Possible premise for something on stage at some point — I left work again late tonight. I work in a somewhat shitty neighborhood that is kind of spooky vacant at night. As I was leaving my building, I decided I should keep my work ID badge clipped to my belt, that way if the shit came down and I was lying in the mean streets unable to communicate, boom, they can ID me.

Either I’ve watched one too many episodes of Law and Order or it’s the natural progression of one of my OCD-phobia kind of deals. I can’t leave the house without some form of ID with me and, perhaps better yet, on my person. I have an irrational fear that I might become a “Jane Doe.” When I used to ride my bike a lot more (which is also before seasonal allergies really began to kick my fat ass), I would always find a place to wedge my license, just in case, in my hightops, my sports bra, my waistband, any where. Part of the irrational element of this behavior is it on face can’t help anyone find someone who knows me. I guess that part of my brain is hoping my relatively rare last name will at least give me hope. What would I do if my name were “Smith” tattoo my next of kin somewhere?

The premise is using my badge as my protection in a bad neighnorhood, not necessarily boring shit about how I’m a-scared of leaving the house. Although, I am afraid of the dark a little.

And, on a much, much lighter note: Earlier this evening I left sang on a certain someone’s voicemail. I do not sing. I cannot sing. I should not sing. I think it speaks (or I guess sings) volumes that I am not the least little bit self-concious with M. That poor, poor man, my restraint would probably be a welcome respite.

Also had a couple of interesting conversations today with opposite ends of the spectrum about dealing with emotions. I have the possibility of doing something with each of them this weekend, and I’m sure the gulf would be wide — on the one hand, a house party of hippies who strive to get more in touch with every emotion (it seems like every time I’ve gone there, I have walked in on some intense tete-a-tete, where weeping threatens to break out any second) or maybe dinner and some entertainment with someone with as reserved an upbringing as mine (that is, stop that crying, keep your legs crossed, clean your plate and ideally keep your voice low and modulated at all times. I admit it, I failed most of these ideals.)