high, puffy, bright, enigmatic

Friday, January 26, 1996
8:30am, train 

Hung out with Spyro last night before Ted came over.  I was on herbal speed.  My new thing is I’m sick of my body and I hate it, etc., so why I don’t have my gym bag with me?

The website thing was canned for now. Russ hated it. Jeez, it’s tough to get a break.

Next week I start comedy class, which I won’t blow off, and I won’t blow the work off either because I’m eager to do it.  I’m eager to get more relaxed on stage.  I’m curious about the art/tricks of stand up.

The fog is so dense this morning. The end of the Brooklyn Bridge is being eaten by a high, puffy, bright, enigmatic cloud of mist, an aggressively happy bubble.

That girl Brynn is on the train right now, the one from David Trinidad‘s class. She looks pretty good. She pretty much told me outright over waffles the deal with her. How her father had always been kind of a dick to her mom who had put up with it like a saint all her married life, and how Brynn was willing to let her girlfriend Suzanna cheat on her and have sex with other people and stay the steady dyke girlfriend, the one with all the true emotional comfort to offer.

We did not make out.

Sunday, January 28, 1996
6:25pm, home 

Feel like garbage.  Went to see Casino last night, then at home in bed started to fall apart.  Just aware that I felt sad and confused, then went downhill into freaking out mode.  Not sure how to understand it or deal with it best to get it over.

I didn’t want to freak out in front of Ted, which was freaking me out harder. I don’t know what I was feeling or thinking, but I know I had that desperate, sick feeling. I wanted to cut my solar plexus out of my body. I would do anything not to have that horrible center of pain under my ribs.

I’m exhausted. I feel like curling up and sleeping. Is it necessary once in a while to cry like that to get it out? I mean, I used to cry like that almost every day. Why does that happen when I think I’m so above it?

Have to deal with mom today. Hope to God she’s busy. Still feel like her prisoner. Meanwhile. the dad thing festers. I’m going to close my eyes.

Tuesday, January 24, 1996
9:15am work

I have so far to go. It feels exhausting, but I know it’s worth it not to feel like I would gladly take a knife to my solar plexus to get it out. Also sucked my thumb for five minutes Sunday morning. Did it last weekend too. Can’t let it become a habit again.

Also need to write more. Wish I hadn’t shown Spyro that draft. I don’t know what to make of it. It’s not funny or arch in the least, which is good.

I have gigs coming up Feb 6th,  Feb 13, and Feb 20 something.  Need new material. Ugh.

Have to talk to mom.  At least she was calm on my answering machine this weekend.  Just can’t stand dealing with her when I’ve been so angry over so much for so long and hid it.

I keep smelling pot then realizing it’s left over in my pocket.  What am I going to do now?  Need more time to write, need to smoke less, worry less, feel less anger and hate, but how?

Later 

Well, what about this morning when I thought I was going to bust?  So tense and angry.  Couldn’t wait to get Maddy fired for being a lazy slacker. Ready to kill her for her whispering. I felt out of control, furious and miserable, angry at mom always, but why let it rule me?

Then I went and talked to Ian who told me I’m not getting the proofreader job but they’ve got something else for me.  Put together my wish list, he said.

I smoked half a joint at lunch and felt a million times better.

To read the girl bomb diaries in chronological order, click here.