just as I uploaded the entry previous to the previous entry, the phone rang... I looked at the phone and then at the clock and realized I had less than an hour to be at work and had not showered, eaten, or any of that stuff we do because we're civilized and don't want to stink in public...

so I did a guy thing (just when you thought I might be a girl, huh?... well, you could come and check for yourself), I sniffed my underarms and decided that I could survive a night if I lay the deodorant on thick (I promise nothing about my co-workers survival, though I doubt we'll have mass passing out like that TV commercial), and realized I had food left over from last night to eat at work tonight, and took into account that the number in the phone, unknown to me, was also in the phone over the weekend and then my curiosity to know who it was overrode any lingering personal hygiene concerns (I really didn't stink much, I showered this morning before going to bed, after all, but this story might be more amusing if I let you go on thinking I have a four day stench building up and vultures have started circling over my head, so forget I mentioned showering today and my editors can edit that part out in the final draft of the story of my life as told by the voices in my head), so I picked up the phone...

I did not recognize the person's name...

I did recognize Diaryland...

and I did recognize the diary name... you can find it in a couple of my diaries if you dig through the babbles... it was ariza who will now be visited upon by you, dear readers, and various strangers passing through, including the occasional weirdo who I foolishly encourage simply because I find it fun to communicate on various levels of language and consciousness, simply because you can not resist clicking on a link...

see for yourself...

how long did it take?...

though former mental patients must remember that I am technically not permitted to communicate with any of you who've been in my care for two years after discharge so don't let me know that I once watched you sleeping if that happens to be the case...

the rest of you former mental patients are more than welcome here, but visit those I link here with caution because not everybody has my sense of humor and they might decide you need an increase in medication and that might upset you and you don't need to seek out potentially upsetting situations...

as usual, I digress...

but before I get back to the point (there was one, I'm almost sure of it)

hey Stephen King fans... did you remember that arizas (at least I think that's how they were spelled and what they were called, but I might be embarrassingly mistaken, which would be fine because I am quite used to it and enjoy laughing at myself) were those extremely sharp-edged plates that were masterful weapons (as opposed to weapons of mass destruction, I suppose) playing a large role in the last few books in the Dark Tower series?...

that is not to say ariza is an an extremely sharp-edged plate, or masterful weapon, for that matter... she is sharp... and masterful... even though she too thought I was a girl (see arc-angel, you are not alone)... I get that all the time, probably because of the way I just talk and talk and talk and talk and don't seem to know when to stop... or maybe because of the emotional outpouring that can be found in my words here and even more over at candora (of course just to prove I can be brief, the funda were formed from the ether, but that's just ego dropping names and as my anonymous multi-named commenter has noted, I probably do like to show off, but that too is besides the point [no neon signs here, aye?] and so let's move along back out of these parenthetic tangents to wherever the point was going, whatever the point may have been} and the hopelessly hopeful romantic bleeding heart on the sleeve openness... in any case, those of you who thought I was a girl now know the truth... sort of... hope you're not too disappointed)...

I was trying to tell you about the wonderful inspiration that phone calls out of the blue provide (and perhaps I am demonstrating that with my rather manic bouncing off the walls babbling at the moment) and so I thank ariza immensely intensely and indubitably, at least, for having the courage and wisdom and madness to pick up the phone and dial the number you see over on the left if you ever scroll down to the bottom of the page and still can focus your eyes... while it may take a few tries to actually get an unrecorded human voice because of my night shift schedule (and odd sleeping habits), it's definitely fun for me and may even be fun for you too...

just remember to tell me to shut up when you want to get a word in edgewise...

hey, what can I say, listening is my profession, so when I'm off duty I have all this saved up babble in my head just begging for willing ears to listen... or unwilling ears, even...

sometimes...

and other times I'm quietly pensive...

in fact, I've been known to go for days without uttering a word at times in this life... there's a happy hermit in me who'd love a tropical beach bum life... but the desire to share always comes back around and draws me back into communicating and wanting to get to know people and make more friends and fall in love and feel and share all the wonders of emotion that the human heart and brain can create and until actual people are around bouncing off the walls with me (or at least spectating in person), I pour it all out into words (you've noticed, I suppose) and welcome responses and sharing in any way you can manage it...

so thank you thank you thank you ariza...

before I move on from the subject of phoning me, I promise that if you tell me that you do not want to be mentioned in my babbles here at casa de candoor (or anywhere, for that matter), I'll respect your privacy... after all, I didn't tell you everything we talked about tonight, see?... I can be discreet and respect privacy... I just have little need for it myself...

and now, fatigue is setting it...

and why is that, candoor?...

I worked until noon yesterday, which would be thirteen hours, then after work I went to the local Chinese Buffet and didn't actually get to sleep until about 3pm... I woke somewhere around 7pm because I sleep in 4 hour cycles and also had Precious on my mind because I told her I would try to get to a show about 9/11 at her high school to see her debut on spotlight...

unfortunately, I forgot what time the performances were and was too bleary to figure out which end was up, so I turned to the computer and wrote the look at your child entry (yeah, it was written in a stupor, sleepwriting, ya know?... but I felt good enough about it to inspire myself to write the two new rhymey things at candora and then, at work, this one, but we're getting ahead of ourselves)... Precious came home all excited and I listened to her tell me about the performance as my eyes were struggling to stay open... then the phone rang that woke me up and then it was time for work and I've been here at work for four hours and I wrote the above and now I've got four hours to go...

I could so enjoy sleep right about now...

maybe I should get some caffeine...

Berry dug out some Code Red for me and I took a walk and cleaned some counters and woke myself up... some... this body is getting kind of old for these all-nighters four out of seven days a week...

sometimes it feels like my entire life has been an all-nighter...

though I do remember sleeping long and deep in the early nineties... I was catching up on hardly sleeping in the eighties... I mean, how can anybody sleep with Howdy Doody as President...

oh, there I go again, getting political... actually, Reagan may have been my favorite President of the last thirty years... except for his McCarthy era commies are the evil empire perspective, that is... and maybe his trickle down economic perspective too... but otherwise, he was at least a positive fellow who appeared honest and didn't smirk all the time... what else can we expect from a B-movie actor trying to be John Wayne... the thing about the Bushes and the Clinton I don't like is that rich-boy "I can get away with anything" smirk they all seem to have...

but then, who am I to judge, I never met any of them (at least that's what they all told me to say so I wouldn't blow anyone's cover)...

the smirk may simply be "yeah, I know you can fool some of the people all the time and all of the people some of the time, but you don't have to fool all of the people all of the time, you just have to fool 51% of the people for about six months and on election day"...

or something like that...

all in all, I've been much more distracted tonight than last night... people seem to want more attention and are hovering around more... again, this is another reason writing at work does not always work for me... they'd rather I sit around and chat with them or just sit around and do nothing like they do... and that just leads me to start grumbling about the lack of individuality and creativity in the world in general and how writers and artists are not really respected because few know the effort that goes into concentrating on creating a cohesive body of words or a work of art...

now before you go thinking that I can create art or even a cohesive body of words, or that I think I can create art or a cohesive body of words, I'll point out that I consider my body of seemingly random babbling just as worthwhile to me as any artists art is to them and my style of irreverent diffusion represents me well and when you find something that represents you well you've found your art...

on the other hand, one man's art is another man's fart...

now we can debate about the definition of art forever and still not actually have an empirical agreement, so just get it or do not get it and realized that I'm laughing at myself much more than you do because I actually do get it all...

whether I play the fool or am the fool does not matter unless you want to look into my eyes and know the truth and then, well, you'll just have to see for yourself...

if you, dear reader, are cocking your head at times, uncertain of what I mean (or why you are here), then I've done my job... if you are complacent, satisfied, and comfortable all the time, you'll eventually get bored... now you know the secret...

who ya gonna tell? J

. o O ( NOTES ARE THE NEW HAPPY PILL ) O o .
(just let me know you were here)