.lizard

the smell of peaches is a memory.  not sure of what, exactly, maybe mornings some forty years or so ago, sunlight stripes across the breakfast table (plastic lace tablecloth, so practical) oh i love me some peaches.

 

i also love my new (to me) powerbook G4. it is supposed to be the house computer but as i sit gazing in wonderment at its beauty, i honestly do not want anyone else touching it. mine.

 

mine.

so this morning the controller asks to speak with me in her office. then i have to sit & wait minutes, intestines clenched, reviewing every gesture & facial expression i'd seen this morning for some clue as to my future (but all the while feeling pretty damn secure for a person in that position, after all, i've survived whole companies falling apart around me since being here, other people may go, but i stay).  so then she comes in and she says, so we're going to change some things around ... let some people go ...

 

and would i mind answering the phones and 'doing whatever they need me to do'? 'of course', i reply, 'whatever you need me to do, i'm there'.  because you know what? i am. i am always here. like, every day, an hour or more before the rest of everyone gets here.  i do not email in sick, i do not catch headaches or food poisoning on friday afternoons (though there are those who do), i just show up, day after day, and do what i'm asked. 

 

so i'm not an underpaid computer programmer, i'm an overpaid secretary. who also programs the website, but hey. other people will be going, but i am staying.

it wasn't the best of xmases because i was kind of counting on this, and i waited till the last minute to start up with the wheedling and bugging, but it was worth it. it is an RKS Jr., a prototype (not even a serial number).  it's a 3/4 size body with Duncan pickups and a 5 way switch. it's an extremely unusual and atypical RKS; out of the fewer than 2,000 that the company made during its life, there was only one of these. and now, it belongs to kurtwood.

 

 

so i went & cracked open the Thing i Could Not Face, the loss(es).  and resurrected the least dead amongst them, the "poems" if you'd call them that. olizard.com is where they live on (if not in infamy, then at least in space).  don't go there, it'll only hurt your eyes.  but it is a start.  next in line for life, the lyrics site & maybe the gallery thingy.  the blog, ah, the blog, well, unfortunately the database is approximately ten times the size allowed in PHPMyAdmin uploads, so i've gotta hack it to pieces in order to put it back together. 

 

baby steps, baby.

it is a damn good thing, dare i say even a fucking good thing, that i am more or less all by my lonesome self here.  back in the day there would be however-many people watching me make a fool out of myself -- oh wait. that's exactly what they were doing, if i remember correctly. but they were always so nice about it, & this is what led me to this unfortunate habit of babbling in public. which is actually a little bit embarrassing. i mean what if someone should someone happen upon this place i leave links to here & there around the interweb, and see me talking to myself for no apparent reason and being thoroughly pathetic in the process?

 

it's kind of like a whiny diary i leave laying around the house, hoping no one reads but disappointed that no one does. also i am a little ashamed i'm using this windows live thing when i have the capability, the urls, the hosting space, and the archives (some assembly required) -- i have real blogs, i really do -- i'm only a few dozen hours or days of struggling to remember what i was thinking when i built the things in the first place, to rebuild them, make them better than new.

 

if only i felt it was worth it. why the hell do i do this?