Benignly Wicked Mind  Well, now.  Yesterday's journal entry certainly did the trick.  I got my fears out into writing where they weren't all that scary, and now am not so nervous anymore.  I'll go to the party, and hopefully have a good time.  If I don't, oh well, fuckit.  I'll be me, and if that isn't acceptable, again - fuckit.  The fate of the rest of my life does not depend on whether these people accept me or not, so why worry?      Was annoyed today to have to move my computer out of my comfy office and into the very narrow kitchen.  The house is very old, and wiring my office with a phone line was trickier (and more expensive) than we could manage the usual way, so we had an exposed cable running to another room, all tacked down and out of the way.  Today, my older son pulled the cable out of the wall.  When I opened the plate to hook it back up, I found wiring that was indistinguishable from the power wiring.  Usually I can tell the difference on sight.  Not this time.  There was a mess of spaghetti behind that plate, and I didn't want to risk starting a fire and ruining the computer.  Hence the move.      The microwave got bumped from its cart below the phone, and that is where the puter went.  Had to be very careful getting it down the stairs; the additional drive is not fastened down to anything inside there.  The reason why is a long and boring story, so I'll skip it.      There are some unforseen side effects to this arrangement.  One is that doing all the cables in the back is incredibly easy, now that the system is on a wheeled cart.  Another is that I can't be barefoot in here cuz the downstairs doesn't have nice warm ducts under the floor.  It's easier for me to keep an eye on the kids down here, since I now don't have to tromp up and down stairs every ten minutes, can just stick my head around the corner.  Can't escape the messiness of my kitchen though; will have to actually clean it up.  All the magnets had to be taken off the fridge and put well away, so that none might accidentally get near the sensitive stuff.  This corner happened to be the warmest corner in the house, so the vent had to be adjusted to blow a different way and not overheat the machinery.  I don't like having the system downstairs, where it can be seen from the windows.  Seems like a theft risk.  For that reason and also on account of screen reflectivity, the shades in the kitchen are drawn.  The coffee is within easy reach.  Yeah, I know, all this is just so damn fascinating.      My kids are popping bubble wrap.  It makes me think about the air in those tiny bubbles.  What air do they use?  Just whatever is floating around there?  What if somebody at the factory has a nasty case of the flu?  Do they use some kind of filtered air?  If you were vicious, you could spread some really virulent disease that way.  Bubble-poppers disease, yeah.  You'd have to be particular which bubble wrap you put it in though.  People in shipping departments who work with the stuff all the time are probably not into popping it, so the bulk variety would not be a good vector.  You'd have to ensure it got into wrap destined for consumer kind of places, like the post office or Mail Boxes, Etc.  Then ordinary people would buy the stuff to cushion packages they send to other ordinary people who, once the excitement of receiving whatever was in the package was over, would playfully pop the bubbles and then wind up in the hospital.      No, I doubt I am giving any maniac ideas.  If my benignly wicked mind can come up with stuff like this, I am sure some complete psycho has already thought it all out.  Plus, if a truly malicious person were reading my journal, I think I would have bored them away by now.      My raging hormone problem finally got solved, as dawn approached.  I found an old friend and partner who consented to being seduced, and met for some vigorous, imaginative, and totally meaningless cybersex.  Dominant-submissive style.  Nuclear fission hot, and satisfying.  For the short term.  It's not the kind of thing I can base a life or relationship on, and I seldom do it anymore, but it sure comes in handy in times of desperation.  Puns intended.  And since my in-the-flesh sex life is severely hampered by a case of high mileage, the question of how lame cyber is compared to meatspace sex doesn't even enter into it.  Some is much better than none.      People keep suggesting that I "handle" the needs myself.  I wish I were better at explaining why this doesn't work for me.  Sure, I can do it manually, and with machinery.  But it's hard to achieve and then too small to do much good.  Doesn't take much tension out.  The really good orgasms are to be found under the bathtub faucet, but I still am left craving human contact, even if it's through wires.      Oh.  I am still not smoking, by the way.  That makes one full month.  I don't own a scales, so I have no idea how it might have affected my weight.  I don't feel any bigger.    -- Spring