More caffeine-fueled work emails to myself.

Stop drinking. Stop drinking stop drinking stop drinking. Drinking is like sipping liquid fat. There are almost no nutritional benefits, and almost as many calories per gram as fat. A coke is probably better for you (except for your teeth). Booze depletes minerals, takes up room in the fridge and in your wallet, causes cravings for the crappiest food, and makes you fall further and further behind on important stuff that will increase future excitement and satisfaction. Basically it makes you rely heavily on the present, thereby degrading both physical and mental aspects of the future. It does, however, solidify connections with other people. Who hasn't bonded with a good drinking buddy? If I hadn't gone out drinking with my coworkers last week, would I really be joking around with them like I do now? It also erases stress and is fun. So, how to isolate drinking to times that will aid in getting to know people better and decrease the need for pulverising stress? Step one: stop dating Francisco. Seriously, the man buys a lot of alcohol. It doesn't seem to have the same detrimental effect on him, probably because he doesn't care much for the future. He is a live-in-the-moment kind of guy and it makes me crazy sometimes! In some ways it's good for me to be around that kind of casual existence, but it's extremely hard for me to let go of so many things I find important and fascinating relating to big-picture-future type stuff. Being raised in a planning-every-detail household and reading sci fi every summer makes it very difficult for me to even want to stop thinking about the future. Days go by and he plays video games, messes around with photos, goes to parties, indulges in food, alcohol, tv, pleasure. He is the ultimate picture of contentment, he wants nothing more. I see him so happy and indulge with him. It's fun while it's happening, but lately my life path feels more and more out of control . I need to practice some serious Francisco Moderation. I want to be moderate and happy and free from this obsession with pleasure. Maybe I will die from too much pleasure. Maybe that should be what my death machine story is about. She commits suicide in a fit of despair of how pleasure obsession has stolen her life. Or she just dies, fat and happy. Maybe in the ultimate future everyone dies of pleasure. Joe wants them to die of boredom, the ultimate fate for a nanosociety without death.

Not trying to imply here that I think Francisco is unintelligent. He's simple, but in a wise way. Don't know if I will ever be like that, but I admire it. I am a woman, complicated and obsessed with how complicated I am. I rejoice in a large pile of complexity shit. I roll around in it, making snow angels in my logic circle overemotional poo.

Last night we saw The Fountain, a movie attempting to reach for the stars, about death, it's so big it can't fit on a movie screen. I admire that sort of effort. Deep down it's what I want to do with writing, movies, other creation tasks. Too bad it sucked! It would have been great if it were 20 minutes long. The sound was amazing; quiet, dramatic, good directionality. Some of the visuals were beautiful too. But after 2 hours it all decayed into cheesy listlessness. We get it, ok? Death life death life, a great cycle. I KNOW. Just end the friggin movie already before I blow Enya colored chunks of disgust. I do not want to live in a new age video.

Alright, back to work, no more obsessing about obsessions.

...

Dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum!
Dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum!
Oh Mr. Sandman, you haunt my head.
While I'm at work wishing I was dead.
Lots of coffee, cheers up my soul
Makes 5 o'clock more palatable!
Dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum!
Dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum!
Mr. Sandman (Yes?), the seal was deceased.
His fishy smell noticeably increased.
Boston friends were great motivators.
Guest bed now empty, thank God, see you later!

...



A Cafe, some tea, a fashionable scarf
So hip I could barf.


Lunch deal alcohol,
Suddenly I know it all.


Cross your fingers, make amends,
Otherwise tomorrow ends.


Piranha I don't wanna
Lasagna mega slaughter.


No letters for nine hours
The 8th floor might have showers?
Wrist hurts, breath smells,
Across the floor, no one yells.
Tomelike, boring shuffling,
Papercuts, frazzled ruffling.
It's the best I can do, and it's far too much.
This job requires a stupid touch.


Painful, cannot talk.
Suppress the chicken squawk.
Boyfriend doesn't know what's coming,
Preoccupied with pictures or something.

...

Nitrous deficiency (or oxygen efficiency)
Lung capacity decreased
Three more synapses deceased.
Complaints of long sobriety
From unintentioned piety.
A beer would do me good.
Who will have one? The dairy should.

The numbers are bolder when contrasted against
The cardboard grey codafile.
Cardboards hurts more than paper,
A slip of attention means poor blood retention.
The ipod is our missing saviour,
Left at home, attached to its charger,
The battery bar growing slowly larger.