sudden drops in death

Thursday, October 24, 1996
10:30am, train

Better, right? Except 7 to 7:30 am when I got up to pee and had that mushy, uncomfortable feeling. But now I’m better. Except when talking about Ted with Hil last night, I found myself shaking with anger again. And that’s so hard to feel towards someone you want to love. I want to love, but I don’t want to love him because it’s too frustrating.

Wrote for maybe a half-hour last night Didn’t get home til 10 anyway. Well, I’ll be out by 7:30 tonight. I’ll do yoga tonight and meditate or tidy up. As I said to Judith on Tuesday, haven’t spoken to my dad in a while because I don’t want to. And I know when I eventually do, everything will be exactly the same.

I’m bored of writing these in the morning. I’m scared because now, I’ve started to evaluate them as potential texts, when the point is just to write for me, for once, for finally. Where did that girl get those perfect shoes?

One year from now, I can’t even imagine how awesome and fun my life will be, even though my parents will probably still be around, barring any sudden drops in death. Still, I get the sense that things just get better and better from here. That certain mistakes are far behind me.

I enjoy my job. I enjoy feeling less and less guilty and obligated. Feeling like I don’t have to make up as many excuses.

God, I’m missing the whole ride. The sun on the folded arms, tucked chins and bowed heads. Give in to your bodies, people. Mind and body are one. I want to keep learning more about spiritual practices. Want to naturally include more and more practice into my daily life. Want to make love or at least really good, close sex tonight. Oh, yes. I’ll try and set that up right away so I have something to look forward to. I feel good.

Distracted by this ad for Chase Bank: The last time you saw a teller was three boyfriends ago. So, that’s three years for me. Okay. So the hypothetical woman in the ad has been more promiscuous than me. The train is making it very hard to write today, very jerky. And I called work to say I’ll get the styrofoam for the igloo. How exciting to have this job right now. How much fun. I get to be a paid artist with some other responsibilities, which I enjoy, I think.

This flap of loose skin on my upper lip is just fascinating me right now. It’s a toy for my entire mouth. And how do I look, eating myself, molting into my mouth? Whatever.

Why am I so honest and open with Frank? I think I freak him out. Maybe it’s good I never published the second chapbook. I should get Josh to read it. It would be nice if I was a woman he could respect. I could break through in one case, prove myself the superior, exceptional woman I know I am. I want to tell Frank, I hope you are totally, completely 100 percent in love with me because I am 100 percent in love with me.

Saturday, October 26, 1996
5:45pm, home

Didn’t write yesterday, not out of psychic distress. Unless slight boredom counts, which it does. Just wanted to let things well up some so I’d have a pot to stir. Had a great session with Judith yesterday. Burned off some hurt and fury, especially towards my mother, that loathsome witch.

Judith was talking about the relief I would feel after she was dead. Also about how people don’t literally have to die to be made unimportant. Yesterday kind of sucked though because the office was all ripped up for the party tonight. Because I had nothing all day. Because I hung around for hours last night, trying to get some pot. Finally went home with Frank, thinking about people at work calling us lovebirds and wanting to retort, yeah, sexbirds, maybe.

But when he bit me on the tit, I stopped, got upset. Then he was kind of like, whatever, and fell asleep. So, I started to leave, blah, blah, blah. Boring. Woke him up and made a scene. Told him, when I’m shifting and twisting away from you and you’re holding me down, I don’t want that. You want me to stay put but I don’t want to. And he said you’re right, you’re right.

So, I stayed, which I wasn’t going to do. But then I wouldn’t have had the sex we had this morning which was very good and sexy and satisfying and exciting. Still felt afterwards like somehow, it wasn’t enough and never would be. That I wanted more. Not so much sex as something more. Love and caring. I think it takes a while to build. And I can’t expect to find it from Frank. And why am I such a petulant little girl alone with him?

Smelling the sex on my fingers. Wanted to lavish him with loving attention. I should lavish myself. I don’t know what it means, though. Sometimes, I think I’m too strict with myself. Have to do this and that. I should just accept it. Okay. I sat on my sofa eating sunflower seeds and reading a book. I didn’t meditate, exercise, write or clean up. My Friday night disappeared.

I don’t want to be overly dramatic. I don’t want to be dramatic at all. Well, you wanted me so much. Now, that you have me, do you still? No, sorry, whatever. I want to be in love with someone. I want to be in love with someone besides myself. I mean, that’s great and all, but it’s lonely. And even very smart, self-aware, fully actualized people get lonely. Because no one understands this. Oh, yeah.

Talk about it with Frank. Can’t try to change him. Either he’s good the way he is or not. Well, we work together, so it better be good. Oh, I want love. I want to feel real love come from other sources outside myself. I want, I want, I want.