At Age 20, "I Am Past Excitement"

 July 20

I wish my blood would make an appearance and end all this tension. Blah.

My diary from senior year. While I hate now the weird, obnoxious, pretentious brat loser I was in 9th, at times I really love this funny, happy idiot. (But then again, it physically hurts to realize how much I hurt Jim. Over and over and over. Why didn't he give up? I want to apologize.) Of course she made stupid, stupid mistakes and was awfully hyper and was probably so emotional due to her bad eating habits and probably mistaken a good deal of the time about her own feelings...

But reading all those underlines and capital letters and dark print and exclamation marks drives closer to home 1) recent fears of writing badly, stiffly, in cliches 2) the quiet sad noticing that I don't care about anyone. Tonya and I are almost ridiculous, vehemently agreeing with each other and using that laughs that we know but refuse to recognize anymore are only forced politeness. Mary Beth does nothing for me anymore. I have no choice with Greg. John actually bores me. John C., that is. I admit freely that Brett has an attraction to me. A very physical attraction. And Lauren and Jeff, I only long for the past. I feel I am past excitement. It is over.

July 23

Things 2 Do 

    Travelers Checks

    Film

    Tonya

        --Chuck gift?

        --Spend nite

    Postcard addresses

    Fix Budget

    Paper (notice this last)

    Write Jim, Becky, Joe

    Call Di

Hi-i. (Two syllables)

Jim Harrison says: "Nineteen...(among other things)...is the last year that a young woman will marry purely for love." And of course, that's the answer to my wondering why? why Mr. England as the last one? It is also the reason I was so calm, only a little down after finding both Jim and Jeff twice out and driving home without any immediate memories to distract me. The scene I thought of with Jim was easier, simpler, more spontaneous than Jeff"s. I would just ask some questions (of course, it was all tentative, based on his reaction to seeing me) and then say something to the effect: I know this may mean nothing to you or it may be too late, but for what it's worth, I really want to apologize, etc. etc. profusely. He deserves it. Maybe it was simple cause I have so much more to say to Jeff. I want us to kiss both cheeks, be pleasantly, happily surprised and eager to talk.

I must be calm, patient, soothing to Scott, forgiving and forgetting of Carol. 

Jan on the phone frightened me the other day. She sounded like a redneck. Maybe she was just nervous. But I hate having her intimidated or frightened or whatever of me or anyone else. "Mother" is making it all so mysterious. How ridiculous can you get. Shouldn't I be as scornful of my eagerness to get away as I am of hers?

July 25

Tremendous! Listen! It's not what the two of you actually do, the kissing, the touching, the moving, the whispered odd words. It's what he does afterwards that creates how you remember it. (Creates how?)

Yippee! We leave in 3 days!

There's really nothing left with Christy. I don't like any of her friends -- only Annette makes me laugh, so very often I did laugh when I was with them, but it was not for the same reason. I laughed at their characters often. Sherri is wonderful, but silences tell a lot. The only thing in common anymore is music -- great to talk about, true, but it is really all there is left. The pleasantness of newness and discovery is gone.

Saturday, July 27

WE-EL. (As the Chicken Man narrator says) The T.V. is on the blink. The sewer backed up. I didn't get my paycheck. The rash on my arms that I got when I was little is back. I've been shitting, bleeding and eating all day. Jim M's dad has cancer. Ron hasn't got his calculator yet although "Mom" sent it last week. I dropped a watermelon tonite and it cracked on the floor. Nancy is coming over tomorrow to meet Terry Gale, Ron, Jennifer, Stephanie, and Aunt Marge. Jeanne is worried about the pain in her breasts. Jan and Ernie are trying to find a house in St. Louis. Becky will die when she finds out they're moving. Jean and Phil are trying to buy a house. Jeanne got drunk alone last week and when she knocked on her neighbor's door at 1:30 in the morning, four police came. Michele is going out with her friend from work. Jeff said very offhandedly we should go out Sunday nite. I have to pack. We're leaving Tonya's house at 7:00 a.m. Monday morning. I have to finish this 6-8 page paper before we leave. John Perry asked me to go to Cats with him.

But. 

 

July 29

La Brea Ave.

Van Nuys Blvd.

Stax & Sun

This black pen is wishful thinking. We're leaving. Cont. from last page: "Dad" lost money again at the Omaha track. Ron detests the McCullens. Jeff didn't call me.

The BUT was for this minor revelation from Friday night: The "Sheeet. It just doesn't matter, it just doesn't matter, etc."

Later. Continuing /|\ the attempt at fooling yourself that you really aren't frustrated, you really aren't on edge, you really aren't hating yourself is such a nasty feeling, so wretched that to tell you the truth, I don't care if giving it up forever means never having a crush. Fine. I'd be more than happy to sacrifice (all)(the) furious heartbeatings, shameless uncontrollable gruns and "I can't believe it! I can't believe I did that." Oh, I'll still be spontaneous at precious moments, but I'm very happy to be rid of that punish-yourself mentality. 

We are here. The living room was lovely, but the bathroom has a faint stale odor. The towels were brown. "It hides the dirt," I remember someone's mother advised. Chuck's bedroom has a queen sized bed no pun intended, and on the floor, a Sony TV, two lamps and a wicker hamper. The walls are empty, the windows have plain blinds. But the closet is stuffed and under the bed is a hopeless mess of opened envelopes, matchbooks, cologne samples, scraps of paper with first names and numbers, business cards, books, a bottle of Estee Lauder Golden Sun Pre-Tan Accelerator, cufflinks, popped corks. 

Am I so frightened because of Ron's fury? Or because my eyes are hot from lack of sleep? Or because he lives with a balding, chubby foreigner who flamboyantly welcomed us, "You're so pretty! Are you sisters?"