2001-05-16 - 11:39 p.m. - quotidianus1

My computer hates me.

I had gotten quite far into an entry and an email both when my browser decided that it would be a good idea to crash. Some days I just want to take an axe to my computer and smash it. Those are my saner days. The world is lucky that I do not carry axes or ice picks around with me (although for me, it might perhaps be a better place... no no, that was a base thought, violence is not the answer to anything.)

I had a pretty good cello lesson today... for once I was prepared, and we both came out pretty happy. What was unspoken: I still suck, I have a lot of technique to work through, I should practice more - but what was said was wonderful.

I spent some time typing up what used to be one of my favorite poems- a sort of memorial to the I-who-was. The poem is "Storm" by Wilfred Owen, and perhaps I'll get around to retyping it someday. What's the point when my lovely computer will erase it anyway? Actually, I don't know...

My fingers are sore, I have a blister on my thumb from pizzicato that is only just beginning to stop hurting, and... that's all that I want to complain about for now. I sound ok... sometimes... but my endurance is awful. I need to work on that, maybe by... practicing more! Now there's a thought.

There's not much that is exciting going on in my life right now... I have a late-night orchestra rehearsal tomorrow night (the 17th) to prepare us for our concert on Sunday. I'm too lazy to put out the details again, but go back to my other entries, I've written it out multiple times. Oh, we made the first page of the SF Chronicle's Datebook section today (16 May)... you should get a copy. The shot they used was taken on the first time since March that all the cellists have been at rehearsal... whoopee.

I feel very odd about most of these entries... think seesaw. Some of them just embarrass me... others I actually like. I think it doesn't matter that much because I'm convinced no one reads my diary... but I have a blast typing it, and the thought that someone might stumble upon one of my pages (and promptly leave, but we'll ignore that) is somewhat enjoyable.

My other browser window just decided to crash. There goes my email (AGAIN!). Somebody give my computer a long-distance kick, please?

I think I'm going to stop this here. I have to go revise my personal essay (wonderful English assignment, that). Before I stop, I should mention Frannie, my running partner on the Socialist ticket sometime in the future because she's cool and says a lot of the things about my school that need to be said... that I want to say... that I can't find the voice and am too damn chickenshitted to say.

Does any of this matter?

Does any of what I do, feel, think matter?

Is someone out there who cares enough to write me, even if it's to tell me that I'm a horrible horrible person and am shameless in selling myself to... I know not what?

I care. I love. But not enough. Never enough...

J the depressed penguin (:>