ripe and ready to eat

9-8-99

Worked, played tennis. I keep making John promise to make me practice, and then I bail. I'm having another hellish time with my wisdom teeth. I'm going to have to go to sick call this weekend, and of course by then the teeth won't hurt anymore, but I really have to get rid of the damn things. Now's as good a time as any.

I've had this damn migraine ever since Saturday. God, I'd forgotten what cluster headaches are all about. It doesn't really hurt until around noon, and by then I can't do anything about it. When I get home from work I can take ibuprofen, sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. Today I managed to squeeze the hurting part down into a little ball and hide it long enough to almost-beat John in a set of tennis. I would have had him if we'd gone past one set.

On the way home from work today I thought about how much human beings are like fruit. Like peaches, for instance. When peaches are too new, they're hard and bouncy, and as they age they get softer and softer, until their skins are loose and wiggly over their flesh. And when they get too old, the skin and flesh bruises and they're too ripe. I got to thinking that we're all just a bunch of walking, sentient fruits. Deep.

I ate lunch with the gossipiest women I've met so far. They "don't care a'tall" what anybody else does, "so long's ever'un eltse minds ther own bidness." I love that, the way gossipheads claim to "not care a'tall." I have to be honest: I have been known to gossip a little bit. But I try not to hurt anyone, I don't tell big secrets, and I admit it. I gossip. I'm just a sucker for a good story.

Need emphasis: I don't tell big secrets. I can't compromise my status as a listener. I just like to know ever'thin' about ever'un, that's all.

It's been brought to my attention that I dated yesterday's entry wrong. Well, damn, y'all are picky. I'll just go ahead and change that.

Oh—John and I rented Office Space the other night. John swore I'd love it, and I definitely saw why he thought so. Sure, it was a good movie, but some parts of it hit just a little too close to home. Or too close to work, rather. The cutting-edge world of the cubicle, exposed. Welcome to the jungle, baby.