Gosh, I Wish I Had the Internet at My House

I love nothing more than paying BellSouth for DSL only to have it work as well as me standing in my shower shouting and calling that being in contact with the outside world.

Whoever has the wireless network “Lemmings in Leiderhosen,” I swear, I don’t want to steal from you, all perched on the edge of my bed trying very hard to get and maintain a strong signal from you, but your network, as spotty as it is, is more reliable than the cord plugged into the back of my computer.

Anyway, the Professor took me bra shopping and today my folks are coming back through on their way home from the recalcitrant brother’s, so hopefully I can entice them into going to Target with me.

My first order of business is to start sleeping better.  I think I may have inadvertently hit on the solution to that yesterday.  We didn’t have any Diet Dr. Pepper in the house and so I didn’t have one in the morning and yesterday morning was the first time in a week I wasn’t falling asleep sitting up before lunch.  I had one at lunch, which was okay, and a Diet Coke with dinner.  By seven, I felt like I could sleep if I just nestled into the couch a little, but I wasn’t nodding off.

I’m not going to do anything ridiculous like completely stopping the use of caffeine completely.  I mean, good god, a girl’s got to function in this world.  But last night was one of the most restful sleeps I’ve had since I got sick back in November, so I’m willing to reduce my intake if it means being up all day and sleeping all night.

 Then I’m going to do some dishes and fold some laundry and hopefully, by then, the parents will be here.

Not to change the subject completely, but I’m concerned about how long I’m going to be able to maintain this connection and I just want to get everything out there while I can.

As fall-out from the whole “Transpeople want to rape you in the bathroom” episode, some folks have stopped blogging.  I just want to say to that, it doesn’t work.  If there’s one thing I’ve learned, if you make people uncomfortable, you make a lousy hostage.  As much as they might bother to make some mention of how sad it is that you’re gone and how they certainly didn’t mean to scare you off, they kind of did want your silence, your acquiescence.  And because of that, at the end of the day, your absence lets them off the hook.

I’m sorry to bring up Sean Combs again, because the more I see of him on my TV the more I think he’s somehow part nit-wit, part genius and the nit-wit is winning, but “I ain’t nobody’s hero, but I want to be heard” is, I think, the defining sentiment of the internet age.  Does anything sum up so succinctly what we’re doing here?

It’s true that Combs goes on to say that he wants to be heard on Hot 97 and that he wants to make shit-tons of money; so it’s true that he immediately undermines the most political thing he’s ever said in his life; but it’s still true that he’s saying something profound in spite of the rest of the song.

You don’t have to be the hero, you just have to be heard.

It’s not my business, but I wish you’d reconsider.