surprised to see the actual him
Tuesday, December 3 1996
9:45am, train
Definitely winter today. A smell like burnt hair, or sneakers going though the dryer. The cats keep getting tiny shocks when I go to pet them.
I passed Jackson on the street just now. How funny, I always look for him, and yet I was surprised to see the actual him there coming towards me. I flooded with emotion, couldn’t tell whether it was panic or excitement or anger or desire, it resolved itself into kind of a furious joy. I waved and smiled warmly and said hi, how are you? as I passed him. He looked pissed, bitter, ashy. And I feel so fine.
Look at me, calm and friendly and mature. Shows that I wasn’t the problem, I’m not the raving psycho he made me out to be. I’m sure he’s heard through the poetry vine that I’m working at Pseudo now, with the insane parties. Maybe he even saw my name in the article in the New York Fuckin’ Times.
And what’s he doing? Let’s see you patronize me now, cockknocker. Tell me again how I need to improve my pathetic life so I can be on your level. Tell Ava, too. I’m sure she’d love to hear about my success.
Why don’t I ever write anything nice about people? E.g., I’m always complaining about Hil, but she is the greatest, kindest, most generous, most creative, most spiritually attuned woman I know. She’s incredibly special and everyone knows it, that’s why they clamor for her company, because she knows how to make them feel special too. Nobody else can bring you a clementine just as you were thinking your mouth was dry the way Hil can, singing Oh my darlin’, oh my darlin’. I’m lucky to be so close to her and to share so much with her. I’m so lucky to have people who put up with me.
It’s Judith day. Last week she gave me a hard time about smoking because I came in saying I had a whopping case of the fuck-its, where I don’t want to go anywhere or do anything but sit home with my cats. Not because I have nothing else to do, but because I prefer my own company to other people’s.
Judith called it amotivational syndrome from smoking. But I smoke every day, but I don’t feel like this every day. She says yeah but you know smoking doesn’t help at all. It makes you feel worse, not better.
Yeah. Nothing feels worse than not smoking. I get furious, I get anxious, I feel like there’s no comfort in the world, I think I’m going to have a stroke, because coping with all those bottled up brain chemicals and trying to suppress them without any aid is too difficult, it’s dangerous.
Also, I’m functional. I have a job and a life. If I did nothing all day but smoke and my life was falling apart around me, that would be one thing. But that’s not how it is.
Judith doesn’t say anything. I fucking hate when she does that. This is why people don’t want to go to therapy. They don’t want their own words used against them. Haven’t you been saying that you’re exhausted? Didn’t you say you wanted to smoke less, spend less money, have more energy for writing and the other things you want to do?
People don’t understand why I “let” my shrink tell me what to do. Because she’s helped me make my life so much better. The evidence is empirical. Frank especially is wary of Judith. He thinks she’s a Svengali and I’m letting her control my mind.
Of course he’s wary of her, she’s wary of him. I edit myself with her, changing a few facts so that Frank doesn’t come off too badly. I like the edited version better myself.
I feel like I can’t even begin to imagine the guy who could step to me, which makes me feel I don’t know how. Vain. No, I mean, how capable are you of expressing the profound? No, we can’t be profound all the time, but can’t we a little? Now I feel like I want to look up the word profound.
In my dream last night my Mom was trying to read my notebooks and giggling, and I was being firm and exasperated. Mom, please, I asked you to stop.
Still thinking of Frank. Why am I making such a big deal over things? It is what it is; don’t make it into something it’s not. I can’t. Just enjoy what’s there, and what’s not will take care of its non-existent self.
Last week was Thanksgiving. Call Ted today, tell him I’ve been thinking of him and hope his holiday is smooth. Last year at this time, we were in Arizona and I was excited and happy at the same time as I was furious and anxious. Been feeling nostalgic for him, thinking about riding in the passenger seat of his car, bike trips, hiking, even just going from his place to mine. It’s sad that we could never break through to each other and deal.
Anne said he has a new girlfriend, I was glad to hear it. Maybe I can stop feeling guilty over him now.
I love to but am scared of writing. How much of a difference it’s made. How hard I sometimes work to convince myself of those things. How hard it makes it to trust me later. How full I am, how light, how thoughtful and blank and accepting and reflecting and getting off the train.