Every time I�ve had some kind of body modification dealie done � and if you need a visual, I urge you to dwell on the Schwartzy bear tattoo on my right bicep; I thank you in advance for your consideration � for a few days afterwards I can�t look at it, like in the shower or when I�m getting dressed. It grosses me out what I�ve done to myself and I am sick and sad at the same time, I see my bruised or violated self to which I am the one who did the violence and for a wild moment I could puke or burst out crying or maybe both. Sometimes there is actual blood. I seem, to myself, so vulnerable and yet so mean. I was thinking about this today because I was trying to pin down the lurching feeling I get whenever I get linked to by some internet luminary, and I realized that it�s pretty much the same thing as new-tattoo-sick-in-the-shower. Don�t get me wrong, my ego does respond to that kind of stimulus, and especially here in the land that critical thinking forgot, I jump on any excuse to reassure myself that I�m all right. (In "Lost In Translation," I loved Scarlett Johansson�s reading of the line "John thinks I�m so snotty.") But I also feel like I�m being pulled into a place where I don�t belong � and I�m the one who made myself pull-able � because I can�t compete with anything that the luminaries come up with, I�m not even in the same game, and through my brief appearance in their firmament I have only called attention to my ineptitudes and the fact that even if I�ve written one thing that may be linkworthy then this throws into greater relief the fact that on average I suck.

I�m sick and I�m sad. Mondays are especially bad. I want a routine so badly, I want a � yes � coherent structure to my life. I had a phone screen today for a six-month contract doing internal business writing and intranet management for a very stable local company, which you�d think would be a slam dunk, right? and then at the end of it the HR rep apologized and told me frankly that it sounded like I was overqualified, the other candidates did not have nearly as much experience. That is an novel way to select whom to bring in for interviews, I mean according to the lowest common denominator. The publishing people haven�t called back yet after my loop interview last Tuesday, and like the doctors on TV over a dead body I am officially calling it: 7:36 pm on Monday October 6, I did not get the job. And this is just another something I�ve done to myself, I�m the one who got myself so overqualified.

"Last week�s issue." I will never catch up. The phrase made my Secret Heart bleed and I wished I could have looked away. I feel like last-week�s-issue is the story of my fucking life. Is it that to which I must consign myself, here in Seattle where the mail and so many other things are slow, or what I already am?