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Day One of the new crackfree life. Hope I like it. Hope I make it. Gonna see how high (or not high, per se) we can make that number. I want to infinity. In honor, or similacritude, I'm starting a new reflective AA prac.:
+1 (days, that is, not bags)

Making a rule to come here every day. Not to waste (cyber)space for fill it,,but as a sort of personal accountability scheme. PostPerDay. Do it in the morning, on the pot, if you have to kind of thing.

It's a hard life, a hard life, a very hard life. A hard life wherever you go.

The other thing that bugs is that I was there before a lot of people today and was the last one to leave. That's never mentioned. I'm kickin' booty with a few of these clients and taking on increasing responsibility and getting things done to the clients' satisfaction. That's not considered.

I did forget about a client meeting on Tuesday—yes, a real no, no—but understandable considering it was on my radar for a total of the 5 seconds it took to accept the emailed meeting request (there was no other talk of it) last week well before a three-day weekend, and there was no real effect as I was there and available to attend it, but they said I was under-dressed for it, which is unfair because I was dressed as well as I have been for other client meetings. Turns out they've had a problem with that but haven't said anything until it was too late and I was in trouble for it. Boiled down, the problem was that I was wearing sneakers (brown suede sneakers). But I have no other shoes, being fresh back from 10 months of human rights work in the jungles of G. These shoes are new. Had I remembered the meeting, like I said, I would have been at work at the same time with the same clothes.

So I, over IM, as these things weirdly and awkwardly occur, tried to say that they should have said something if they hadn't been satisfied with the way I was dressing, that I figured that being between his (bossboy's) tie and C's (Creative Director's) jeans, was fine (yes, this guy goes to meetings in jeans and his gloves with the fingers cut out and a sweatband around his forearm and that whole bit). He (bossboy) told me that C was playing the creative card. Hmm. Okay. But I'm supposed to know that. But I'm not allowed to address it, because he (bossboy) got a little snippy there over IM and told me he didn't want to discuss it. It's no big deal he said. You forgot. Period. I don't want to discuss it. I wanted to say that his not wanting to discuss things was a major part of the problem there. I've posted about it before, how their lack of expectations setting has put me at an unfair disadvantage. I'll do what I'm supposed to do if I know I'm supposed to do it. AND, it did turn out to be a big deal as it was brought up in the other IM conversation today. I was told she and he (bossboy) were mad about it. Beautiful.

Again, I'm not denying my role in it—I've been totally, painfully honest here—but other people do seem to be denying their roles in it.

Result:
Still fighting off sleep.

Session Start (me:developer): Tue May 31 16:32:38 2005
[17:21] developer: yo, what can i open a pcx file with, ho
[17:22] me: hmmm
[17:22] me: you don't have photowhore?
[17:23] developer: nah i have photopimp and photocrackcunt
[17:23] developer: but no photowhore
[17:23] me: mmm, I like crackcunt
[17:23] me: Like eating a sloppy joe
[17:24] me: spicy, messy, cheap, and good
[17:24] developer: BLEH
[17:24] me: yup! i like me some crackcunt
[17:24] developer: yeah, u black ppl sure do
[17:25] me: you know how we do
[17:25] me: Word
[17:25] developer: go get ur crackcunt on bitch
[17:25] me: oh, you mean hot crackwhore on crackwhore action?
[17:25] me: they got that on the latest crackwhores gone wild!
[17:26] me: have you seen it?
[17:26] developer: nah, but i did see crackwhore does dallas... mmmmm
[17:26] developer: so about pcx files....
[17:27] me: yeah, the other one I like is "Crackthroat"
[17:27] me: oh
[17:27] me: yeah
[17:27] me: word
[17:27] developer: thats ok.. but did u see part two --- Crackthroat-- goes anal?
[17:27] me: no, man
[17:28] me: that's just too much
[17:28] me: that's going too far
[17:28] me: don't you have any morals?
[17:28] developer: well no, im muslim
[17:28] me: oh, i heard about you guys.
[17:28] me: you the crazy muthafuckas that don't wipe yer asses, aren't you?
[17:28] developer: yeah.. did J. tell u?
[17:29] developer: oh we steal pens too
[17:29] me: figures
[17:29] developer: u think photoshop can open it?
[17:29] me: probably from honest, hardworkin americans
[17:29] me: bro
[17:29] me: Word
[17:29] developer: aight.. ill try it.. thanks G
[17:30] developer: u mah nigga
[17:31] me: Aww, you're soooo sweet! Listen, I know Photoshop will open it because that's what I used, but I feel like maybe Word will open it
[17:31] developer: WORD!?
[17:31] me: now you're catching on
[17:31] me: but do you have photoshop?
[17:31] developer: i thought u meant "WERD"
[17:32] developer: yeah i got it
[17:32] me: oh. then why didn't you try that in the first place?
[17:32] me: (and yeah, wasn't that a great segue? saying werd like I was yo nigga and Word like I was your PM)
[17:32] developer: cuz i didnt know what pcx was, boyeeee

Dreams are bad the first night or two after a sleeplessness in Seattle. Monday I think I was too tired to know, feel, or think anything. But Tuesday night when I laid down, I heard the footsteps of some animal running past my head, as if a heavy rat was running across the head of my bed. I think I had some physical struggle and that classic needing, wanting, struggling with all my might to yell thing. But it was a dream in a dream, where I recognized that the struggle was in my sleep that so I raised myself up, to wake myself, and come out from under the elasticky, stringy, sticky bread dough that was binding me and pulling my limbs and vocal cords in tight to my body, but even that was a dream, and finally I was able to get out a moan, and a feeble groan and realize almost simultaneously that it was early—9 or 9:30ish—and that the walls were thin—I could hear people just feet away out in the hall—and that my neighbors must be taking note of my behavior and wondering and judging. The whole thing seeming, finally, a metaphor for my life and current situation and feelings regarding it. And it reminded me of the time H and I went on a 3 day coke binge in early December after my ex left me, and how finally Sunday night I settled down into bed, after that big blow-up with A, and she and her boyfriend were in the next room, and I woke myself finally with a break-out cry, a wail that I had been trying to get out in my sleep and when I finally did, did it good, and then realize I just screamed out, and that A and her boyfriend heard. Embarrassing. Later, she told me that she thought I was just being weird and trying to fuck with them, or being a psycho asshole somehow. That's about as weird—thinking that—as it was my doing that.