Tainted Beginnings

So, I've now endured all the various indignities of navigating this journal creation process with Jaws. Luckily, Livejournal has an audio link to that character verification obstacle. And it took me a minute or thirty to get the hang of how this page is laid out. Maybe the hours I spend training other folks how to traipse through cyberspace with Jaws is reaping personal benefits. It would have taken me hours to straighten my navigation out a year ago. (No titters about the straight idea please). I'm as crooked as they come.

So, this is a public journal for anybody who would like to be a voyeur and snoop in to the sometimes chaotic, sometimes dull, and occassionally enticing life of a blind dyke. I'm 30 and trying not to ponder that too much; I have no idea what I did with my twenties, wasted them writing endless English lit papers in college and living in subsidized housing in Vermont. I did performance poetry for a while which wasn't a waste but an opportunity to share the tainted morsels rolling around helter skelter in my mind. Now, after moving to northern California four years ago for reasons that could be considered R-rated, I live with a roommate who thinks anarchy is the solution to the woes of current society. Thankfully, he does pay me rent. I teach blind people how to use Jaws in conjunction with software to place them in positions at a call center. Can't elaborate too much; must practice some confidentiality. My buddy Insafemode has been after me to set up a journal for eons, so here I am. He and lots of others have been trying to send me back on the performance stage again after quite a lengthy hiatus, so we'll see. I'm hoping keeping this journal up might stir up the juices to flood level again.

I have a four-day weekend, so I suspect I'll be back a few times over the next few days. Aside from work, life is a tad slow at the moment. I broke up with a girlfriend last April and am waiting for quite a while before I get back in that bloody game again. I did answer an ad on Craigs list a few months ago, but the she I went out to dinner with wasn't really born a she technically. From what I understand, she had all the right surgery, but I didn't want to go there. Her car smelled like sweaty socks when she picked me up, and she was pretty self-absorbed. One of those folks who talks for fourty-five minutes about their job and asks you about yourself once your salad and steak are long gone. It was a good meal, but it needed to end there. We talked for a while after that, but I got tired of picking up the phone and immediately hearing a litany about the various traumas of her day. Give me some intercourse, verbal of course. What did you think I meant?

OK. What kind of junk is my roommate watching? Sounds like some kind of jazz standards montage? For an anarchist, he sure loves thee digital cable. It's on all the time.