More revelations this month it seems. More of me making peace with my past. It's funny how you sort of get stuck in this view of yourself as a certain kind of person and that you think of yourself this way, even though you might have changed. I caught a glimpse of this recently and I was surprised. The me I thought I was no longer exists and it seems I've moved on to a different view. I didn't know it though and I wonder when the change happened because it wasn't that visible to me. I didn't even know I'd changed until I recently came across someone who reminded me of how I was five years ago. And I only recognized myself in that person because I was now so radically different from that person.

Poor Greg. What I must have put him through and how he was right about so many things. He put up with me for all those years. How I must have just tortured him with the minefield of problems that surrounded me. But even love and friendship couldn't hold us together. I still have that memory of us driving over the Bay Bridge in his white saab and us both singing Elton John and George Michael's duet song "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me. And I knew we were singing about our relationship and how neither of us wanted to lose the other. But it was already too late at that point. We had started to go down separate paths slowly and inexorably.

I thought about contacting him today just to tell him I'd changed, but then I remembered that he hated that I changed so much, so I didn't call. But I have changed and I know he would have liked the new me better.

I've been thinking about whether my novel, "Following in the Dark", should be erotic or have erotic writing. I mean it is about a woman's sexual adventure so it's already erotic right?. But I don't know. I think what makes something erotic is so individual, so personal. Is punishment erotic? Is pain erotic? Most people would never readily admit that sensations such as pain and punishment give them sexual pleasure anyway. I also don't want to make pain and pleasure necessarily that erotic either, it just is what it is. And for me, that's erotic enough.

You really can't believe the mainstream media news anymore. They go on and on about the dotcom bomb and it's effect on the national economy. What they don't report is what's happening in the telecommunications industry and how $2 trillion dollars have been lost by companies such as Cisco, MCI, Lucent, etc. Thank god there is such a thing as the internet where you can read news reports from all around the country and really find out for yourself what's happening in the world.

Mainstream media would have you believe that everyone in the SF Bay Area worked for a dotcom. Well, they're wrong. I don't work for a dotcom and most of my friends don't and we live in the City and County of San Francisco and have lived here for a very long time. We love San Francisco and certain other parts of the Bay Area and would never think of leaving for any other city, other than maybe NYC, Paris or London. The whole dotcom thing sort of passed us by or affected a few of our friends. The dotcom bust hasn't really affected our way of life and we still still live the same way. It's like the 60's all over again, where the mainstream media would have you believe (if you werent' there) that the country was full of war protesting hippies. Wrong again. The hippies were in certain pockets of the country but not everywhere.

The only thing the mainstream media got right was to call all the people moving here "the new oakies coming to the SF Bay Area to dig for internet gold". These oakies didn't come to the SF Bay Area because they wanted to live here. No Way! They came here for one reason only; MONEY. And the media was again right, because now that the money is gone people are moving back to where ever the hell they came from and we say goodbye to them and good riddance.

I told people around me who were buying into the media hype abou the dotcoms that the price per earnings ratio for most dotcom stocks were unrealistic and the stock was hyperinflated. I told them to sell their stock while the stock was still high and get out of the market. There wasn't anything financially wrong with what happened in the markets. Wall Street is full of highs and lows. The problem was that people got emotionally attached to the highs and didn't sell when the market was high. Good times never last forever in stock and neither do bad times. The people who lose money are the people who are emotionally attached to the mood of the country and follow that instead of following good financial principles, which means investing to make money, which means constantly selling and buying and knowing when to cut your losses.

But this whole telecom financial crisis ... that's got me worried only because the future of the internet depends on companies finding a way to move information across the net faster. My friend B from Dallas has this theory that all you needed to do to move information across the wires faster was to have a bigger pipe. The consultants at Microsoft and IBM were sceptical about this theory. but I think he was right. And what's great is that the technology is already out there. But ... with the slowdown in the telecom industry, investment into this new technology is now delayed a couple of years if not more.

Or is it? People are greedy, dont' you think? Greed is what drove the market and the Nasdaq into the dizzying highs and now very dismal lows. If new technology is out there to create a bigger pipe to move voice and data faster, then I'm hoping some greedy investors will sell the hype to the mainstream nedia and mainstream media will report it, and greed will once again rule the markets and drive them back up. Since I've got money invested in this new technology, I can only hope.

Picnicing in Stern Grove was so much fun! The second celtic band was from Donegal Ireland and played great music. It was quite a sight to see everyone trying to do the jig or their version of Riverdance. I found a great scone recipe and another friend made lemon curd from her Yorkshire Cook book, so we had a very english first course. Our second course was bagels, with cream cheese, sliced heirloom tomatoes, chopped red onions, capers and smoked salmon. The third course was tortellini in a balsamic vinagrette with chopped red, yellow and green bell peppers. Fourth course was fried chicken with coleslaw and sliced carrot and celery sticks. And for dessert, we had shortbread with milk chocolate chips cut out in shape of 3 leaf clovers and chocolate yorkshire pudding. We also drank champagne mimosas and ate champagne soaked strawberries.

For our next picnic at Opera in the Park, we decided to have quiche bake-off. People around us must have thought we were insane as we debated whether James Beard, Martha Stewart or the Moosewood people could kick Julia Childs' butt in the quiche department. I think I have a quiche recipe from the Findhorn colony that was pretty good and those Sunset quiche recipes are also killer.

Alas, I didn't see any beautiful chubby red haird/strawberry blonde men there. But then I think I was having too much fun with my girls arguing about quiches and dancing irish jigs.

I was trying to organize all of my writing pieces together last night when I realized I lost a journal. Seven months of my life gone from May 98 to November 98. I told myself that it doesn't really matter because it's not like I ever reread my journals anyway but still, seven months of my life erased, disappeared just like that.

I've been keeping journals since junior high. My english teachers in junior high and high school made me keep one every school year. I made the mistake of throwing these journals out and I've regretted that decision ever since. God, it would have been so interesting to read about what I was thinking back then, what I was obsessing about, what scared me, what made me happy and what my life was like. Those journals were a record of each of those years. When I search through my own memories for what happened in those six years, I draw a fuzzy blank. I feel like Keanu Reeves in that movie about using the brain for storage. Somewhere along the line, I must have dumped a chunk of memory. Either that or all those of memories are misfiled and basically irretrievable.

I'm hoping that my seven month journal will turn up in my place one day. That somehow I stored where it wasn't supposed to be stored and I will somewhere in the future be able to read what my life was like from May to November 98.

I wonder if it will be depressing like that Samuel Beckett play, "Krapp's Last Tape". I saw this play in Berkeley last year. A man made recordings of his voice instead of journals. In the play, the man now about 80, totally decrepit, somewhat senile, with all those signs of aging that scare me. Loose wrinkled skin, slow agonizing movements, mouth that never quite close with a little saliva always dripping out and those old people's eyes that are semi clouded over from cataracts waiting to burst forth. Old people seem to also be covered with a layer of film made of grime, memories and sins from the past and the stench of death. The old man listens to a tape of himself at a much younger age when he was probably 40. The old man shows no emotion really, just the weariness of death. But the younger man's voice is alread full of regret as he goes over a lost love, lost opportunities, lost chances. Is that when death and old age start, when you start to regret your life so that by the time you reach a really old age, the regret wraps itself around you, becomes part of your being and becomes incorporated into your dying process to where you have to surround yourself with it by listening to old tapes of yourself. Talk about being in a hell of your own making. But it's Beckett, so maybe it's not that hellish after all because after all, you have the tapes to prove you at least did have a love, did have opportunities, did have chances. Was it John Donne who said in Paradise Lost, "Tis better to have loved once than to have never loved at all". Perhaps that is Beckett's small ray of hope for this man, he at least lived a life and has the tapes to prove it, listen to it, relive it over and over again.