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December 7, 1996, Saturday

The structure of this day was heavily influenced by the fact that a "formal" party was to happen at my house and I wasn't to attend. For me it has seemed inappropriate recently for me to trifle with matters requiring a single female companion, which was the implication of this formal. So I had made no arrangements to take time off of work or to inform any of my friends of the party. Getting the required amount of sleep prior to my shift at Comet was not a straightforward operation owing to the noise back at my house. At first I thought I could get some rest there prior to the party, so I lay in my bed and read a very interesting analysis of Kafka's Metamorphosis in a literature anthology. The analysis made for far better reading than that which it was describing, say what that does about my intellect. Meanwhile I was forced to blare my own music so as not to be too distracted by the peppy dance music issuing forth from Andrew's room as he pumped himself up for the formal.

Somewhat related to this issue, I need to state here that there is nothing worse in this world than happy music. Sometimes I hate major scales almost as much as the worst of all known scales, the blues scale (which isn't sad at all, it's just dumb!!). On the other hand, the minor scales have much to recommend them, as do Middle Eastern scales. Speaking of Middle Eastern scales, I almost purchased some Middle Eastern music at Plan 9 today. I have a feeling there is a Middle Eastern music purchase in my near future.

These musings started getting an increase in hits after they were awarded the "Real People/Real Stories/Real Sites Award" following my shameless lobbying for such accolades. The web is a nonstop award ceremony. And I've decided that web pages look bad on Macintoshes, though that's where I do most of my work and that's where my loyalty lies.

I found the quietude necessary for a nap in the Elliewood office of Comet, which mostly serves these days as Bn's apartment during the week. But anyone with a key could in principle use it. The only snag was that the clocks in there were all inaccurate, and I had to guess on how much time to allocate to the nap. Thus the alarm went off at about ten past midnight on December 8th.

I went to my house to get a few things and thus waded briefly through the party. None of my Big Fun friends were there, except for Nellie. Everyone was obviously highly intoxicated, and in my sobriety I felt rather awkward. It seemed that everyone was looking at me. But in their stiff formal and semi-formal clothes, they all, especially the girls, looked somehow pathetic, as though they were there more as an obligation than in fulfillment of a desire for fun. And everyone looked ugly, their complexions pasty and greasy. But my attitude was cyncial and distorted by pain. I was in no mood to abide such things. This was definitely a reaction of sour grapes on my part.

But she is of no use in tearing down walls.
You see, all day the experience yesterday with Jessika had haunted me. I felt a mix of things. There is, after all, the underlying love for her. But then there is her exploitative selfish nature that tells me I should build a wall or else just be a somewhat less pathetic version of Bad Beef. Then, unlike the case of Bad Beef, there is, demonstrated lately, her love1 for me which makes her fight my wall building. And then finally there is my compassion for her, which makes me want to stop building the wall, to tear down what walls exist. But she is of no use in tearing down walls. That is suppose to be my job. So I am left disgusted by her apathy. All these feelings persist at once and create a great depressing distraction. This is the pain of freedom.

1It is, after all, hard to explain Jessika reacting the way she did to me yesterday any other way. I hadn't seen that potential in her before. But even her expressions of love bear the hallmarks of greediness to them. Loss is greeted with rage and violence, not with evidence of sadness.

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