Thursday, Thanksgiving Day

Well, I guess no one's perfect. I could kick myself for not writing yesterday, but I guess I won't bother. Nothing much happened anyway.

You know, I seem to have lost my drive, my impetus, my enthusiasm for doing things. I want to know why. And how to get it back for myself. It's hurting me in school and at home. Speaking of which... I seem to have a harder and harder time tolerating my parents. Why? I really don't have any answers for anything.

We had tea-smoked duck for Thanksgiving dinner. Boy was that good, but I really overstuffed myself. All my hard work exercising. I haven't been doing much of that either. God, what's wrong with me?

Tomorrow I'm going in to Cambridge, to Terra-Cotta, to get some silver and earring thingies and maybe some beads, and then to Harvard Sq. for another notebook like this.

I had a dream last night. I don't remember very much about it except some of it was about a group of people who could fly and a group who couldn't (which I was in) and their political and social disputes, and how those who couldn't were discriminated against. I also dreamt about a man old enough to be my father who I led on and was then disgusted with, and of course, I dreamt about my friend JG. Actually, that's surprising. I hardly ever dream about people I really like. My subconscious trying to tell me something. I guess I said this yesterday, but I really miss him. And it's all so dumb. I really would rather not care. I would be so much easier and better, for me and for everyone else. Oh shit.

I washed my hair with Clairol's Herbal Essence Shampoo, and Wella Care Conditioner and it is shiny and soft and smells yummy. I'll wash it again Sunday. Well, maybe I won't, I can't know. I've got to start my JH & L paper some time, but I just can't seem to get going. It's the same dumb thing all over again. Why is everything so hard? It used to seem so easy. I think it did, at least that's how I remember it.

Why isn't there some kind of instant cure? I've been waiting so long. Sure, compared to anyone's whole life it's not long. But why should anyone have to wait that long. Why do I have this feeling of futility, desperation and unhappiness. I don't know what's wrong. I'm getting lonely and emotional, I can't accept things, I always have to suppress myself. Sometimes I feel like shutting myself away in a sound proof closet and just SCREAMING.

Back to the real world. SF is giving a party out at Belmont Saturday night for all the AHers. I don't know if I could take that. But in a way I'd like to go. If I could get there. If I don't have to do a ton of work.

Friday

I got $5 worth of silver and $1 worth of beads, and notebook #2. Just about in time too, huh? Already I have made Margo, Phyllis and Pearl their Christmas presents. That's pretty good. I stuffed myself again at dinner. What a shame. And now I'm too bloated to do exercises.

Mom and Dad are driving me up a fucking wall. I hate it. Especially Daddy is being super-obnoxious. What's gotten into him lately? Maybe he's got a bit what I have, only he's showing it differently. Either that or he's going senile. Something's going to crack pretty soon and I'm going to yell or scream or swear or throw things or something. I really haven't been more irritable and jumpy in a long time, if ever. If I wasn't off the stuff more or less forever, I might smoke some dope. But at least I'm no longer into that kind of expensive idiocy. I have better things to do with my money and my time.

I think, though, that I desperately need some kind of distraction. At least when I'm in school I'm distracted. The two main things being social + academic. The main social issue is keeping Borochoff from tying me down, and getting Grebel to pay some kind of real attention to me. The first I might be able to do, the second looks harder + harder each day of vacation.

I'm going to give Michelle a dainty silver ring I made. Just as a token of appreciation to her. If I can get a propane torch I can do soldering and make really nice jewelry. That would be a gas (ho ho). I want to call her up now. Just to have someone. It's all very well to write things down, but a graph paper notebook can't comfort you back.

Sherbet. Asterisk. That's how you spell them.

It's really incredible to think how close to the end of this notebook I am. I wonder if the next one will have a different tone or be more of the same. I'm afraid to ask if I've evolved in this notebook alone. The answer is probably no. But I do know some things I didn't know before. But then again I may have forgotten some other things. Like how to be happy. And responsibly irresponsible. Like how to print, and then how to let your handwriting fall apart. It seems that perhaps the only thing I've learned in here is how to cry again. And for that, I guess I'm grateful.

Tomorrow I'm going to work full tilt on my Japanese H paper. Maybe I'll get most of it done. That sure would be nice. Oh my god Pascale, WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM? WHEN YOU WANT TO CRY WHY DON'T YOU GO AHEAD AND DO IT YOU SILLY ASSHOLE DUMMY? Take a look at that mess I just made. Good grief. When I go nuts it'll be really spectacular. No fussypooting around, it'll be like fireworks on Midsummer Night. The fairies and goblins will have laid a magic geas on me long ago and far away. Or is it far ago + long away? And does it make any difference at all?

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