twist my neck and smile
Monday, November 11, 1996
10:30am, train
Didn’t write yesterday. Went to see mom, then down to work. Picked up Frank, went back to my place. Smiling, but more about my beautiful place than about Frank. I just don’t get what I want from him somehow. Don’t know what it is or why I thought it was there, or what I should do now. I want to be happy and with someone who’s happy.
What was I dreaming last night? Too much. I’d rather look out the window and relax. It’ll be okay, even if I’m disappointed. I won’t be mean about anything unless I’m really hurt. So I don’t want any extra anxiety, though, and I feel some.
I’m worried that Hil is mad at me for promising to be available but not being available this weekend. I slept a lot and blew my mom off fast. She’s a nightmare. My brother seems okay. I did impressions of everybody at work to entertain them. Perform or we’ll torture you. No wonder I have ambivalence about performing.
Well, I hope Frank and I can be cool. Can’t we be cool? Can we be more than cool? Why am I so down on it? Now I’m doubting my doubts. I’m walking backwards. I’m behind nowhere now. I’m cool. No matter what happens I’m cool. I should end there, I guess, but I’m not here yet. Smoked like a fiend all weekend, high but functional, with my tongue hanging out of my mouth.
Tuesday, November 12, 1996
11am, train
On my way to work, then later to Judith’s to justify my relationship with Frank, which whatever I seem determined to continue because I guess I don’t understand how it could end. Or how can I still continuously continue, standing and leaning, and putting all my weight on my left foot.
Why do I smoke pot every morning and all day? What will I do tonight? How do I feel? Why don’t I want to know? I feel like I feel fine. Both Hil and Harriet are outwardly full of angst and changing right now. Ted called yesterday at work. Called him back, chatted. He said, I’ll call you tomorrow.
He’s got to learn, we’ve got to separate some. I don’t want to be angry at him. I don’t want to be angry at my mom either. She’s just a big child. I know, Judith. It’s not endearing and it’s not cute.
When is Galinsky going on vacation? That’s what I want to know. Oh, work. Feel like if I have to have an intensely emotional session with Judith, well I just don’t want to.
Frank called last night to say hi and complain that I didn’t kiss him goodnight, that he felt awkward trying to get a moment alone with me in front of Spyro. I guess it’s not charming, him complaining. My lips feel a little unkissed, that’s all. I said, Oh, the widdle widdle.
I said Spyro and I are just friends and always have been. But not so close that I want to tell him what’s going on with me and you. Two, I’m not into the PDA thing. Three, I think we should continue to be mellow about it at the office. Organic, he agreed, adopting my fabulous vocabulary. It’s a beautiful day and he’s smart.
Is he basically nutty or just over-eager? Could he be trained and do I want to bother? Well, obviously I want to bother. I’ve already bothered with it so much and what would I be doing if I wasn’t bothering? Being a nun must be very liberating. You have a lot of time and yet it’s all planned out for you, maximized so you do the most good for yourself and everyone else. You spend absolutely no time on love, sex, romance, or relationships.
The poor addled series comma, it never knows when it’s wanted. I was at work pretty much all day and night yesterday, but I think the Monday schedule can evolve even more. I sort of wish I wasn’t high, but I know I’d be wishing I was high if I wasn’t. Would I? Blah, blah, blah, I think everything at once.
Oh, no, my pen. This can’t happen. It’s not organic. Or maybe it is. It all is. Oh, whatever. I want to give up.
Wednesday, November 13, 1996
10:45am, train
Had a bad day yesterday. Therapy is hard. Told Hil, I like it better when we talk about how shitty other people are and how they have to change and less when we talk about things I could do differently.
All I could think about last night was work and was pleased with myself for getting simple things done, the drugstore, the dishes. Didn’t call back Ted, who left a message. Judith says he’s right. I’m wrong? I have to make things clearer to him. Newspaper headline: Medical marijuana use gains backing. Great, I’m in great shape for that day to come.
I feel okay so far today. Someone’s mini alarm is tweeping. A lot of people are slumped over and reading. There are a few people looking alert. This train is pretty empty, but still moving at a great pace.
I must be dreaming. This must be my dream train, my most perfect morning train. There’s light, but more like the way overhead lights reflect in a magazine cover, that shimmer. A man ripping out an article from the Post to put in his pocket, his postal worker’s shirt on its hanger on the handrail.
The thin, silver bracelet on the young man, his goatee-shaped stubble and plastic watch. Adjust glasses, sip coffee, turn page. Nobody is exchanging energy with anyone else, which might be good considering the quality of the energy people could be exchanging. There, I smiled at the guy who’s bored by the book on his lap. He wants to look at the other people too.
We all want to look at each other and be together, and be able to be together. I wonder now if I look like a guitarist when I write, like Evan looked playing his guitar, how his mouth moved in funny ways. I think I twist my neck and smile.