound of a dryly witty professor putting the manorial economy through its' paces for an audience of bored frosh. Perhaps it's simply the glitter of the last bit of my undergrad career that makes me so happy.

God knows I'm getting little spiritual nourishment off campus in the working world. Every morning I wake up & immediately wish to be somewhere else. And tonight... Tonight was an especially bad night. My mother has been souring over the last 5 years, so slowly that I haven't noticed until now. She's turned into a petty shrieking harpy, and she especially horrifies, sickens & humiliates me beyond measure with her sheer bloody-minded dislike of the Boy. She justifies her rude conduct to him by claiming that he invites it with his submissive attitude. She's a bully and a boor and I'm upset beyond words, especially since I'm not simply dallying with the Boy. If I have to deal with this for much longer, rest assured that she will not be included in my future plans. She can fashion grandchildren out of vitriol and see how much fun that is.