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3:39 p.m. - November 19, 2003
Enuresis? It's towards the end
Getting ready for the conference in Philadelphia and just not in a mood to get some work done. I need to reformulate and encourage people to come to me for their training - while I like to fly and visit new places, this West coast - East coast thing wears a little thin. The next national conferences where I plan to present after Philadelphia are in Kansas City and Miami, but in 2005 sites are moving westward to Salt Lake and San Francisco. Of course by that time I might be on the East coast and have to come West *grin* For the smaller state or district trainings, I'm going to Des Moines in December, New York (again, sigh) and Chicago in February, then back to Texas in March for the Triple Twang: Dallas, Austin, Houston. People, I want to go to Hawaii. Alaska. The Virgin Islands. Boston. Puerto Rico. Calgary. Not Des Moines, Iowa - especially not in December.

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.


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