The white cord on my sleeve
I hadn't really messed with the computer all day, but I while I was reading in my room I felt a desire to well in me. The words weren't registering anymore. I started thinking about how badly I wanted to play with the computer. There's something disatisfying about actually playing with a computer - I feel like I want to use my entire hands and arms and not just my fingertips. Even so, it pulls me out of bed. Something in me can't rest until I strain myself to remember code, muck through webmonkey, and end up in exhausted tears because I can't figure out why my javascript isn't working.
My mother foiled my creative plans, however. She was basking in the glow of the green solitaire field. "I want to mess with HTML is all," I said. I said it through a mouthful of popcorn, though, which is probably why she didn't hear me at first.
"What's that?" my mother said. "Aich Tee Em Ell." I was still slurring. "I have no idea what that is," she said. I don't often tell her what I do with the computer. I thought she would be interested. So while she was mid-freecell-game, I commandeered the mouse and opened up the only quickly available html file - the index page of my website. View Source.
"See? It's just code, and I know how to write it." All the while, she had been in a panic. "Please, no, Margaret, c'mon, leave me alone." Later it occured to me how frantic her voice was. I had wanted to share. "No," she finally said. She sounded bewildered - surprised at how angry she was. "I don't want to know. I don't want to see," she said. And finally, in a resigned tone, she asked me to wait outside the computer room while she finished her solitaire game.
I was surprised. Internet and computer things aren't my lifeblood. I'm not a hardcore geek - I only know html. All I wanted to do was share with her, briefly, a small part of my world. I'm not frantic and upset when she talks to me about baseball. I'm merely disinterested. That's different from just not wanting to hear about it. I can understand though. HTML is what my journal is made of. HTML is connected with personal things I do. HTML is connected with email. Very very personal. You can find some of my most personal thoughts in HTML. Baseball has none of those connotations.
Would my mother would read her daughter's journal if the daughter offered it to her? I doubt it. It's too forward for the way that our family opperates. I think that if I develop that sort of assertiveness it will have a definite impact on the type of people that I surround myself. It could go miserably terribly wrong. I could end up very alone. Maybe people don't always want such bluntness, such forwardness. Maybe the strength that I'd have to cultivate would scare people away. I'm tempted to think that it's worth it. I scrape my tongue against my teeth and smile at the thought. I like making people squirm, sometimes.
---
The beach is a half an hour away. My father knows all the points and bluffs that are really worth visiting, but we went to the most popular beach on the sound. It's the only one that I remember how to drive to. And even if there are always people there, fornicating on the rocks or fishing from the penninsula, there's something sort of classic about the squalor of the beach. I love pristine scenes as much as the next budding naturalist, but somedays I just want sleaze.
I exaggerate. The beach isn't terribly sleazy, in the least. There are just more people there than other beaches. But maybe if there had been less people around I would have felt less pressure to come up with conversation. As the day went on, it got better.
I've never spent much time with Foster, which is strange considering that he's one of my best friends. I mean, I spend hours with him online. He's one of my favorite people. When he showed up at my house around noon, I was nearly petrified. I was terrified that I wouldn't have anything to say to him, that he wouldn't like spending time with me, that I wouldn't be able to think of anything we both wanted to do. My voice sounded chalky in my throat.
The day was like becoming friends with someone for the first time, all over again. It made me wonder if all the connection and comfort we had online disappeared away from keyboards and monitors. If how I am online is different than how I am in real life. Then, by the end of the day I felt fine. I had fun.
We took pictures at the beach. Foster has his head shaved, and the entire time complained of how cold his ears were. His ears might not have been so cold if he had worn the cowboy hat we found on the beach for the whole time, though. A woman came up to us and said, "Sir, that hat belongs to my daughter. May I have it back?" Not quite out of her earshot, Foster called her unspeakable names.
I think that's why he's one of my favorite people. He has such a great sense of timing.
---
I was sick for most of today. I crawled into bed, chilled and faint, before dinner. The house was cold, and I could hear my father's cuban jazz on the downstairs stereo. I tried reading, but the words made me dizzy. I swallowed midol with ginger ale and nearly choked. I felt better when I woke up, itching to be creative but merely spending the evening putzing about online.
2000-03-19, Beach trip and HTML
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