implement the chat function

Monday, May 21
10:30am, train

And I thought I was going to get by with the one little red book of rage and pain. Now it’s been  a year of them. Fairly steady, remarkably steady. And no urge lately to read them over, to see myself going to the Press in the morning, a huge bundle of live writhing misery.

Stomach in an absolute knotted uproar. Continuous ache over everything. Sense that nothing will ever be resolved. Everything will just be. Bad politics at work on Friday. Fight with Ted Friday night and Saturday morning. Bad work party Saturday night at the office. Slept almost all day Sunday.

Talking with David Huberman at the party, he told me that me and Anne were–are, in her case–poised to be the next big thing, poetry wise. He told me to write my book. Well, here I am, the diary of disappointment. Not exactly best seller stuff.

I think I can find a good meditation audio from one of the shows at work. There are healing women out there, maybe I should be one. Maybe I am one, and haven’t known it yet.

This job makes me uneasy. A terrible night’s sleep last night. Up from 4:00 to 5:00 stressing out about my job. The situation this morning where I’m showing up an hour early for no reason. This voiceover woman’s time will be wasted too. But at least not angry. Keep cool, make contributions, get on the varsity team. I know everything except how.

Lunch

Lunch time already. I like coming here to the Spanish place on Broome because I can sit at the counter and eat alone without it being a big deal. I have some place to be that’s not the office. Dreamed last night of catching Ava by the wrist as she passed, scratching her and clawing her a little. Also dreamed of having a conversation with Noah about how hot we are for each other, how ridiculous it’s becoming to try to hide it. Well, at least I used my dream time to fantasize rather than torture myself.

I really feel like I’m on to something with this whole anger thing. Like now I have a better idea of why I’m still so miserable sometimes, why I have stomach problems, why I smoke so much pot even though I keep saying  I don’t want to.

Loving this job thing this morning, pretty easy. Frustrating sometimes, but also great experience in dealing with people. I need to get a modem tomorrow. Been biting the side of my thumb a lot, too. Also, don’t want to have sex with Ted. Also, furiously mad at my mother, but not at this second, strangely.

Wednesday, May 23
11am, train 

Dreamed all night last night about work, but I don’t remember what. Went skating after work yesterday which was hard, but felt good. Thinking about being angry, feeling angry as I skated.

I heard from Paige yesterday, RW the day before. They miss me. Paige says Maddy misses me a lot, which made me happy. I should invite her over to Pseudo for lunch or an after work joint or something. I wonder if I’ll be there until 8:00 tonight. Happy it’s the weekend, but afraid of all that time to fill.

Didn’t want to go to Hil’s yesterday, but let Ted talk me into it. I make him the bad guy, the bore, as much as he makes me the bitch. Actually not wanting to smoke, turning it down sometimes.

Keep thinking about Janeane Garofalo, my own performing career, other people’s fame schedules. Big break at 27, movie at 29, famous by 30.

Thinking of that poem by… what’s her name? Lived on my sofa for two weeks. Dominique. “Women are needy. They want your sweater.”

I’m going to walk home over at Brooklyn Bridge. I’m afraid I’m not leaving myself enough time to write the book. The East River is olive green between the rails. Martin Scorsese said it’s too crowded to even come downtown. Paul called just as I have been thinking about changing my number. Almost at work.

Feeling dull as hell, cranky. Too much Ted. Not enough time alone. Too much TV yesterday, not enough reasons to turn it off. Nothing to look forward to. Miserable because I haven’t written, no urge to perform. Then what?

So I’m going out to dinner with my dad tonight. I’ll just take no shit from him basically. But why am I going out to dinner with him?  At least I’m calm. Also it helps I haven’t seen my mother in a few weeks. Judith says, “You do need a good father. You don’t need him.”

Also called Hil today, wanted to go see her at lunch, but seeing her Sunday, not so bad. Nicole was my guest on the radio show this week. Felt so nervous. Steam-rollered by her talking. Hearing part of it back at Steve’s desk later wasn’t so bad. Sort of interesting. Could be better as I get more relaxed.

Today: nag Josh to implement the chat function. Maybe have dinner with Raj. I look like hell. Ted’s slowness, deliberate wheezing, passive-aggression drives me crazy. I have to nag him all the time to hurry up, get the hell out of the house. I’ve been angry at him for not recognizing, what? That I’ve been angry at him.

I’ll tell Ted I can’t hang out on Friday nights anymore. I have to make friends of my own and Abel and Vik depress me. And Noah depresses me too, makes me feel so comparatively stupid and dull.

Can I write ten poems in ten days when I feel like I have nothing to say? Maybe I should picture people I care about, write poems for them. A poem for Hil:

Tired of being beautiful, the blossom
breaks. You have been accused of being
over kind. Your sentence is to make
it so. Don’t step one syllable outside
the haiku. Chase a rolling pear. The street
poet said you make poison a blessing.
He was trying to fuck you too.

Oh well, I’ll keep trying during the day. I’m glad Galinsky’s not around so I can flake off and smoke pot.