It's a double posting day! Here's an excerpt from my April Journal.

April 11, 2006

I’ve started, “A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius” by Dave Eggers. I’m on page 47. Amazing book. Feels good to read for fun again. The book is rather heartbreaking so far. Part 1 had my on the verge of tears and/or gagging the entire time.

Thinking about this book got me thinking about talking about this book with other people. And then, inexplicably (I’m sure there was some explicableness to it, but I don’t recall it now), I realized that when I have kids some day, I can talk to them about books! Seriously, how cool will that be? Watching their brains mature until they can handle abstract stuff, then talking about these books that I’ve loved and will share with them. Getting the opinion of these people that will be some fascinating mix of me and a man who I expect will be someone I respect and admire, plus a healthy whollop of their own individual personalities. Is this lame or egocentric of me?

And then my mind took off on a tangent about how my family will be open to art and music and literature (without pushing my own agenda, letting them be their own persons, etc, whatever) and that we will make and Important Event when someone in the house reads a new book or listens to a new song. And in my head, scenarios played out where around the dinner table, each day of the week would be one person’s turn to talk about something new they’d found, followed by any continued discussion from previous dinner discussions. Because, in my head, this will teach them to respect other people’s opinions and encourage communication. Also, in my head, all my children are perfectly behaved and marvelously brilliant. I worry about building up too many expectations in my head for the kids I will have or adopt someday. But I don’t really. Maybe this is a hormonally influenced moment, but I can’t wait to meet them.

Holy Subject Change, Batman!

I’m still pretty sucky at this calling people thing. I mean, I’m used to popping on MSN to see if anyone is there, and if they are, to leave them a note or two for when they aren’t busy. Now I’m like, calling people, and I feel all invasive. But I miss talking to everybody, so I make these weird phone calls, all “hey…. So…. Umm…uh… right. Let me drag on this conversation waaay too long.” But what I’m really thinking of saying is, “Wow, yeah, sorry I’m calling. I’m totally bothering you right now, aren’t I? Yeah, I totally am. I just wanted to call to goof off for a little bit. You can totally call me back when you’re not busy, you know. Or not. Whatever works for you, I’m cool. Sorry.” So now me wanting to call my friends to chat with them feels all needy. Is it? I don’t know. This diary offers no feedback to me. How ridiculous am I. Its not like my parents aren’t right downstairs for me to go sit with and talk to. And it’s not like my friends get angry when I call. I just really wanted to talk about how cool this book is that I’m reading, because that is what I do. I get something, anything, new and exciting in my brain and I want to put it in someone else’s brain too, or put into my brain what they’ve gathered from this new and exciting idea/thing/whatever.

But, instead, I’m sitting on my bed at 9:07 at night, already in my PJs because there is no meeting tonight, sort of distractedly glancing at my phone, like maybe, if I keep looking at it, someone would dial in. I am so retarded. I think I will call someone. I know. This makes me needy. Shut up, diary. You don’t even know.

Oh My Gawd. I am so lame. I just wandered downstairs for the umpteenth time, and my dad asked if they were being too loud for me. (To clarify: my folks are watching a movie.). I am so lame.

Ok, so I called a friend and it was totally as retarded as I thought it would be. I miss IMing. No awkward silences. And the topics can be ridiculous. On the phone, topics have to be real or reality based or that’s how they turn out, for some reason. And there are plenty of awkward silences where I’m twirling the heck out of my hair, fidgeting until its one big waxed up spike, thinking Dear God, Rae, didn’t you have at least something interesting to say before calling? And blushing furiously because I’m feeling unprepared and unskilled at just chatting. I need an intervention. I need a sponsor. I wasn’t even drinking. I am naturally this socially-retarded. It’s a gift, really.