I am having a major hypochrondriacal moment this weekend. I'm terrified about my eyes. I've half-convinced myself that I have cataracts. I'm given to hypochondria, I know. Every time I use my laptop and my right forearm aches, I look at it and think...distal ulnar neuropathy. I know I do things like that. But I'm terrified about my eyes. I have to renew my driver's license soon, and the eye exam leaves me afraid and depressed. I have half a dozen pairs of over-the-counter reading glasses scattered around my flat and in my office, all of them in different strengths and styles. It's been ten years since I've had a real eye exam. My eyes hurt every day after work. Every morning when I wake up it takes maybe ten minutes for my eyes to focus,even with reading glasses. I'm farsighted--- I'm able to read at a distance, but I can't read a book at arm's-length. And now I'm terrified that I have cataracts. Everything I've ever done in my life involves reading. If my sight goes, I have no life. I'm afraid to see an eye doctor--- afraid of how much it could cost, afraid of what an exam might find. Every time I look at my eyes in a mirror, I'm sick with fear of cataracts and sick with fear of going blind.

I watched "Assassination of a High School President" earlier this evening. Predictable but cute film. And of course I have a major crush on Mischa Barton. Tall and leggy and quiet and train-wrecky--- very much my type. Miss Ginny at ginny_mccoo and I both have a major crush on Mischa. I think Miss Ginny and I have both had a crush on Mischa since "Lost and Delirious".

I did go for curry this evening--- lamb curry and Cobra beer. Call that an homage to Miss Lissy at emigree (still at _iwenthome then) writing about beer and curry in Baltimore back in the Year Six. I'm very much a curry fan these days. I only wish this town had real fast-food curry shops.

The waitress at the Indian restaurant where I went was greyhound-slender and aquiline and had that Punjabi elegance. Severely-tailored white blouse, short black skirt, lovely skin tone, black hair and eyes. *Sigh*...

As much as I instantly developed a crush on the waitress, there was one customer there who had a perfect Southern slutgirl look--- tiny denim cut-offs, battered and stained brown cowboy boots, an oversized white tee-shirt with logos from some resort in Mexique, asymmetric dyed-blonde hair, dark-tanned and cachexical, early twenties. Deliciously slutty. I so wanted to just offer her a Cobra or two and ask her to tell me all her Stories.

Miss Lissy's "Minimalist Living" list notes that she'd have no food in her imagined exile's flat except possibly dark chocolate to go with cognac. I have to agree. I mentioned that to the lovely Umi at ivich this afternoon, and she agreed: cognac and dark chocolate make a great Saturday night film-viewing combination.

I have to ask Miss Ginny at ginny_mccoo what she keeps in her liquor cabinet. My own shelves are well-stocked, of course--- pinot gris and pinot noir, single-malt Suntory and Isle of Jura, shochu and Demerara rum, absinthe and Bushmills, malbec and Reyka vodka. Cheap vodka in the freezer, too. Asahi and Sapporo beer in the fridge. (Miss Lissy's old _iwenthome list includes vodka and rose wine--- I've had a few good white zinfandels, but I'm not a rose wine fan.) I really must ask Miss Ginny what liquor she keeps around. Of course--- she lives in the city. She can always walk out into the Montreal night and pick up a bottle a block or two away.

I really do need a classic trenchcoat in black. I have a decent topcoat in black, though it needs alterations--- the sleeves are too long. I hate thinking that I'll never live anywhere again where I might need a topcoat. Tonight I do know girls who are out in the night in Montreal or on the Skinny Island. Cold enough there for trenchcoats and scarves and gloves. I really envy that. I hate living somewhere where heat and humidity emphasise that I live in a shameful place. I'm taking it as a given that Laura-Ashlee at bladeoftheknife is able to go to the Skinny Island with a lover this season and be out in the Skinny Island autumn. I feel ashamed of living in a place without seasons, a place that isn't Manhattan or Montreal or Vienna.

I can listen to Neko Case tonight and just feel myself trapped and empty. Britt-Nicole sang "Hold On, Hold On" to me. She Vanished forever last spring. Laura-Ashlee promised to sing it to me this summer. She's gone, too. I think that long ago even Lissy at emigree promised to sing "Deep Red Bells" to me. I always imagined a girl on the tiny stage of a jazz club in Osaka or Hakodate looking down at my table and reaching out her hand to me while she sang Neko Case. I wish I could be worth that: worth be sung to.

Back in autumn of the Year Six, Lissy wrote me and asked me to read to her one night by phone. I think I did--- Pico Iyer's "The Lady and the Monk". That of course was in another world, in a world where lovely girls thought I had talents and value.

Late in the Year Six, Miss Ginny at ginny_mccoo sent me a postcard. I was very thrilled about that. I have to talk her into sending more.

Saigon... Shit. I'm still only in Saigon. I say that about this city whenever I wake up in the morning. Same reason that I always wear a military parka in desert camouflage--- because I live in a cultural desert. Saigon... Shit. I'm still only in Saigon. A friend from the Zeppelin Pilots' Club tells me that he heard a guy at the bar--- obviously an Iraq veteran ---offer up something that does comment on that line: "I woke up in my hooch and breathed a sigh of relief...I was only in Karbala and not back in Bogalusa." You have to be from here to really appreciate that, but...trust me: it's a cringe-making line.

Miss Ginny in a white lace 1960s wedding mini-dress. I would marry her in Savannah tomorrow. Katy V. and I talked about why neither of us has been married. She lived with a boyfriend for a few months right after university, but just never had the focus to actually marry. I suppose she feels like me--- I'm a lifelong bachelor, and I don't have much use for marriage of any number on political grounds. But it would be fun to do for a few months just to say I've done it. I like the idea of Miss Ginny marrying me in Savannah and running off with me to Tallinn for a few months just so we could say we'd done it. Call it a box on the checklist, or a moment of performance art.

After "Blood Meridian"... should I re-read "The Crossing" or leave Cormac McCarthy alone for a while? I need to read Dankoff's "An Ottoman Mentality" and I should read a few more books on Iran. I know I haven't read enough David Foster Wallace--- should I remedy that? Or should I look for something...new? I wish I could get advice from Alessandra at bel_ebat and Miss Ginny on suggested reads...

More pinot gris tonight. Or maybe Demerara rum. I can't expect the phone to ring; I can't expect Voices. Weekends always leave me at ends. Too edgy and twitchy to read. And my eyes aren't any good for reading.

I need a lovely girl to call and tell me that we can build a Fort. I need a lovely girl who'll say, "Come under the covers and hide. We can be Safe." I do need a Kind Voice right now. And I do need to be Safe with someone in a Fort.