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Hold on to what is good even if it is a handful of earth.
Hold on to what you believe even if it is a tree which stands by itself.
Hold on to what you must do even if it is a long way from here.
Hold on to life even when it is easier letting go.
Hold on to my hand even when I have gone away from you.
- Pueblo Blessing

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Monday, Dec. 01, 2003 - 7:39 p.m.

Cost of the War in Iraq
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WARNING!!!! if you know me personally, you may read my diary, but if you do, you take the chance of hearing things you don't want to know, misunderstanding what I've written and being hurt by it. If you are unsure if it is ok to read, save yourself and me the grief and heartache, and ask first!!! Please note that this is a DIARY, ie my subjective feelings, hearsay, suppositions, and outpourings of ranting of the moment. It does not represent objective news, the whole of what I think of a topic or someone, or even a thought-out representation of any of the above. Keep that in mind. Thanks. * Here is a Diary Etiquette Read Me.

Diary Advice Picks my Ass

Geek and ACK!! Oh WHY do strangers write to give me advice?

Oh irony of ironies, having been guilty myself of unloading helpful hints other than those culinary in the diarynotes of several others. Yes, yes. This is why I draw comics, so that I may display the idosyncratic hypocrisies of my own personality as well as the vaguarities of fate (I really shouldn't use words like that without opening the dictionary... I shall regret it I know... I nearly used the word hubris in a guestbook entry completely wrongly... thank god I DID look it up!)

But really, why do people stumbling across my diary after following one link to another, feel they can write me a huge long email all about their life as if they were my close friend, including pronouncing judgment on my life life, love life, hormones and diary entries, and not even tell me their name until the final closing signature? Nothing like being lectured on your 4am afterbar spiritual mudsplashes by complete and utter strangers. (not to be confused with you all incomplete and inutter strangers who people diaryland, who at least offer up your own meandering emotional deadends for me to peruse in exchange).

I mean really! Someone wrote me to say (after reading my pitiful but emotionally truthful in the moment dweeb entry) that I shouldn't compare myself to others when I am PMSing. I was NOT pmsing unless menopause really has set in, which it hasnt. Regular as always, giving me another two weeks to go for PMSing. yes. But still. It's bad enough when men start harping on PMS let alone women.

And saying "good top" "good bottom" "training" are such turnoffs. Unless someone is turned on by that sort of thing they said. Well, gee, maybe someone reading my entries for more than a week might deduce that indeed I would be turned on by such a thing. So, don't tell me I shouldn't want to be something that I admire cuz it is a turnoff. Esp if you aren't willing to offer up your own sexual predilictions for my similiar scathing knockdowns. Glll. and more Glll.

I guess I should be more blasť about reactions of people.. I mean if I post online I certainly cannot say that I can't suspect all sorts will read my stuff. But if you do, please do post on my notes, unless you and I have been exchanging notes for awhile and agree to take it to email.

And try to remember that it is a diary, not a letter to Dear Abby which I have carefully composed in hopes of presenting my situation in a balanced manner as a request for feedback. No, it is a diary, puked out emotional excess rained out onto the electronic page in fits of self-hatred, or bursts of positivity, or smatterings of reactionary rage that I don't unleash on real people walking around (or at least try to do it here instead!!), as well as stream of consciousness meanderings into the linked information overload of hyperspace.

Well, that's my little rant for right now. A better entry later... I am still a day behind I realize, having gone out to the Fetish Cafe on Saturday night, and the Unholy meet and greet and eat and notreallybeat Sunday night. ps, my Middleeastern Bulghur and Artichoke salad (with mint and feta cheese) was a hit. mmm good.

**note that I was very happy with everyone's notes that were left, so don't start going "is she talking about me in this rant?" I am just talking about the email I got from a nondiarylander. yup.**

pps, go look at sleepyzoe's entry. She's a babeola and she's gonna be like disappearing over the vacationtime so we gotta binge on her now. yup. Miss her, I do.

ppps. I woke up at 10:30 to a courrier at the door and it was just warm and all glowing sun, almost summerlike. And then when I actually got up at 2pm, it looked just like yesterday's entry's photo again. Grrrrr.

Here is my horoscope for Monday, December 1:

You were ready for a new month, but the old grievances are still rankling. Limit your involvement to the aspects covered in your job description. There has to be a reasonable way out of this.

So, that's not the greatest horoscope, but at least I don't just have a BLANK like the other day... so at least I'm not dead. I guess.

Now I will go and put the left over roasted redpepper into olive oil with spices as per dangerspouse's very good suggestion. yummola.

ciao y'all.

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previous meanderings - future past

Goodbye Michael. May your next life be kinder to you. - Thursday, Jun. 25, 2009
Taking Care of Your Cows - Thursday, Jun. 25, 2009
Saint Joseph robs the cradle and eats spaghetti - Sunday, Jun. 14, 2009
sticky notes and broken irises - Friday, Jun. 12, 2009
The FOODCOMMANDER - Monday, Jun. 08, 2009

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