thinking about fucking and actually fucking

Saturday, April 27, 1996
6:50pm, train

On the train on the way to Fat Rabbit. High on being sick, Theraflu, rug cleaner, and pot.

Got drunk on Scotch and Guinness at Tom & Jerry’s last night, my last night at the Press. MG fell down drunk and incoherent after telling me he’d always hoped we’d get together, and how much he admired my tits and ass. How I’d gotten heavier, but it hadn’t mattered. I thought he was gay.

Had a bizarre tryst with Raj for five minutes outside to smoke a joint, which he claimed not to remember. How he was pestering me to go home with him, or vice versa. According to Spyro, thinking about fucking and actually fucking are not the same thing.

Oh, boy, am I fixated on the Press. Yesterday I chased down Ian as he was leaving the ninth floor and told him, say something nice to me. Which was perfect, which was exactly what I wanted to say. Thinking last night about that day on the fire escape, where I was telling him how mad and frustrated I was, and he was smiling. Looking right at me with something in his eyes. I don’t know what it was, but it was very attractive to me.

Sunday, April 28, 1996
1:40pm, train

Waiting for the train on a Sunday. Was going to walk to Fulton Square Mall, but it’s atrocious outside. Just talked to Hil, who said there’s a group meditation at Biblio’s at four, which I could make. Confused about whether I really want to go. Maybe I really just don’t want to go. I guess instinct says no, it means that’s right. I was way more social than I planned last night, so if I feel like being alone today, it is right. The end.

On Tuesday, I sucked my thumb. It wasn’t helpful. I don’t think it hurt. I don’t know why I did it. What I really wanted was the blanket part, the soft blanket against my lip. The smell of myself.

Felt a little heartbroken, jealous, meeting Ian’s new girlfriend at the bar. Desperately wished I were more dolled up or prettier. When will it be my stop so I can stop writing? I’m avoiding myself. This job switching thing has been hard.

I’m nervous for my first day tomorrow, going in 12-8, weird. We’ll see.

Monday, April 29, 1996
11:20am, train

Sure, I remember getting on the train at 11:20 in the morning. Just saw a kid skateboarding to another kid’s house, he opens the door and shuts it fast. They’re cutting school. Thinking how much I miss cutting school and playing grown up in empty adults’ apartments. How much my need for privacy must be from those group home years of over-intrusion, inspection, not whacking it.

I’m calm on my way to Pseudo for my first day of work. Feels unreal. Feels like playing a game for a paycheck. I’ll shadow Galinsky for the first week, and remain patient. Go, me.

I wonder what I was thinking last night, when I woke myself up to write down that thing about having thoughts “the color and texture of nylon.”

Shit. I really shouldn’t have had those two bong hits. I can explain I’m on Theraflu, I’ll get a drink from Lucky’s Juice Joint later. Picking up Ted tomorrow night from the airport. Meanwhile Raj called and said we need to talk about us so I’ll meet him later at Dojo.

Later, train

Everybody today was really cool to me. Apparently everybody else there is new too. Josh said they’re going to double the staff over the next month, which seems drastic. How do the longer-term people feel? They’re all young guys, basically.

Raj wasn’t at Dojo, then again I didn’t wait for him. Probably better that I missed him.