mainsqueeze's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Friendly Salesman It was the laziest of lazy days, today. I got home from work at 3:30pm, tossed my work clothes on the dining room table, and flung myself on the couch, where I remained for the majority of the next ten hours. I watched the first half of the third season of BTVS (Ooh, ooh, Molu, Frances, I found the greatest Buffy site ever! I've spent at least five hours browsing it this week alone.) over again, napping here and there, waking up to the sound of the phone approximately 9848934858500 times. Sometime around 2am this morning, I decided to look at some yoga websites, and then, after thoroughly stretching every single muscle in my body, I waxed the kitchen floor and did a load of laundry and beat my bathroom rug over the balcony and walked LaVerne and brushed the Doctor and ate a cold slice of pizza that Zach brought me. The one thing I didn't do? I didn't actually SLEEP. I dozed off a few times during the ten hours I spent watching television, but I didn't really sleep. I thought about Ozzie a lot, too. When you said what you said, Frances, about people hollering out into the dark, it reminded me of him, for some reason. When we went four-wheeling last week, I sat in the backseat, right behind Ozzie, and I wished so much that I knew what he was thinking. He's quiet all the time, like I get every now and then, but it's not really a quiet quiet. There's always something going on inside of him, always. I just sat there behind him, staring at his reflection in the rearview mirror, and I wondered what he was thinking about. One more reason to love Ozzie: He talks to Keegan, Matt's 4 month old daughter, more than he talks to anybody else. A few weeks ago, Crystal and Ozzie and I were at Matt's place, and she and Matt stepped outside to smoke while Ozzie and I stayed in with the baby. She started fussing a little bit, so Ozzie sat on the floor next to her little baby seat and patted her on the stomach and said, "Don't cry," and he picked up a guitar and started playing for her. She began crying again every time he stopped, so he just kept on playing. I picked her up and sat on the floor in front of him, and I held her so she could see him, and I felt like everything good in the world was flowing right through me. He's something, Ozzie. When I looked at him (and I had to try really hard not to look too much) hunched over his guitar, his thin, gentle hands, and his hair hanging in his face (I just typed, "his hair hanging in my face," maybe because I'd probably like it a lot if I was close enough for that to happen), I felt like I was about to burst into a million tiny, ecstatic pieces. Yeah, he's something, alright. I've got to go, now, to get ready for work. I'm hoping to see my girl tonight, so we can talk about the things that have been bugging me (and probably her, too) lately. I want to get this all out of the way. I'm ready to join the land of the living, again. 5:55 a.m. - 2003-06-12 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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