Sunday, Mar. 02, 2003, 4:18 PM

An accounting of weekend time

I should not be here. I should be doing work. I should be outside. I should be interacting with other members of the human race. But I am not. I am here. I am typing. I am yours.

Yesterday I should have been doing something productive, but instead I finished off the two books I was reading simultaneously. I decided to read them literally simultaneously. I would read one until a break or the end of chapter and then do the same with the other. It was an interesting affair.

I'm not sure what to write about today. I have been having problems concentrating of late. Is seems that something, or more precisely someone, is distracting me. I try to do something useful and productive but then my thoughts always drift back to this entity, this enigma, this person and I can not continue in the same vein.

I will give you an accounting of my Saturday. Got up late. Had tea and aspirin for breakfast. Spent a very unproductive afternoon doing little other than meditating. Decided that I needed a second set of sheets for my new bed so I showered, shaved, and dressed to go shopping. Had my first meal of the day at 7PM consisting of chicken nuggets and fries, for which my taste buds were happy but my body was angry. I then purchased six new pairs of boxer shorts, two T-shirts, two sweaters, a new set of sheets and a few groceries. I rented two movies I have yet to watch. Spent the night reading my two books and doing laundry until 2AM. I was hoping that the phone would ring, but alas, it did not.

Today I read diaries. I finished one that I started reading a while ago. A great backlog of entries remained to be read, but I have triumphed in that endeavor. Caught up on others I read regularly. And now I am sitting in the recliner with a laptop heating my legs like a cat in the lap.

On Wednesday of last week I was awoken by the phone. It was a delivery company asking for a girl named Heidi. It seems that the airline into Pittsburgh had misplaced her luggage and she had left this number to contact her. I explained that I was not Heidi, and that no Heidi lived with me in, at least not in this universe. He read to me the phone number he had and I confirmed it was mine. He read to me the address he had and I confirmed that it was mine. I know the other people in the building and I know there is not a Heidi in residence. I suggested that maybe Heidi was lost like her luggage and had been inadvertently sent to another location. He was not amused and said he was sorry for bothering me. I thought about Heidi's luggage. I could understand transposing a number or bad hand writing accounting for the phone number mix-up, but a phone number and address, that is a little weird. My imagination ran away with itself and told me that it was the ex sending me a suitcase full of Iraqi bank notes and white powder and that the police were already en route by way of an anonymous tip. I foiled their plan by quickly preparing for work and absconding before their arrival.

Today, as an experiment, I attempted to bench press the equivalent of my weight in metal discs. I was successful. Don't I feel manly?

I fear that the quality of my posts is declining. It is due in no small part to the sleep deprivation I am suffering as a result of a delicious correspondence. That is all I have to say for now.