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polydad
So I've got nine hours before I've got to get Gabe to dance this afternoon. What am I going to do with them? There are the regular mundanities of life; I'm eating as I type, and then I'll take my meds and go for a bike ride, and take a shower, shave, and so on. Tomorrow I'll go help Dani and Mer move, because it'll make me feel good to do Useful Work for real people; and Sunday I go rearrange my stored stuff, look at 19 N. 10th, and take Zack to his Japanese class, as Gail will be loaning me the Batmobile.

I suspect I should be writing something today, but I haven't figured out what, yet. Possibly an email to Zack with character sketches for the PolyMars ficton. There's a character modelled on the B-nymph, Mars Leader, one modeled on Zack himself -- hmm, there should be one modelled on me. Who am I, and what am I doing? I'm the leader of the Poly contingent, not the Mars contingent. I need at least two more Mars guys; the idea of modelling one after Saul feels right. And that suggests modelling the other one after Andy, even though I haven't seen Andy since '79. And Charlotte is also obviously required. She probably even *lives* right near here.

The Charlotte story: My '79 roommate got some pot, and decided to put morning glory seeds in it before passing it around the room. m-g seeds are hallucinogenic. In his mix, they were also emetic. So in short order he's lying on his bed, moaning and puking into a wastebasket, my g-f D is crouching over a toilet in the bathroom across the hall, Saul and Andy are having a committee meeting, trying to get their various arms and legs to agree on something (standing, I belive) -- and in the midst of all this Charlotte decides to commit suicide by diving out the window. No one is competent to stop her, in the current situation.

Problem: We're on the first floor, and it has been raining cats and dogs for the last three days. Charlotte does a lovely swan-dive out the window, and goes OOOMPH on her belly in the mud (about a five-foot fall). When she gets her wind back, she stalks around to the door, charges back into the dorm, storms into our room covered head-to-toe in sticky mud, and, determined to finish what she started, dives out the window again, with about the same results. She'll keep this up for about an hour. Saul and Andy are still arguing over which leg is whose, and who is responsible for making it move. She's going to step on each of them at least twice.


The whole point of the thing with my Mom this week is that she *isn't* central, no matter how big a tantrum she throws. That is sad, but it's how she has set up her own life and she gets to live with it. However, as my sister pointed out last night, no way in hell is she *ever* going to apologize to anyone for *anything* ("I'm sorry" in Momspeak means "You're bigger than me; please don't hit me"; there are no words in her language for "I was wrong and I'll take responsibility for my error, clean up my mess, and not do it again." We lose it right at the beginning; the concept "I'm wrong" doesn't exist in Momspeak.), so I'll need to figure out a different resolution to the problem. The conversation with Dad last night came from *his* basic premise, which is to back Mom in everything, regardless of how wrong she is. He'd come in to the conversation with a fixed agenda, which was to get Mom what she wanted. Didn't happen. So I'll need to come up with a new agenda for the conversation, which reaches a resolution that is satisfactory for me without requiring Mom to do anything she doesn't know how to do.

That issue will resolve itself in time, though "in time" probably means I'll still have to buy a car in Seattle or Oakland. I'll talk to Frank about borrowing some money for that. I loaned him $500 for his Nova in '77, so I'm pretty sure he'll reciprocate.

So, now to kickstart Brain. Maybe I can devise a way to do this without violating dietary rules with coffee and/or donuts.