Thursday

A great start for the notebook, huh? skipping a day right off. Oh well, I went to bed at 10:00 the 17th. Yesterday I got a white stag insulated short jacket that I really like. I've also lost my pupil's badge. Watch me run out of ink... Well, I finished my Japanese H & L paper (ugh). Sports today was depressing, JG didn't seem to be warming up or responding to my presence. I should take the hint and drop it, I wonder if I will.

Tomorrow I have orchestra. I get annoyed at Mr. Cn, but he's really alright. Besides it's nice to be able to play music in school M seemed in the dumps this afternoon. I saw Z and "Rev" having what looked like a diminutive family counseling with DE. H says that Je was saying that Hy has really been having problems, like she thinks she's too fat (hah!) and that she wants to commit suicide.

I haven't meditated a second time yet today, I'll do it right after I turn out the light. I have this French thing orally first thing tomorrow morning and I'm going to have to book on the subway. Quel drag! I wasted my time watching Kung Fu and The Streets of San Francisco (A Quinn Martin Production). There was a bit of love interest in the latter but enough graphic stuff for my taste. Alas! GOD AM I DUMB. Remind me to write to P, she sent the Poulenc. Remind me to write Mrs. C, she finally wrote back.

About that earring. I know I'm playing a game because it isn't mine, and what I'm gonna do if he produces it. On the other hand, perhaps he's playing a game too, and there is no earring at all. In which case we're both playing a game ~ but it's a togetherness game... a kind of excuse. I'd like to think that's how it is. If he does come up with an earring ~ I have an idea. I'll get an easy bottle of peppermint soap and say I'll trade it. That would be a fine way to avoid the subject of whether or not it's mine. HMM. Maybe that's not such a good idea. I also realized something else, if there really isn't any earring then he can keep forgetting until he leaves and then say that ~ oh god I don't know what. Gotta meditate then drop off to slumberland.

Friday

I left school with Mom right after the parent/class meeting. We went into Harvard Sq. and Mom had lunch at Bailey's. Then we searched elsewhere and ended up at Sunday where I got a pair of les jeans w. 29! Now, if only I don't gain back an ounce of weight, and they stretch out after having shrunk, then I'll be in luck! They fit really well. Then, at the Coop I got a gorgeous Nitya shirt that would go with anything fancy or casual. It was eleven bucks but I think it was worth it.

The back fell off one of my own studs so I'm wearing J2's. Tomorrow I have three letters I absolutely must write: Mrs. C, P, and J2. And don't let me forget! Mom cut my hair a little in front so it doesn't do the buffalo effect, it looks good. I didn't meditate before dinner, again, so I'll have to meditate before sleeping again. It's almost easier this way.

I have this incredibly annoying tic in my right eye. It's driving me up a wall. Perhaps if I get alot of sleep it'll go away (hopeful, hopeful). Well it's past twelve so au reservoir. (By the way, Mom finally met H, who is going to spend the night the 14th.)

Saturday

I slept until 1. Nothing terribly thrilling occurred all day, except the water heater broke. Jesus, what next? I'm not going to the party (it's 11:00) as you can see. I doubt I'm missing very much anyway. Happily, I fit into my washed jeans. I love the program MASH. It's the best damn thing on TV. Nana keeps calling and Mom forgets to call back. I hope she never gets like Nana. I wrote P + Mrs. C.

Right now I feel like saying something really poetic and philosophical but nothing seems to come out. I've discovered the tic in my eye only goes when I'm upset or irritated or annoyed. That's strange, it doesn't happen as much when my parents aren't around. They went out to dinner. I mounted my school orchestra music on cardboard. I haven't been practicing for great lengths of time recently, and this too bothers (my eye just ticced). I like to think once I have this next lesson I'll get back on schedule.

I'd like to talk to Mr. M. I don't really know what I'd say, but I'd just like the feeling of talking to him and him giving me warm, sane advice. I had a dream last night that I was saving the people through a game. and then there was before that just flying around, and everything was so happy and nice. Why can't I have that feeling when I'm awake?

Guess what the latest parent grudge is... now get this ~ I moan too much! I can't fucking believe it! Would they rather have me running around swearing? You can't control a moan. It's a release of frustrations and a natural function. It helps one stay balanced. And Mom says, "We all groan too much." BULLSHIT. That pisses me off no end. I can't believe that I won't be allowed to moan for God's sake! And that includes loud sighs too I suppose, or little hopeless noises ~ what is this? Does everything that comes out of one's mouth have to be a goddam WORD? I suppose you can permit yawning and coughing, provided of course that you cover and muffle them. It's this kind of petty goddam suppression that drives me up a wall. And I just don't understand it.

The whole thing leaves me feeling sad, frustrated and upset. I wonder if I'm missing a good party. Probably. Nothing has worked out for me really perfectly in so long... nothing has come out for once the way I wanted it to in ages, years is it? I don't know. If only something some one really meaningful thing would turn out all right. But it doesn't happen, does it.

You know, I came to the conclusion that I probably never, given my present physical shape (My father just called he said I sounded "about a hundred thousand miles away," that's about how I feel. My alarm clock makes annoying little soft chiming noises every time the second had goes around.) as I was saying, I'm too much of a coward, and I also have too much hope, unfounded though it may be. But if I lost an arm or a leg or a hand, or my face was deformed, I think I could kill myself, that being more cowardly than trying to live with my disability. It's not that I'm self-destructive, it's that I don't want any pain or suffering, beyond a certain point. It's that I'm scared.

Also, I've been thinking alot about how easy it is to kill people, and what it must feel like to kill someone. It all has to do with death which is so fascinating. Death without pain sounds OK to me. I hope I die painlessly, in bed. It's not death that's so horrible, it's what comes before. The pain, or senility, or the not caring any more, or the desperation of a search for peace. God only knows it's an awful burden to be a weight on people, and to know how much happier everyone would feel if you were dead, or to feel so useless + purposeless that you see no point in going on.

Who are the people who kill? I don't mean for survival or something like that, but out of love to kill? I find them fascinating, although I feel nothing in common with them. But with clinical emotionlessness I can say I find the idea of killing, of watching someone die, or plead with you for their life, interesting, almost amusing. Could I be a murderer? That fact that I can ask the question and not be sure of the answer worries me. How much of all this is latent in everyone.

I think perhaps I'll go to bed, since I can't have a nice warm bath. I have GBYSO tomorrow and I suppose I'll have to get up at ten. I know everyone at school too well. There's no one there I could really love. DB has lately begun to disgust me thoroughly. I don't know why. Why isn't my meditation working to calm me down + make me happy anymore.

[ commentary | previous entry | next entry ]

© Copyright 2002 Pascale Soleil.
Last updated: 11/10/02; 2:25:32 PM.
Comments by: YACCS