the anti-versary
Tuesday, May 15, 1996
10am, desk
Barely anybody’s here this early, thank god. Just came from Judith, need to calm down. I don’t know what I’m scared of. Yes, I do. I’m scared of future hurt, rejection, embarrassment, pain, anger, anger, anger. I’m afraid if I get any better then I don’t get to go see Judith anymore.
Paul keeps calling and I don’t want to deal. Got a fan letter from a 17-year-old boy last night complete with torture poetry. Can’t wait to write him back. Today I need to pick up zines from Tower. Also want to paint my nails. Also want to clean up, go skating. Also want to go to the Bust party at Beauty Bar.
Ted picked me up here last night, watched Faceboy’s show in the studio with me. It was cool. I wasn’t too uncomfortable as I can be sometimes. Volunteered to go out to Long Island to meet his parents with him this weekend. Told him I’d have to practice saying goodness and gee.
Then we got home where I told him I feel terrible. I just want to lay down in traffic. And he said, “That’s awful.” Then he got up and spent 15 minutes in the bathroom. Meanwhile I’m keening and moaning into a pillow. Then he’s like, “What am I supposed to do here? How am I supposed to handle this?” And I’m like, “Well, however you want. I don’t know. I’m not asking for anything, but I feel really alienated from you.” And he’s saying, “Well, if you don’t communicate with me.”
Friday, May 18, 1996
11pm, ?
Where am I? In a converted art gallery/apartment for bougie artists at a party. At least Abel left. Abel and Vik are all fucked up and embarrassing and it’s unpleasant to be around them. Too stupid to banter with Noah who slips into trick accents regularly. Two butch girls just fixed the sound system by hitting it gently. They’re playing a very techno-house repetitive song, so it’s hard to tell if it’s actually fixed.
I decided tonight if I die after getting smashed on Ted’s motorcycle on the Taconic I want Spyro as my literary executor. Just set up the Janice Erlbaum foundation, for what? Teenaged women.
It’s almost the anti-versary with Jackson, a year since the breakup. Count time backwards and matter becomes anti-matter. So it doesn’t matter any more. Same feeling in setting your clock ahead and missing an hour. It’s officially gotten old. Pass the past. A half-life is over. The planet revolves and I’m still standing.
Sunday, May 20
Home
My mother and her insanity. When I spoke to her on Wednesday, how much power she still tries to exercise and to what degree it works. “So, when are we getting together.” A statement, not a question. Fuck her, that tyrant. She said she was getting rid of her housekeeper and how she “goes through housekeepers like she goes through husbands.” She “gets tired of them and gets rid of them.” She’s out of her mind.
Maybe I’ll call her friend Diane and say hello, say, “Look, she’s crazy. What do we do? Can you help?” Help what? Get her on medication to a shrink? How do you minimize the damage she does to others? She doesn’t even have a self anymore. It’s one of the only things on my mind these days.
Mom, I’m work 60 hours a week right now. I’m going to be 27 soon. How am I supposed to prioritize my life? You’re very important to me, But I’m working 60 hours a week right now. I hardly have time to write and fulfill professional obligations. I am involved with someone who also works a great deal and it is important to spend time with him. The relationship may not stand all this family crap. Okay. We’re not getting married. Mom, stop it. Please stop it.
Talking to my notebook like I’m talking to my mom.
Absolutely sick from rage. How do I cope all day feeling as sick and angry as I do, I wonder. How do I get it to subside? Don’t concentrate on it
Why can’t I escape these feelings? I can. I don’t have to invest them with such power. So, I feel anger. It’s not the only thing I feel. Concentrate on the good, which is… Yeah, I have a good job and I feel better about myself than I ever did, except physically, and I’m getting smarter, saner, and more productive every day.