3:39 p.m. - November 19, 2003
I need to floss. I love to floss. A secret: One reason why I listen so well when you call is because I'm flossing my teeth. While I can't multi-task well (after all, I prefer quality over shoddy quantity) I manage both flossing and listening. Of course sometimes I have to disclose, usually when trying to extricate floss from the rear molars and I need to (unexpectedly) comment.
A Diaryring: Floss lovers. That doesn't sound so good.
Thinking about how people go away easily, about how the internet enourages both cavalier and substantial relationships. I think I prefer - feel comfortable within - the former variety, the one where nothing beyond amiable IMs and emails are expected, perhaps an occasional phone call. I don't know what I'm scared of but I quash my interest and desire behind a cold front, push - or disincline - while pointing to the mouse hole. Come in, come in! Ah, never ask me for directions or a straight answer. [Editor's note: Unless you're lost; as I mentioned yesterday, I have a fantastic sense of direction that's failed me minimally over the years.]
I've made my final selection of poems for the reading. Now am practicing delivery, the comments couching each. Too scripted, too limited, too controlled. I'm dreading the comment / question period and wish I was a hot shot with a publicist who could tell the coordinator, This topic is taboo or he walks but it's just me and I lack much pull. I think Dr. M. from ye olde alma mater will come - she's the one doing the anthology project with my poems - and I don't know how I feel about that. I worry I can't handle it, that I'll piss my pants.
Oh! Speaking of pissing pants. [Editor's note: In light of desiring to be more open, I'm being open] Last night I had a bit of an enuresis problem. [editorís note: Canít believe I said that.] Some background is necessary: I dreamed I was in a Japanese language class and the instructor wouldnít let me leave until I said in perfect Japanese, I need to use the restroom. Given that I know only a few words in Japanese and neither of those include urine, I was stuck and in considerable discomfort, appalled that I couldnít satisfy the teacher. Too many iterations later, I woke up with that sudden desperation to piss and [editorís note: this is embarrassing] in some sort of male-ball thing, put my hand to cradle my balls on the walk from the bedroom to the bathroom. And my underwear was a bitÖ damp. My first thought was a wet dream but I donít recall any eroticism in the You must sayI need to use the restroom in Japanese to leave the room so I donít know and presume it was an enuresic incident. Now that is appalling. I was confused because my underwear didnít smell (yeah, I checked) and there were no damp spots (or pools) on the bed so . . . I donít know. UmÖ. Iím feeling pretty dumb now. Enough openness.