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3:05 p.m. - September 03, 2004
I'll mutter to myself like a crazy homeless man sooner or later
The laptop is invaded with adware and a constant stream of pop-ups. Yeah, invasive techniques like that make me want to patronize their offers of viagra, gay matchmaking, auto loans, and quick cash. While the laptop cleans itself I'm using the desktop and listening to the man installing the new dishwasher. I always feel awkward when people are inside my house, wondering what they're thinking. I know they are not judging or being critical or thinking I have cash in the mattress and not enough muscles to fend off an attack so why not take what one can get, but I'm still wary and uncomfortable, worried about a constant stream of what-ifs. I talked with Brad about these space issues and he mentioned it's quite common in cases like mine, though I may be more defensive than some. A few days ago I thought about moving into a smaller place, like a one bedroom flat; would my personal space preferences change? Would I let people inside more often because I could hear or see each move, or would my reaction be similar to the way I am now, choked by that relentless need to have people be physically far from me?

Lately I've been telling myself that the one day mantra - one day I'll be more open, one day I'll be . . . - isn't likely to happen. The one day is here and I'm tired of the way things are but it's like Dickenson England: You're tired to the bone but until you drop dead, you can't stop doing what was assigned to you.

Called grandma yesterday to wish her a happy birthday. She was so pleased to hear from me that my eyes watered. I love her so much, miss her jokes, her accent. I promised to visit in October and then again for Thanksgiving, and she asked if I would make sure L and J make it as well. We're alike in many ways - she's quiet, reserved, a bookworm. She always says how lucky she was to have met my grandfather, a big-city man who fell in love with the dairy farmer's daughter and left New York to take her back to the country. I think they were both loners and perfectly suited to each other. I had hoped to have a relationship like the one they had, with children and grandchildren to whom I could pass down the old signs and stories but like most things, stop hoping for things and instead be surprised when they come your way.

I'd like to visit the farm in October. I'll ask if grandma will come with so I don't have to talk with Don and Judy by myself. It's sad to me to think that the pastures and cows will be sold off after Don dies because none of his daughters and sons-in-law want to carry on the work. Tradition, legacy - these are things I hold important and while I doubt I could be a farmer, I can't think of anything else I'd rather be if I had the choice. Apparently the cows and lands are leased to Vitamilk now that Don is too old to manage the business himself so who knows how much longer I'll have the freedom to roam around some of the most beautiful acreage in western Washington.

Rambling. I'm nervous with him here.

I've become used to the pile of dirt that is my front yard.

Pundits are predicting a Bush victory. I'm ambivalent - neither Kerry nor Bush strike me in any way and this anybody-but-Bush mindlessness is laughable. Unfortunately, what is laughable is Bush's call for permanent tax cuts and perhaps a few new ones down the road. Mr. Deficit Spending seems to forget we're in debt as it is. I guess I wouldn't mind another four years of George W. but really, I think it's time for a new party. I'll start one - the Common Sense party. A write-in campaign could work. Eh. I wouldn't want to be in politics other than serving on a school board unless I could abolish the constitution and become a dictator. Anything short wouldn't be fun.

Coup, anyone?

I ramble far too much. Please, Mr. Dishwasherinstaller, leave quickly.


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