October 1984

 October 6

I'm bleeding again. (I knew this would happen.) And even though I sit quietly at my desk, I slowly change clothes, I steadily, calmly eat chocolate and apples (all the food I have in the house), I am RAGING. Could it be only getting 7 hours last nite. No! It couldn't be. And yet I look at things, my eyes don't focus, I can't concentrate, my mind whips from one uncomfortable memory to another. (I just changed again.) I'm close to tears every hour or so. I know (I just changed again) what it is -- the sugar and the SYR last nite. Thank you, Lord, it's not as bad as waking up to shame, not even wanting to let your mind touch on the horrible things you've done the nite before, but. He was polite, kind and considerate. I don't want to think about (my fault, guilt) why he didn't have even fun.

October 13

The last traces of the strange echo of a period. Joe King Carrasco, Entre Nous, Kramer Vs. Kramer, and tonite, Dark Circle. I skipped The Shining, plutoneum gave me enough terror for one nite. 

A few things: Last year, it was to get here. Now it is to get to London. I need it, I want it. My goal. I will be crushed if not accepted. 

Movie scene: A party scene, 2 tall people are talking, she is also in the circle, looking at them, close up on her face going tennis style back & forth, trying to add comments important only to herself. Not sympathetic, almost contempt, she's almost pitiable. We might feel sorry for her, but not because she's included, but because she is behaving so inexcusably.

I'm always so alone. Am I shy? I'm putting men on a platform, it's time some fell off. I dont' think of them like I think of girls --> stupid of me. I'm embarrassed for being alone so much, but I don't want to impose and I don't want to settle for something insincere and forced. I had a realization how lonely I had been yesterday when sitting down next to Tim/Peter, he starts with "How the hell are ya!?" and from that we spent the rest of the hour in that fun, landsliding laughing that's so easy. I've missed that. W/Tonya, w/Melissa, w/Shannon (sometimes), w/Greg, w/Tim Parsons. You know, silliness. 

Oct. 15

Last nite I dreamed that I gave birth. I was pregnant and very frightened & nervous of the pain, laying down between other women, rows of them, waiting. Too much, I got up and left into an empty room where I realized it was happening. No pain. I was all alone and it came, large and wet & red & beautiful. I held it and gently turned the helpless child over so it could cough up some mucus, I think the placenta. I woke up feeling tender and feminine. I want a baby.

October 17

Jewell moments. The first time I really laughed, sitting with Jane, she explains how badly she wants to witness, two boys say hi Jane and sit down before I know it. They talk with her, her cousins, I'm flustered and quiet. One absently shakes sugar onto the table then grinds it into a powder with the glass holder. They tell a story about Jane's brother driving to California, his girlfriend in the front seat holding a bass drum and I laughed. I am still grateful for that happy laugh they gave me. 

And the awful nightmare of waking up in blinding, glaring spotlite sun in my eyes while KA's sang below.

Notre Dame moments. My first meal, crowded dining hall, "is anyone sitting here" greeted with silence. Who I thought was a very upperclassman with a cute haircut turns out to be a sophomore or freshman girl from Mexico. On the other side an obnoxious loudly good-looking blond in a Fuck art, let's dance t-shirt. He slobs down Capt. Crunch & tells me the story of N.D.'s fight to keep it in '83. 

My lowest moment, I haven't slept in 30 hours, the paper I just turned in feels like a C at best, I'm dirty, no raincoat or umbrella in the rain, I'm skipping my first class, cold, wind, stumbling. I begin to sing Jesus loves me, this I know and a bicycle skids past. I stop, embarrassed, feeling like a crazy, dirty, tired bag lady. 

A transcending moment. I stop on my way home to watch a moment of a soccer game. I stand at the gate outside the light, the fog is so thick only half the field is visible, they run through the mist, brightly lit. 

October 19

It's not a question of being good. I haven't had to try and not think about the (certain parts) past, I just haven't. Well, I have had a lot of stupid fantasies about romantic or joyful reunions with Mr. Ed. I mean, you have to admit that it's going to be good to go where people are looking forward to seeing me again. Not having people around me constantly does take away from being able to have experiences that turn into old jokes. Oh well. 

Today I met a couple of guys, one funny, one nice and found out Diane's name. And Tim/Peter is still killing me. And I'm wearing my new N.D. sweatshirt, so I'm not denying this place at all. I feel so comfortable here. But I'm digressing. What I meant to write was a little ancient history review. 

"Guess who I talked to last nite?" Tonya asked. (Now that's getting to be an old joke, even if she doesn't know it's funny. The answer is always the same, every time she asks.) Uh oh, she changed her mind to sympathy when I repeated the old standby, "he's got some serious problem/hangups/sexual inhibitions" (take your pick). Anyway, she said to him, "I think Cindy deserves an apology." That line will go down in our chronicles as one of the most beautiful gifts she ever gave me. It ranks up there with the black dress and her occasional "I was so proud of you." I screamed when she told me she said that. Anyway, his reaction was surprise. "He said he didn't even think you'd talk to him," she says. I don't know. I think one of the thousand things that never came out in the open was his occasional acting. I could easily (easily? more than that, I'll slide into it!) believe him pretending to be contrite for a while. And I could never confront him. The only think I want to say to him is clear, concise, unarguable. 

"Greg, we never talked about the important things." 

Okay, maybe they weren't important, but that's getting too metaphysical. On the shallow terms of our relationship, they were important. Anyway, "Greg, we never even talked about the first time you kissed me." How ridiculous. We had more fun than anyone, but you blew it, you blew it. It could have been fine 4 a long long time but you blew it, you blew it. What's going 2 happen? Do you want to give him even Regret? Sometimes, yeah, when I remember, "Greg!" 

But then at the same time I laugh at him, but at the same time shake my head in pity not without a little disgust at him still trying to get Kyla, still itching to get back for Homecoming. What's going to happen? What is he and I going to do? I can tell already it's going 2B something. Is it necessary that people think I've changed? I used to think so, but those "changes" that are really called maturity aren't necessarily the ones that just anyone can see. How profound. I'm so glad I wrote that. Another comforting, reassuring, sound rationalization. Anyone, another chapter. I know there is some deep psychological reason I fooled around with John that has nothing to do with him. As in wanting to achieve the rightness of full circle w/Mary Beth. To get the upper hand? To irreparably finalize it? How about: Mike is so nice & kind & polite & funny & neat & great that I have to get him to hate me. And having M.B. hate me is a lot less frustrating than just having her indifferent. Wow. That last one really hits close to home. 

What do I want? to happen. I know I don't want to see John. Those situations are so cut & dried. I'm in the position to be angry or to want him. I'm neither. I don't really care. This is weird! If Greg & John both said "c'mere baby & give me a kiss," I'd prefer Greg. How odd. How odd.  Now isn't that weird? Maybe there's hope that I can mix love and sex when I'm married. I mean John is so strong and gorgeous, he should be the obvious choice for a kiss. Oh dear. There are a lot of possibilities this break. KU, back home, Jewell. Oh dear. I don't want confusion, but I think I'm going to get at least a little, no matter what. Anyway. What do I want? Mary Bell doesn't know, and I see John. Big NO! She won't speak to me and Amy waves from a distance, then looks at MB & turns away. I could deal w/it. Why does that appeal to me so much? I've already answered that. And I would feel strong -- I can affect her. Even: She slaps my face. No, her style is sharper than that, echos of The Children's Hour. I've seen her hatred of Carla & Debbie M. How could she touch me? I guess thru Amy & maybe Jim or maybe even some others? I don't know. Would I like her needing me again? Of course.

October 28

My reply? A sweet, hard kiss, as good as fast, hot tears.

Later:  Rickie has a new album. How right. I listen to her and I am strong. I can be strong enough. To wait? To go on? To look back? To write? "I love so much that the risk of showing it doesn't scare me <-- or, I care so much, I don't care if you don't care," I thot at the airport.