pre-arranged to amble by
Friday, May 10, 1996
11:35am, train
Phone call last night where Ava talked for an hour. She put me on hold three times and when she came back from the last one I felt I had to tie it up quickly which makes me really mad.
I would do just about anything to not think about this phone call. My back hurts, I got high. I don’t feel like I got my dignity back in the situation with Ava, not at all. Very unsatisfying. My whole body shook with anger and it was difficult to speak. I’m glad I told her I think there was sort of a gross component to our friendship, that I felt it was gross that she hated me so much and yet pretended to be my friend. Ava said she was scared of me, afraid of my anger. I wish she’d acknowledge that she felt guilty for choosing Jackson so obnoxiously obviously. I hope she feels like shit over it.
I was feeling very alienated and sad walking to the train, like I have no friends, nobody who I feel really knows me and I’m really comfortable around. Spyro drives me nuts. When I saw him at Hil’s the other night. I felt like, do something with yourself. You’re so full of shit.
That long meeting last night drove me nuts. Everybody wants something. Jonathan Brady is a quiet, smoldering sexpot.
Paul keeps calling and I really don’t want to talk to him. These fucking super irresponsible men who are just so full of shit. I wanted to tell him, “You’re so fucked up. You can’t afford to keep pretending otherwise. You must confront it.”
Hung out with Ted on Weds. He no doubt was thinking about his own pain, brushing his palm back and forth against my shoulder and back. Walked around without saying much. Then we went to Aunt Sophie’s and ate without saying much. Had a glass of wine. Talked about dressing up for the Mermaid Day Parade. Thinking how much I want real affection, not nervous affection. No doubt he thinks I’m going to snap at him, just freak out from the stress and pain and irritation and frustration. And rail on him and make a long, loud, and precise list of his shortcomings.
Later, home
Smoking joints at work and flirting all day. Just admit it. Flirted all day with JudgeCal and if it provides me with as much enjoyment, adrenaline, distraction and guilt as it did today, it might have to continue. Good to feel sexy, powerful, helpless, giddy adrenaline. I pre-arranged to amble by the elevator as I was leaving.
Sunday, May 12
11am, home
Mother’s Day. Give me a break. Okay, I give me a break. Standing at the sink knowing I don’t want to go. I never want to go. I would choose not to see her. I will choose not to see her. I will give me a break. I am the super important one here and I will look out for me, myself and my interests. I’m not going to stress about the trains today even if my mom freaks out. “Where is Janice? She’s always on time.” Well I was out buying you a present. Also, could I have a new computer and a loft in Tribeca and $10,000? Thanks.
It’s almost the anniversary of the end of Jackson. That brutal night after Art in the Park. The killer will be Memorial Day. But I only feel anger, not pain.
Told Ted when I was crying the other night I felt so alone, worse than alone, because he was there but so shut off. It was like seeing me exhibit that much emotion touched off something in him and he was upset by that. Yes, exactly. That’s exactly what happened. “What is it?” He wanted to know. “What makes you cry like that?” “Confusion, despair, and so much anger,” I told him. “So much anger it really feels like it’s going to kill me.” But then I know that it really doesn’t have that power. It doesn’t even have the power to make me want to kill myself anymore.
Later, home
Mother’s Day. How pathetic. When she saw me she waved and started yelling from the ground floor to me on the mezzanine, “We don’t have a reservation!” And I’m like, “Hello, how are you?” Jake and I gave her her Mother’s Day hug and it was like the two of us swooping down on her from either side of her chair to choke the hell out of her or something.