an angry kind of fine

Wednesday, April 23, 1996
8:50am, train

Felt absolutely hateful and pissed off last night, also premenstrual. Was I glad to be alone, and if so, why did I smoke myself out so early? I know I need to make behavioral changes regarding food, exercise, and pot.

I think now that Ted feels secure in the relationship, he also thinks he has me fooled. He’s feeling comfortable with his act, and confident that it works and is working for him. But he’s also jaded, and bored, too.

Confessed last night to Ted how lonely I was feeling, like I had no roots, and had to write off just about everybody I’ve known. In the middle of telling him, I could see he was staring off into space.

I’ll be fine. I am fine. It’s just an angry kind of fine. Talked with Judith about Ted, about feeling neglected emotionally.  Why haven’t I been talking about it with her? I’m afraid I’ll have to end the relationship. He’s limited, but he’s at least present. At least he shows up and acts like a warm body in the bed. An object to hang all my love on, all this sticky, rotten-orange-peel love I have so much of.

You know what, I’m sick of trying to get people to change. Obviously, he is going to have to make changes in his life, or he won’t, and that will just be sad for him. But in either case, it’s not up to me. You can’t love somebody so well that you change for them.

Iris said to Spyro, you owe me your life. He bought if for a while. It was easier than owing himself.

Thursday, April 25, 1996
8:30, train

Last night wanted to say something to Ted right away, but waited until midnight when we were in bed. I just couldn’t do it. Couldn’t bring myself to have sex with him. Was uninterested and turned off, and felt alienated and angry and sad. When I did spit it out finally, amidst much tearfulness and deep crying, and hope he won’t leave me now-ness, he was very tender and accepting about it. Though by then, it was more just a matter of calming me down than saving or solving anything.

Had a dream about Ian last night. He’s standing behind me in the bathroom looking in the mirror, very sexy. Ted decided he needs to say my name more often during sex. That will help.

My first day on Monday, I’m so exhausted by the idea of being good.

Friday, April 26, 1996
8:45am, train

Woke up during intense long dreams with a raging throat ache. I put the blankets around me and the heater on and sweat, because I remember Maxine telling me I needed to sweat out any kind of cold or infection, and how white people don’t know anything about curing colds.

So it’s my last day of work. I’m wearing my rhinestone shirt to celebrate, but my boobs look like shit. Many things I think are important enough to record.

Spoke to my mother last night. She said, I got your letter. It wasn’t for her. My brother was telling me she always butts in and he needs his privacy. Can’t wait to plan our next excursion. Maybe in June or July I can have take my kid brother to work day.

Also, Ted left yesterday for his birthday trip. And I didn’t have a carefully orchestrated demonstration of overwhelming love, but we did go to Today’s Man, and dinner at Two Boots. And then cake at the Second Street Cafe. After which, plus joints, I pretty much passed out on the sofa.

I’m so cranky about sleep. I’ve been oversleeping again, and I remember how I used to love it. Masturbating and sleeping. I don’t want to spend time fantasizing about things that aren’t going to happen. Or more importantly, shouldn’t.

Every time I have a thought about my mom, my dad, Ava, Jackson, Ted, past, present, lovers and friends, I think, hopeless. I think the fact I’m thinking about them is proof of something bad in and of itself, i.e. that I think about them too much.