Monday-type day

Charlie and I got up this morning (Ok, Charlie heard the alarm, made coffee and woke me up an hour later. How incredible is this man?) and did everything like we were supposed to. We got me clean and into my work clothes (which he also washed. If I didn't know I was incredible, I'd feel like such a tool.) and out to the mechanic's shop.

Wait, did I mention that the car completely went ker-flooey on Thursday? Yes, I did. Right, the power steering fluid, all over the pavement. Well, Thursday afternoon, Charlie and I got Mei-Mei towed to Brownlee, and --although I love the work they do-- they were, somewhat as usual, rather less communicative than I like. They said they'd know what they were going to need to do to the car on Friday morning. Friday, around 3 p.m., I called, not having heard from them. They said my diagnosis was correct, the rack-and-pinion system was in process of being replaced, and they'd have it done that evening.

Here's the set-up: I asked, at that point, whether I needed to pick up the car that evening at 6 p.m., or if someone would be available for me to pick up the car Monday. They assured me that, although they would not be taking new customers and therefore possibly not answering the phone, someone would be there Monday morning. In fact, they asked me what time I planned to be there, so they could be SURE someone would be available to take money and give me car.

One of the things I learned about plot from Asprin: If they tell you what the plan IS, it means the action will NOT go according to plan, otherwise it would be redundant.

Therefore, of course when we arrived at this morning completely on time, a few minutes after 10 a.m., we found no one at all at Brownlee, and, moreover, Mei-Mei was locked in the garage, up on the lift!

We looked for an emergency contact number. No such luck. We talked to the guy at the automotive shop next door. He said no one had been anywhere near the place that morning. Nor had they given him any information about letting anyone have their car (he allowed as how he'd been given keys to cars that needed to be picked up at times in the past). We left my phone number with him in case anything changed.

And then I called work and told them I wouldn't be there.

Nothing has changed since then, except we stopped at the grocery store, and we'll be cooking up stuff for the Fourth... as soon as someone gets breakfast started.

Alone again! Or, comment whoring... someone keep me company...

He's gone! GONE!

Ok, he went to pick up Liberty.

I hate not having my car, though. It means I'm alone in a strange house.

Meanwhile, I need to plan a mini-vacation. What should I take?

Why a public journal?

Whenever I tell people unfamiliar with the blog phenomenon, or LiveJournal in particular, about being a member of LiveJournal, they always want to know why I would write something that they think of as private, like a diary, for anyone to read in public. I say, well, duh, for the audience.

I don't mean ONLY as a comment whore that wants to have everyone look at them, I mean, to give me a reason to think about what I write, who it's for, why I write it down.

One of the things I do, even though it's rare, and responses even rarer, is "tell on myself." Case in point: I'm alone at Charlie's house, and being alone here for the first time changes how I feel about things. I put on clothes. I took everything off a desk that we're about to move. Well, everything except the tech. Charlie tried to explain to me what was moving and what wasn't, and I said, "Huh?" I don't usually do that, so I've been assuming the thing would become clearer as it actually happened.

The odd feeling was the need to take everything else off the desk. I found three small boxes and sorted the stuff on the desk, automatically, into "paper," "personal," and "business." I didn't even notice it until I put the crystal in the box with the ashtray and the picture of his daughter. Then I looked in the other box, and it held paperclips and tech-y bits, and the third box was business cards and index cards. The categories aren't by any means absolute, but I found it interesting, telling somehow, that I so desperately needed to get hold of this scattering of small items and sort them.

It's not that I don't understand Charlie's tendency to spread out... I share it. But not being familiar with the landscape, I don't see the patterns. I need to take little bits apart and analyze.

*****

So, that's what "telling on myself" looks like.

On the other hand, this is what "telling on Charlie" looks like: Honey, you left the potatoes on. Good thing I checked the stove. :)

I guess it's lucky (or infatuation) that I think it's cute when my man goes all absent-minded professor.

Another part of me keeps planning to be a writer, you see. And I think, these are the sorts of things, compulsions to sort, to blog, to check the stove, that create characters, and the ideas about who people are. I'm not that good at making up things, but I'm pretty good at observing them. I wonder if I could use this stuff.

There's a whole list of things that I want to do with my blog. And thus, a whole plan of things to do with my website, if I E-V-E-R get it up. And part of the hindrance is wanting an audience.

Otherwise, I'd just put up my fraggin' grocery list. I love to make lists, I make to-do lists a lot.

I'd love to talk about the books I read, and have read.

I'd love to peruse my old diaries and write stories out of what I remember from those times.

I'd love to talk about what I've learned about magick, religion, philosophy, Christianity and society, culture among geeks.

I guess I could even review movies from time to time.

I'm thinking about writing class notes for workshops I plan to create (when did I start planning to create workshops?).

I'd like to actually do some of my own journalism, writing about things that I think are interesting, but how do you get interviews, and questions answered? By having an AUDIENCE. By becoming a MEDIUM, a point of transition through which a message is rendered. I am a vessel, I am a dwelling, I am an interface!

Which means first I have to get your attention.

Hey! *whistles* Over here!