TIme is Fleeting and Fingerbones are Delicate

You must, and you will of course, excuse the trouble I'm having typing. I seem to be reasonably well able to conquer it with only a small amount of pain. You see, I have badly damaged a finger. No, it is not the middle finger from flipping people off... it is the ring finger of my non-dominant (right) hand. So I have taped it to the middle finger in hopes of speeding it's recovery. However, I'm now typing nine-fingered. And with a small amount of pain and swelling. Too small an amount of swelling for the fact that it will not bear weight. That's what makes me think it's broken. I've broken a lot of bones in my life and badly damaged ligaments, muscles, tendons and other bits of soft tissue.... and the really bad ones usually seem ok for a while. And they don't swell as much, but they won't bear weight. Not good. Apparently, one cannot fall down in a puddle of water and oil and land on one's finger. It will not bear the weight and allow one to type ten-fingered.

To catch you up:

1.) I have found a sky-diving partner. Chad, the incredibly cute bartender with the really nice girlfriend... the one I was ogling months ago, around the time John left, and haven't seen much of.... Apparently, he turned 35 last month. He is also terrified of heights and trying to stave off maturity, so we found a place in Mississippi that will charge us a mere $180 to coerce us into jumping out of a perfectly good airplane. We intend to find a way to be at least a little fucked up (apparently, they won't take you if you're dead drunk... even though they strap you to someone more responsible) and to bully, insult and egg eachother on until we're both in the plane, at which point there will be a lot of whimpering and sheer unadulterated terror, followed by the reality that we are jumping out of a perfectly good airplane and may well die. Then we'll let the trained person handle things until we land trembling and rather safe on the ground. That's the plan. From whence, there may be some cookie-tossing and some bonding over post-insanity drinking. Sounds like a plan. At least I'm realistic about it.

2.) Lloyd came over again last night. We had the big talk about the C-word and the R-word and why I don't like them and I think we came to an agreement. Also, I've been tormented by some particularly nasty nightmares lately, and felt like sharing both my discomfort and my rationalizations for sleeping alone and at night as little as possible... so I shared. And he, in turn, offered to come sleep next to me any time I want. I'm sure you'll hear the sarcasm when I say, How generous of him... The sex was great. Really. That part's not sarcasm. He even agreed that it's not so much of a stretch to say, well, ok, we'll just hang out and have sex... oh, damn, how limiting....

3.) Now that my internet connection is back on again, I heard from Dennis. Apparently, he thought I was angry with him since last he heard from me, I was buying a discontinued wine for an unknown shipping charge late Friday... The irony is that I was mad at him, but it's not his fault. He was a featured antagonist in one of the bad dreams. One of the ones that sticks with you all day and is tough to tell from reality. Another bad sign that I'm too fond of him... I care enough about what he thinks to be upset for hours that a dream version of him insulted me. I don't like being insulted though. Damn this typing with nine fingers is annoying. I keep trying to move them independently and it's not working. I think I'm doing extremely well for being down a finger though.... Yet, despite being mad at him over the asshole things the dream version said, the other night when I went to wash my hair and realized it smelled like his massage oil, I made a happy sound. And I didn't want to wash that nice smell away. Now you must know that we're doomed. The better I get to know him, the more we are doomed. The more I like him the more I know we were always doomed. That's the way of things. I like the ones that can't work out. I was trying to explain to Lloyd last night... he made some comment about himself being "perfectly acceptable... eminently serviceable.." and I told him that if he was any more so, I would have to run away immediately. He was confused... you rational people always are.... and I, generous soul that I am, explained... I do not want to settle down. I have bad taste in men and I would very much like to keep it that way, because if I ever had good taste in men, I might be forced into keeping a good thing going and that would never do. I much prefer the ones that will never work... because it will never work and we can go on about our lives without any big drama about our little thing.

4.) So I sent an e-mail to Ken the other day... Ken was Adam's father and I want that piece of Adam's work tattooed. I had lost my copy and needed a new one, so he e-mailed it to me. And of course, I got it when my connection started behaving again tonight. And with it was a note updating me on the family... and Ken's HEART ATTACKS. Yep... he had TWO heart attacks last week. TWO. Jesus, I thought my heart stopped when I read that. Like that family hasn't been through enough.... Ann is a quadriplegic who's been in a hospital with her MS as long as I can remember, Adam was blown up in Iraq and now Ken's having heart attacks???? Too much!! But his wife Carrie says that after TWO surgeries, and FIVE heart stints, he seems to be doing much better and should be ok. Fucking tragic. And at the bottom of the note it says, if you ever need anything, just call us.... If I ever need anything?? I need them to do well because I value them so highly, that's what I need. So Mom is creating a special heart-healthy gift basket and mailing it later this week. I'm paying her on Friday. She doesn't come cheap, and it better fucking look nice because I'm her daughter and I care about these people, plus I'm paying her. Life is fleeting. Personally, I make sure that at all times, everyone knows how I feel about them, my affairs are settled and you, Melissa, know that if anything happens to me, you're taking care of the cats. That includes dying in a sky-diving accident. Clear? Good. Gibson is here now, laying on my arm, taking a cat-bath and looking happy to have me all to himself for the evening, even if I am nine-fingered.

I do not mince words about my feelings. I do not conceal them and I do not wait to tell people important things. I've never been guaranteed a tomorrow and I don't intend to start believing in it today. It may never come, and if it does, I may never see it. So live for today. But not like tomorrow won't come, because then it will and you'll be hung-over and people will want the money you promised them....Murphy's law. Just say what you came to say and do what you came to do.

My mother still has not bought my birthday present, and I found this and thought it was interesting... Popeye's Or Death. It's funny because it's true.

That's what I have to say for the day. My finger hurts. I think Matt is done. He's not been very communicative, or nearly apologetic enough. Too bad. I liked him. But I do not wait by the phone for anyone. Never have, not about to start now. Jesus my hand hurts. No more typing today.

You have no lag.