One Word--"Toaster" (1/13/09 Tuesday)

Do I demand too much of a friend? To work from ideals is to demand a lot, but I don't expect perfection. I do expect an adherence to natural ethics, or at least an earnest effort to do so. Self-interest is a feeble distraction and feebler excuse. How much do my ideals mean to me? Enough to drop a friend? If they don't fit in the shoes I give them, do I send them away barefoot? I have high ideals that I feel are worth upholding and achieving, demanding but realistic. Has any human endeavor been achieved without ideals? I endeavor to make friends-for-life. I have ideals for them to uphold. Simple.

I have not heard from Christine. I hope that means there's actually a prospect; otherwise, it seems, it would be a much simpler process--no takers, no deal, tell Dion, end of story. Or Burnnie hasn't done anything. My jaw is set and my lips are tightly sealed. If I don't have to speak, all the better. I'm annoyed at having to rejoin small talk. I'll have something to say when there's someone to hear it; otherwise, leave me to my job. But my attitude is not the most conducive to getting my job done. I hear a voice saying, "Ah, what does it matter?" I like my job, and I like doing it well, but I find it increasingly difficult to do it here. The job is never foremost in my mind. I'd always rather be writing. It's all I have anymore, and it's small solace.

Don't know and don't care why Julie didn't show till two, but it made it easier to ignore her. I never looked at her, but that last hour, with her and her voice in the same room, nearly boiled my blood. That power I had last week is gone. I'm wallpaper. That's still hard to accept, but I can't go soliciting attention. My attention to her is, after all, unwanted. I resent Chris all the more when I think that I'm not even allowed to give her the simplest attention for fear of her taking it the wrong way--the same thing she said to me at Starbucks. She may trust me when I say I'm "harmless," but how little provocation would it take to spoil that? Who knows? That's why I can do nothing. But get the hell out of there.

I can no longer pretend that Julie has nothing to answer for. After all, she's the one who aired this out to management, which had no business in it. She told Angie she regretted doing it, but she didn't apologize to me; she just expected Angie to pass on the word. Well, that's not good enough. Fuck "playing the victim"--where's my apology? Where's my justice? I'm nearly shaking with rage, blood crackling in my ears. If Chris thought I was dangerous to Julie....

Can't sleep, can't continue writing. What else is there?