Don't. push. me. 'cause...

I've taken to setting up my computer on one of the ECG tables (like a massage table with no hole for your face) in the "procedure room," which is the big main area where most everything study-related happens. All in all, I think there are more quiet hours here than anywhere else, though, as always, anyone can come in at any time and start playing loud funk music or having a marathon screaming match on the cell phone with her teenage child.

I haven't been writing much the last three days. Just distracted and ready to go home, I think. But I have been having great ideas for my screenplay just as I fall asleep at night. I value that even more than the time spent writing, because when I have one or two of those on my pad, I have something to get my pen moving when I sit down. I know I have something to write.

I was trying to read this afternoon, but I couldn't block out the conversations in the room, so I shuffled off to the TV room to see what folks were watching. They were just sitting down to watch The Guardian, so I stayed. It was long and, well, stupid. But I couldn't think of anything I wanted to do more, so I sat through it. I was hoping for more wet t-shirt shots of the Coast Guard boys. Can't we at least have that?

Now I'm back at my ECG table/desk. And there's a guy 10 feet away from me practicing harmonica. He has a little device that plays the tune, and then he has to play it. Beginner tunes, like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. I want to feel supportive because he's learning to play the harmonica and anyone who wants to learn to play the harmonica should be encouraged. But it's about to drive me insane.

Home stretch.

Today is dose day again. No breakfast, so I have a nasty headache. Starting with the dose this morning, it got busy again. We're running from station to station, giving blood (12 times today, I think), having our vital signs taken, and giving them every drop of urine we produce for 72 hours. This means we're near the end. As soon as they get our last drop of urine on Monday morning, we're free.

While I've been incarcerated, J. has been turning the soil in our garden. As soon as I get out, Z. is going to take me around to his favorite nurseries and help me pick out seeds and seedlings. It's time to plant! For the warm season, we're putting in lima beans, peanuts, sweet potatoes, chilies, tomatoes, cilantro, and basil.

American Idol II (and I promise never again).

Tonight I watched a shorter episode of the show, maybe only an hour long, and, though I walked in about 20 minutes into the show and could have missed something, I don't think there was much singing. They spent the whole hour dragging each contestant up to the stage, repeating the humiliating comments made last night by the judges, and then telling them whether or not they would be returning for another round.

They only eliminated two contestants! How long does this go on?

So, they sent home one boy and one girl, and then what did they do, right after delivering the crushing news, but make the rejected kids sing the same song they sang last night which got them booted! I was really perplexed -- it just seemed over-the-top mean -- and I asked aloud why they did that. Food-hater said, "So they can see what they sound like with crap in their pants." That made my whole day.

Outside.

Our study coordinator arranged for us to have some time outside this morning. It's 80 degrees and sunny today. My fellow study subjects were practically drooling in anticipation.

I guess I'm not a real Texan yet, because I don't have that visceral need to be outdoors. I like a nice day, and I get stir crazy like anyone, but not so soon. People here are so used to mild weather pretty much all year round that if they're stuck indoors for more than a day and a half, they get antsy. Last week Z. and I went to a coffeeshop one of those nights when the temperature dipped into the low 30s, and the patio seating area was still full, everyone huddled and shivering by the gas heaters. I spent most of my life in the Midwest and Northeast where the winters can be so nasty you feel lucky to have someplace indoors to be.

The outdoor break was not mandatory, so I decided to stay inside while they all went for a walk in the yard. Not that I didn't want a break, but what I really wanted a break from was them.

American Idol.

I've finally seen American Idol. It's on at my dinnertime, and endlessly -- it's on when I sit down, for the last two nights I've watched it for about an hour, and it's still on when I get up to go. So, what's the object of this show? To find the loudest singer in America?

Even though I hadn't seen it, of course I knew a lot about it because people talk about it constantly. The buzz seems to be that Simon is cruel. Simon is not cruel enough. These kids are awful. Where do they come from?

Good lord, last night was the boys, and not one of them was better than bad. I mean really bad. Bad pitch, for goodness sake. If you can't sing on pitch, then what are you doing? Tonight, at least a couple of the girls were good singers. One of them was even a great singer. But I don't think she was louder than the two girls who sang Celine Dion songs, so I guess she won't win. Two. Celine Dion songs! What?

I don't understand this show at all.

Sparks.

I guess it was bound to happen. The guy who hates the food and the woman who talks loudly on the phone 18 hours a day (usually having very shall we say intimate conversation with her girlfriend) got into it today. In the "quiet" lounge. Which is never quiet, so I wasn't too surprised to hear shouting in there while I was showering. There are a couple people here who sound like they're shouting whenever they talk, and one of them is phone-sex woman. But this was real shouting, and apparently it was almost real fisticuffs when Food-hater told Phone-sexy to shut up and she invited him to make her shut up.

The altercation was about the volume or the style of music (hip hop) Phone-sexy was playing. In the "quiet" lounge. It turned into a racial clash (Phone-sexy is black, Food-hater is white) because apparently she asked him if it had been country music would he have asked her to turn it down and he said no. I think the word "cracker" was used. I couldn't take sides if I wanted to. I think nearly everyone in the study has had it up to here with the orgasmic phone conversations. And some of the guys have been taking bets before meals on what Food-hater will complain about first on his plate.

Five more days.

Bigots.

One of my fellow study subjects, sitting down to a lunch of taco salad, says, "What is this shit? What am I supposed to do with this? I don't even know how to eat this. Too many fucking Mexicans in the kitchen. We need some real food here, instead of this fucking Mexican shit." If I hadn't been so taken aback by the careless, offhand bigotry -- not to mention the appalling rudeness, since the woman who prepared the food was standing about 20 feet away -- I would have enjoyed a laugh at the thought of blaming the Mexican people for taco salad.

I'm a little sensitive because last night during dinner two young guys were loudly sharing their views about gay marriage (explaining why they would never vote for Guiliani), the usual blah blah about going against god. We all know I'm not a big fan of the gay marriage fight -- the irony of gay marriage being the progressive issue of our time is almost as funny/sad as blaming the Mexicans for taco salad -- but the standard arguments against it are all about saying one group of people is better than another and deserves better treatment. So, even though I'm not out there begging to get married, it still hurts to see how vehemently some people think I shouldn't be allowed to.

And anyone who says I'm hearing this stuff because I live in Texas just isn't listening. I heard just as many bigoted, mean-spirited conversations when I lived in New York and San Francisco.