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Dear Dairy Diary,

One of the problems of being unemployed, or even on a long vacation, is the complete loss of time reckoning. It gets worse when there’s a holiday involved for some reason. One day blends into the next and, since there is no schedule to follow, the tracking of days goes out the window.

Not since I was a child have I had a proper vacation. I’ve taken time off of work, but it was usually spent doing something around the household. I’ve never taken a cruise or jetted off to a tropical island. I’ve never spent time at the beach, drinking alcoholic beverages from a coconut shell with a little paper umbrella. I’ve never gone on a ski holiday, nursing a hot chocolate and a broken leg. I fear I will never do any of these things. These days, I think I’d be happy just to get in the car and road trip my way back to South Of The Border.

In fact, I would not mind taking a road trip to Colorado for the sole purpose of visiting a restaurant, Casa Bonita. I haven’t been there since I was a kid but it seemed really cool back then. There’s no telling what I would think of it as an adult. Plus, it would be nice to see the scenery in Colorado again. I really think I could use a real vacation.

 

My eight hour drive the other day pushed my Challenger over 2,000 miles on the odometer. I have to say that I’m still loving it. It accelerates like a mad man, takes corners nicely for its girth, and looks wickedly retro. It’s also comfortable on long rides. There isn’t much not to like about it. Except, maybe, the gas mileage. But you don’t get a car with a 6.4 liter engine expecting good gas mileage. That being said, I get higher numbers than expected.

It is noon and I am bored. I wish I had a hobby or two. I take pictures, but I don’t think I’m talented enough to call it a hobby. I read, but I don’t really think of that as a hobby. I’ve finished all the games I care to play and that’s probably the closest I come to having a hobby of any kind. It’s rather sad and pathetic.

It is times like this when I’m not even sure I’m a person. I feel less like a person than, oh, I don’t really know. I’ve been called a “tool” a few times, so, yes, more like a tool. I sit, alone, waiting for someone or something to happen along and then I do what needs to be done. Until then I sit on the shelf, waiting. Watching others live an actual life, doing things, going places, being appreciated for who they are rather than what they do.

It’s not like I can blame anyone but myself for this. I can’t go around blaming the whole world for looking past me, can I? Like women, for instance. I am passionless, possibly soulless. Like a less excitable Data.

I am not exciting, brazen or adventurous; I am dependable, reliable, and stable. Who wants that? Nobody. Not for long, anyway. That’s why conversations like this one are so irritating:

Me: Nobody would ever want to go out with me.
She: That’s not true! You have a lot to offer someone!
Me: Such as?
She: You’re honest, dependable, reliable, lovable, funny, smart. You have a big, big heart and a gentle soul. There are tons of women who would feel lucky to be with you.
Me: What about you?
She: Buh… what?
Me: What about you? You broke up with that guy last week because he wasn’t any of those things you said I had.
She: Yes-s-s… But that’s… because… I’m a… lesbian. Yes, that’s it. I’m a lesbian.
Me: Why were you going out with that guy, then?
She: I was making sure I was, in fact, a lesbian. Experimenting.
Me: Why didn’t you ‘experiment’ with me?
She: Oh! Ummm… Because I didn’t want to… hurt you?
Me: Is that a statement or a question?
She: A statement. Definitely a statement?
Me: And a few minutes ago you made a date with a guy named “John.”
She: No, “Jen.”
Me: I heard it clearly, his name was “John.” You had him on speaker phone.
She: That’s my brother. Haven’t seen him for ages.
Me: [giving the ol’ ‘fish-eye’]

We all know it’s better to lie to someone’s face then to tell the truth. It makes us feel better, even if the person we’re lying to knows full well what the truth is. At least I didn’t make him feel bad.

I’ve fed the birds and poor starving Mr Junior and I’m feeling a bit better about things. Most things. Not Microsoft Live Writer, though. Their absolute refusal to change some things is beginning to irk me. So much so, that I’m beginning to wish I had the development tools to write my own blogging client. I suppose I could do it in Linux, but I’d also like to have it available in Windows. I’ll have to think about it. It’s not like I don’t have the time.

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