lie, lie, lie, I do
Monday, March 18, 1996
8:30am, train
The riot grrrl gig was pretty good. Sure, they applauded at the wrong times and not at others, but I did a good job. Excited now for my sabbatical. Year-long self-imposed sabbatical from readings. It’s a project in and of itself.
Yesterday morning I dreamed I was masturbating while thinking about Jackson, woke up afraid at some point that I’d done it. Thought maybe I could even masturbate for the first time in months. Tried last night but couldn’t figure out what to think about. I was thinking Noah, Ian, Raj, a guy I haven’t met yet, the possibility of a totally different, an as-yet-unimagined future. Also interestingly, I was going to let myself cry a little, get it out, and I couldn’t or didn’t. I just can’t go some places anymore. They’re dangerous.
I’m so far away from what I want. I want to be very physically and sexually attracted to my partner. Ted and I aren’t so comfortable with each other. I don’t really feel love from him. He’s pretty distant.
Just a little sad about saying goodbye. Goodbye to Jackson, goodbye old bullshit, goodbye. I think about Ava more than I think about Jackson these days. A letter or phone call is probably due. I never got the stuff off my chest that I needed to. I’d have to be really careful with her; she’s tricky and smart. I’d have to write it out in advance.
I love that letter I wrote Ian on Friday, I think it was perfect. Why is it that I came up with the idea, compiled the database, wrote the promo copy, cold called for contact names, and wrote the listings letter, for them to put Ian’s name on it? That’s such bullshit. I can’t even comprehend how much bullshit that is. I signed it, Janice Erlbaum, Untouchable. Like as in the caste, but also as in, you can’t touch this.
Thinking about teaching as an option also. Why do I want to stay in the world of weekly media so badly? I don’t know. Glad, glad, glad I made no plans with Ted and have nothing to do after work.
Boy, do I dislike my parents. I wonder if I can get new ones at this point. Who would I want, ideally, as parents? Who at that age do I like and respect? I guess I don’t know anyone well enough. I need to find other people who don’t suck, and it’s much harder than would be expected.
Raj was pouting on Friday because I’m not his girlfriend. Why am I flattered and affirmed by this? I confuse myself.
Today, I’ll make up a nice package for Paper; cover letter, clips, slightly revised stories, outline. Then call and find out submission policy, drop it over at lunch. It would be great to include copies of my book if I had any left. Also, put writing resume and bio in package.
Whereas I don’t really miss Ava, I do wish things had gone differently. I feel misinterpreted and misperceived. I don’t feel hatred. Lie, lie, lie, I do. I didn’t start it.
I need privacy, I need time alone. I used to love to go hide in my room alone with a book or write and suck my thumb. Writing has always been revenge and it makes me feel guilty. I feel guilty and I try to always keep my notebooks away from others, especially Ted and Maddy. Feels unsafe to feel these feelings. Feels unsafe and guilty to write.
Raj just walked by. Ted’s college friends really kind of repelled me. I talked too much at breakfast. Everybody is weird in their own way.
Monday, March 25, 1996
9:50am, work
What an alternately horrible and then not-so-bad morning. Trains all sucked. I didn’t like Ted nuzzling me on the crowded platform because he doesn’t know what to do, telling me not to get so stressed. I’m trying to explain to him that showing up at 9:30 is one thing, showing up at 10:00 is another.
The problem is that I’m already stressed now, walking into a stressful situation pre-stressed. But I have the rock that Hil gave me at lunch last week. I can just be quiet and do my own work. Forgot the notes for the latest shopping column.
Don’t know if I feel like doing this open mike again tonight but probably should. It’s the ‘should’ that’s the killer. Any kind of obligation makes me angry and tense. What’s the best-case scenario? Hard to picture right now.
For once, I don’t know whether staying and working things out at the job is the best idea or even possible. Still not used to the idea of quitting. On the platform earlier thinking, I cannot continue to go on like this much longer.
Why are you in comedy? For the low pay, the bad hours, and the shitty bathrooms. I’m in it for the sex. Right, like I couldn’t just walk outside and trip over somebody’s dick. As a woman in New York, you have to work not to have sex.