September 22
I can't believe it! I found Bill! Bill! (Ooops, forgot) A few days before, (no kidding) I was thinking one morning (you know, morning thoughts) that I didn't even remember what he looked like. And what an obsession that had been. Anyway, Ann, his sister goes here. I met her and I could remember her face and hair. He's in the Air Force, he just got married in June (!) and he was coming up that day to see Ann. Bill Weiderman. I can't believe it. I would love to see him, but there's no feeling. I love wrapping up the mystery, though.
This has been a weird period. I'm a week early, no kinky dreams, no cramps, little acne and not much blood, not even red. I'm not even sure this is it, but there is something. Little emotion or confusion, but I did start to cry in the cafeteria yesterday, reading an article by a priest about funeral rites for a miscarriage.
September 23
See? I can't study in my room -- too many distractions. Anyway. Great movie scene idea: Girl is talking to guy, smiling and probably hugging her books, tight. She goes home and repeats what she said in the mirror. The wind was blowing in the first shot, so she takes out a hairdryer to get the same effect.
I tried on the Black Dress tonite and it has changed. Doesn't fit me the way it used to, not half the old thrill. You know what's missing? Tonya. I miss her.
September 25
I am falling apart. My only reason for being at Jewell was to get good grades so I could come here and now the prime reason I'm here is to get a good education. I'm not cutting it -- I haven't done a satisfying, complete piece of work since I got here. Last night I didn't sleep and yet the result of the effort was incomplete, unorganized, desparate.
Sept. 27
In Core today, Prof. DeVacca (is this stupid class what's changing my life? What's making me unhappy? What's making me question God? What's taking away the friendship & love from our relationship and turning it into an ignorant child demanding answer to questions that she doesn't understand?) proposed that research has shown when we daydream, which he referred to as revealing our subconscious, we think predominantly of sex, death and God or religion, in that order. Sounds like a lot of my night dreams.
Today, walking to class, I remembered my dream last night and almost cried. (I'm close to tears often lately. Maybe it's just the red, but it's not. I'm not red, today just leaves wetness and smell. How gross.) I dreamed: (wait. I think this bloodless period is bothering me more than it seems. This has never happened before. And early.) I dreamed: Mary and I are watching, startled, and then I look at her watching, she turns to me, her face lit up and she says (or as most people speak in my dreams, she didn't say it, just garbled words but I understand the meaning) "C'mon, let's go!"
It was Armageddon, no, it was soldiers' killing in the street, shooting people down. It was death. She was running joyfully to a certain death and so glad to go. (Oh how these words strip the emotion from the memory, limiting it to the page, now I can only remember what I've written, as if that were all.) I held back and the dream ended.
I am immature. Mary has the grasp of what death means -- being with the Lord, being with the Lord. I'm seeing death as the end of this world. If I see God's glory in the world around me, what happens when I don't see this world? I will see God's glory, greater than anything in an imperfect world. I will see the Lord. God, teach me. Come, Lord Jesus. I am crying so often lately. I know I'd be better off dead, Mary said.
Amy Grant says, "In a little while, we'll be with the Father."
September 29
Here I sit, waiting for my hands to warm up and my cunt to calm down. Before the date, (waiting and waiting, adrenaline surging, anxiety so high I almost couldn't handle simple motions like hanging up a pair of jeans, [sudden realization John was right: oral fixation, eating when you're horny. I'm not, (that is body and mind and brain) but just now I went to the kitchen and gnawed on the rock-hard dry remains of a 5 day old pizza] the attacks wanting me to drop everything, stop cleaning up my room and wring my hands, check every clock in the house to make sure they're all synchronized and run out in the street to see if they couldn't find the house. I wondered who was the Blind Date, he or I. Turns out, c'etait moi.
Poor thing, how embarrassing the whole thing was. But the kiss (of course) of requisite, of expectation, of duty, turned me on. When body starts to say go, go, Go, GO, GO! brain starts to wonder and falter, well..., but mind, calm, sober, rationale, still says, okay have a little fun, but we know our primary goal, "get inside the house as soon as possible."
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