1977 - January 1978
19 & 20
My life is
going to begin to move,
and I have a feeling that it's going to happen
school, and suffering from my daily case of the "What
shall I do to pass the time?"
blahs. The house is clean, Al Stewart's "Past, Present
Future" is on the stereo. A batch of chocolate chip cookies is
baking in the oven, and a load of
clothes is spinning in the dryer.
be happy, I know. There will probably come a time when I look back on
lazy afternoons and wish I could re-live them.
But I'm not
happy. It's nothing I can put my finger on
... just a vague loneliness and
boredom. There's nothing interesting to do. I feel like a little kid
vacation, whining to Mommy that there's "nothing to doooo!"
I could do the ironing, or read my Lit homework, or vacuum the rug. If
you're talking about
trivial non-essential ways to pass the time, I can think of a hundred
of them. I
could write the letters I owe to Rudy, Robin or Dee Dee ... I could
scour the bathtub ... I
could hem my new jeans ...
If I had
any sense at all I would be sitting in my World Lit class right now,
of hiding here in the reference section of the brand-new library. Why
do I keep skipping
class?? At least I could be doing some homework while I sit
here ... but no, here I am,
scribbling meaningless banalities in an orange notebook. Quite a
student, aren't I?
Disciplined, conscientious, hard-working. Hah.
I feel GOOD today. My horoscope and my biorhythm say this should be a
day. That would be a nice change.
I'll go to the Hilton and have a Coke and a smoke.
dies at a baseball game. Small boy w/his snob parents. 2 teenage boys.
middle aged men. One old lady. Diff. reactions: Staring. Getting up and
his wallet. Hysteria. Nausea. Trying to help. Ignoring him.
I saw my
new cousin, Kelli Ann St. John, tonite for the very first time and I
it would be interesting to write down my very first impressions of her.
Sometime in the
future when she is grown & a long-established part of my life,
I can read what
I've written here and see if my impressions were accurate.
I drove over to Grandma St. John's around 6:30. Jody brought the baby
for a couple of days, leaving Jerry at home. We walked into Grandma's
house and were
immediately admonished to "be quiet, the baby's asleep!" I was
at first because I was dying to see her, but Jody said she would
probably wake up soon. In
the meantime I looked at some pictures of her, and I was immediately
struck by her
incredibly big brown eyes. Gorgeous eyes, with long, thick black
lashes. I tiptoed into
Grandma's room and took a peek at Kelli Ann, laying fast asleep in the
room was dark and she was laying on her tummy, covered partially by a
blanket, but I could
see that she's tiny - like Jody - and that she has a crop of short
black hair. She
woke up and Jody brought her out to the kitchen, the first thing she
look right at Scott and I and smile the goofiest baby smile. I think I
fell in love that
minute. She never stopped smiling the whole time her Mom held her, and
she waved her hands
at Grandma and me, wobbling her head and grinning in delight at
everything. Her eyes are
even bigger and darker in person, and she is
tiny, although Jody says she's
"getting chubby around the thighs." She squirmed around in Jody's lap,
trying to crawl onto the kitchen table, reaching and grabbing for
everything in sight.
Jody says she's already outgrown her carseat, and that she wiggled out
of it several
times during the trip to Seattle. She was especially taken with a
chiming owl mobile
hanging above the table, and she tried to stand up on Jody's lap and
time she fussed was when Jody handed her to me. Her little face
and she let out a howl. The minute she was back in her Mama's lap she
was all smiles
again. Grandma said I shouldn't feel bad - Kelli won't even let Grandma
standing up already (with help) and she just cut her first tooth. She's
eight months old and will probably be gigantic the next time I see her.
To this day --
even now that she's a big grown-up married lady with children of her own -- my cousin Kelli is one of my
favorite people on the planet. (And gosh I miss her mom.)
feel very good and I don't know why. Maybe I'm about to come
down with something. Whatever it is, I feel restless and uneasy and a
little cranky. I
don't feel like sitting here in the Hilton reading ... I don't feel
to class ... I don't feel like going to the library. I don't feel like
and I don't feel like reading. I'm not in the mood for anything and it
awful. Maybe I'm just tired.
Unforgotten - Laura Conway
or what? My Biorhythm chart for today gives me an 11 ... 5 for
for Intellectual and only a 1 for Physical.
Why am I sitting in
this class?? Scott got us high on some Columbian this morning and
my brain is in no shape to be trying to participate in a class I'm
already blowing as
it is. (Random Note #1: I definitely do NOT like R.W. She gives off
bad, conceited vibes
that I really can't stand.) (Random Note #2: WHAT exam?!?!) (Random
Note #3: Get me
the hell outta here ... !!)
would probably have noticed him earlier if he had not been seated at
the top of
the bleachers, nondescript and obscured by the crowd of five hundred.
No one, not one
person in the crowd, tore their eyes from the field for even
has died noiselessly of heart failure - slumped down in his seat, head
one side, eyes closed, mouth slack. He is holding a half-eaten box of
popcorn, which has
fallen in his lap and is spilling...)
1st to notice him is Curtis, an eight year old boy
"First Confession" and "My Oedipus Complex," compare two
childrens' view of the world
overcast morning that suits my mood particularly well. I am very
I'm angry with Scott and his arrogant attitude ... angry with Dad for
me like a ten year old ... disappointed with school, and with myself
for my lack of
over-tired and not looking good today at all. I have a massive
homework waiting for me when I get home, several large pieces of
homework due tomorrow.
What a rotten day this is shaping up to be.
I think that things between Scott and I are really hopeless. Just when
reach a point where I'm satisfied with our relationship and feel that
thinking the same way - that we're both on the same wavelength - some
argument will tear things apart. I swear to God there are times when I
almost hate him ...
when there doesn't seem to be any love at all. What is particularly
infuriating to me
is his selfishness and arrogance. He refuses to see anyone's side but
his own. For
all my pleading and crying and ranting and raving, there is simply no
way to turn him
beginning to get really tired of all this.
usual things between Scott and I worked themselves out, and everything
semi-OK between us. I can never stay mad at him, can I? Even when I'm
so angry I
could just KILL him, the minute he makes any kind of conciliatory move
I lose all resolve.
don't feel like going out tonight, so I'm staying home &
Later on I'll smoke some Columbian and listen to records or something.
Scott is going
to a hall party with some of his friends. I hate hall parties - they're
noisy, expensive, and filled with people I don't know. So I actually
staying home. Maybe I'll try to write some poetry later, when I'm
My dream on 10/23/77
in human form, a tall heavy-set man, and he was following me around
definite case of the first-thing-Monday-morning,
BLAHS. Actually, that's not entirely true - I do look awful (my hair
wouldn't cooperate this morning) but I don't feel all THAT bad. Just
tired and wispy and longing for my nice warm bed. I have hopes that
this day might improve
point: Dad is home today and tomorrow, so no nice, quiet, private
for a couple of days. Sigh. One happy note: I got an "A" on my Lit
SNS: kiss my nose and
call me love.
So very sad. Only half of me cares enough to write about it: the other
half wants to
find a place between the walls and hide. I am not happy with myself. I
feel sick, and
dirty, and exasperated with Terri for being everything she is. Her face
in the mirror is
ugly - an ugliness that transcends everything else, every good quality
she has been made
to believe she possesses. An ugliness that reaches out and takes hold
of everything she
says and does.
see her crying at the party last night? I saw her.
She sat in the chair and
turned her face to the wall, but I saw her, and I saw the two tears she
cried. I don't
know why she was crying, exactly. She was sad. He wasn't listening to
wouldn't look at her. He was there and she wasn't. Lately, he is always
and she never is.
God ... is this the way life must be? A
constant round of hangovers and wet pillows and
waiting for the phone to ring so I can crawl on verbal knees and beg
This, then, is life? Love? The world? God, you know I don't expect the
relationship. He is not Adam and I am not Eve (although I'm sure A
& E had their
ups and downs). I only want to know that I am on the same wavelength,
in synch, with even
one single person in this world. I do not want to resign myself to
like parties anymore. I don't think I ever did. I am fiercely jealous
other girls, prettier girls, girls who have poise and nice clothes and
perfect hair, girls
who can dance in the middle of a crowded room without embarrassment.
Those are the girls
you watch and despise and desperately wish to emulate. Girls
I would give anything to be
myself away and join the crowd? I can't. I can't let go of my
inhibitions, because that's the only thing that distinguishes me from
the dancers. I can open my coat and smile and parade my body like women
in the market, but in a crowd I am invisible. I have the type of face
you look at once and forget. Not because I'm not pretty - I can be -
but because the instant I'm pushed into one of those frantic,
smoke-clogged rooms filled with endless and endless faces, something
inside of me freezes. My face takes on an automatic expression of "God
I wish I could go home." Not a
dancer's face at all.
he see in these "parties"? (Is that what they really are? Parties?
Swarms of people anesthetizing themselves with drink and drugs, bumping
into each other and not even remembering it the next morning ... the
same faces, the same conversations every time? That's a party
do not fit into this part of his life because I do not fit in, period.
It is all
right. Everything is peace again and we are very happy. Terri is sleepy
and wants to crawl between the sheets and lose herself in dreams.
Tomorrow must be better: it cannot be any worse than today was. All the
words have been said and the tears cried and there is nothing more to
do but begin again in the morning.
he is ... is he thinking about her? Did he read the words she wrote on
the napkin and stuffed into his pocket?
("I love you, Sweetheart. Maybe I can change a little ...? I love you
enough to try, anyway.") This
is not a compromise, but for now
it will suffice. She loves him
(PAGES MISSING, I
Hallowe'en afternoon. He just left and now she is warm and happy.
they will take her little sister trick or treating.
Bought some speed from Kevin this afternoon & it's very nice.
& I, Halloween 1977
We're probably dressed for a party: I don't remember the specifics.
(I wonder if I got too drunk & had to be carried home that
I write about? I spent a while this evening leafing through some old
- I've decided to edit them, in case something should happen and they
end up in the
wrong hands - and I was struck by how dull & repetitious a lot
of them are. It seems
that no matter how old or young I am, 15 or 19, my problems have a way
themselves: Terri is lonely
and wishes she had a boyfriend. Terri has a crush on
someone who doesn't know she's alive. Terri falls in love. Terri loses
Terri drinks too much. Terri sinks into depression. I
really hadn't paid too much
attention to the way things go around in circles this way until now.
Listen to my awful love poem that I wrote for my Writing class. (It's
supposed to be bad and cliché-ridden):
love you with my heart and soul.
Tho I am half, you make me whole.
You'll find no truer love than mine
So will you be my Valentine?
Things I Would
Like To Experience In My Lifetime
a delivery boy ring my doorbell and hand me a giant
bouquet of flowers ...
in an apartment alone
and decorating it any way I want...
to an expensive department store with enough money to buy a complete
new wardrobe ...
through one whole week feeling completely happy ...
in the Garden of Gethsemane and picking up vibrations from two thousand
years ago ...
Well ... except
for that last one, I've managed to hit everything on the list so
"Curtains," Elton John
"Calling Occupants," Klaatu
"Songbird," Fleetwood Mac
"Wond'ring Aloud," Jethro Tull
"Suzanne," Noel Harrison
"Wedding Song (There Is Love)," Paul Stookey
WHAT I WATCH ON TV:
- Rhoda, On Our Own
- Little House On The Prairie
- The Fitzpatricks, Three's Company, One Day At A Time,
- Eight Is Enough
The Waltons, James At 15, Class of '65
- Donny & Marie, ABC Movie of the Week
- Bob Newhart, Operation Petticoat, Love Boat, Saturday Night Live
very depressed the last couple of days. Nothing unusual, is it? And
I've been thinking that what I OUGHT to do is sit down with this
journal and write it
all out ... all the things that are bothering me, and what I should do
about them, and
introspective stuff like that. But you know, the minute I pick up a pen
and look down on a
blank sheet of paper, something inside of me freezes. I can't get the
words out. I
can't even seem to write a letter to Rudy. I've wasted at least 100
stationery by writing one or two sentences, looking at what I've
it, and crumpling it all up.
the problem, Ter?
Friday morning 8:45 a.m.
Now I'm really
depressed. I've been looking forward to this day all week - a chance to
sleep in and be ALONE all day - and guess who decides to stay home? DAD. Just
Why has everything been so screwed up lately? Nothing has been going
right - a
giant fight with Scott yesterday, my grades going down again, bored and
nothing to do. Shit. I'm only living a half life. And now Dad decides
he's "sick" and stay home from work, so I have to stay holed-up in my
all day, just to get away from him.
stand him. I can't stand me. I can't stand anybody and I hate this
everything (still) so lousy? I mean, it seems like every journal I've
kept is filled with sad, angry, depressed-type things. Doesn't it ever
am I going to be happy? Ever?
too much of Scott. I want to crack him open like a walnut and poke
thoughts, know every secret thing about him. I want him to be as aware
and concerned about
as I am. I want him to recognize and cater to my sensitivity.
I want him to
quit expecting ME to change - I'm the way I am, and what can be done? I
want him to
write me poetry. I want him to send me unexpected letters in the mail,
filled with deep
thoughts and musings. I want him to always understand what I'm trying
God ... I
feel really rotten. Sunken. Sodden from all the tears of the past few
days. Headachey from
the effort of longing. I'm nothing but a half-person, living my stale,
half-life. Nothing ever changes. I'm going to be stuck at home,
Daddy and his $15 a week allowance, for the rest of my life.
The world - the real world,
with its excitement and its challenges - is too far away.
ugly. Disappointed. Unfulfilled. Bored. Lonely. Hungry for real
Longing for a friend I can lean on. Very, very depressed, above and
under and through it
happened to happy days? In spite of myself, there have been good times.
Summer of '72. The bus trip to California. Phil. Prom night. Early
dates with Scott. Things
that have sprung unexpectedly into view and then just as quickly ended.
Why can't we
just reach into a fishbowl and pull out a moment or two and relive it?
I could spend the
whole rest of my life reliving past moments.
little). Scott called this morning while I was busily writing all those
depressing thoughts, and
asked if I wanted to go to the Pike Place Market with him, his aunt
and her daughter Amy. Had a good time. Scott is out somewhere
tonite and I am sitting home
alone, but I am very tired so I don't really mind. Had a long, full
going to Cindy Koch's party tomorrow night anyway.
my hands. We won't be going to Cindy's until 8:30 or so, and
it's only 5:00 right now. Too early to start my hair or makeup. Dinner
Tater Tots) is cooking but won't be ready for a while. I am at loose
what will happen tonite. Will we go to Cindy's party, or will something
else come up? If we go to the party, will we have fun? Will I end up
getting too high and
screaming at Scott? That has happened so many times, and I don't even
really. Every once in a while I just seem to lose control of myself,
I've had too much too drink or when I'm having a rotten time, and I
apart. God, I hope that doesn't happen again.
an inspiration: think I'll lengthen and hem my black pants.
You'll never believe this, Journal, but in spite of all my good
intentions and inner resolve to never let it happen
again ... it happened. I drank too much
and freaked out at Scott when he was taking me home last night.
Sometimes I totally amaze
myself. I woke up this morning with a swirling headache and a bruised
stomach and dry
throat, and I feel lower than hell. I was positive that Scott would be
hating me, but
what's really beautiful is that he called early this afternoon and was
sweet and understanding and forgiving. Until he called, I was miserable
... if I owned
sackcloth and ashes, I would have been wearing them. After he called, I
lighter. I still have this crummy hangover to deal with, but at least
Scott loves me and
knows me well enough by now to understand that it wasn't ME screaming
last night ...
it was the nine beers I had. He is a genuinely kind, nice person at
so much to be writing about, if only the writer inside of me wasn't
stuck in neutral. Things I've read, things I've seen and done, people
had contact with, endless little things ...
instance: this afternoon I came across a copy of The Seattle P.I.,
9th, 1974. Dad kept it because that was the day Nixon resigned, but the
wasn't what I found most interesting - at least, not as interesting as
Entertainment section, where I found a list of the Top 40 songs for
that week. For some
reason that list really took me back to that summer, three years ago.
The page is already
getting yellow and faded and looks a century old.
I on August 9, 1974? I really must try and find out ...
is in my diary for that summer:
August 9, 1974
and closer to camp ... in a way
I'm excited, but I'm going to hate saying
goodbye to Phil. I'll miss him so much.
He came over and spent the day after I got home from babysitting; we
around the house. Cray came over for
a sec (with Doug E.) to pick up his shirts.
Phil and me walked to the drugstore so I
could pick up some stuff for camp. He
stayed until 10, we sat outside in the backyard
looking at the stars. I love him.
that there is NO mention of President Nixon or the news of that day
indicative of the way my personal life was/is more important than
anything else. When the
first men landed on the moon and live telecasts were being sent to earh
on television, my
brother and I got bored and
went outside to play! When President Kennedy was
assasinated (I was five), my best friend Patty Rae and I discussed it
for a few minutes,
and then we went back to work on our playhouse. It's kind of a shame
grown up in the middle of so much exciting history and have paid so
little attention to
it. Maybe that's the way most children are.
14, 1977 is:
where I was four years ago, and realizing how far I've come ... a pile
of clean laundry on the floor, which should be put away ... KING-AM
radio instead of the
usual FM, because I'm trying to catch up on the latest songs ... green
chicken a la king for lunch ... reading the August 9, 1974 Seattle P.I.
... having to buy
"Mother Courage" for my Lit class ... wondering how I can possibly
afford to go
back to school next quarter ... Christmas drawing closer, and with it
all the joy and
magic of the season ... re-reading "Looking For Mr. Goodbar," and STILL
over the ending ... knowing that I should clean my room before it
reaches the Crisis Stage
... but my usual case of "no energy" ... wondering if I'm getting a
typewriter for Christmas, and wishing I had it now ... 4:00 in the
afternoon, and Terri
V. is alive and well and living in the U.S.A. ...
Dad is in a rotten mood because the furnace has died on us and the
all fouled up, so I'm "hiding" here in my room to avoid him. When he's
in one of his rages, the smartest thing to do - if you want to preserve
your sanity - is
to stay out of the way.
the house is freezing cold. Guess I'll have to pile on extra blankets
in the cafeteria at school. Hungry. Scott is standing in line, waiting
breakfasts. Noisy. Here he comes - good. I could eat a horse.
was good - an egg, hashbrowns and toast. Kind of warmed me up a little
made me feel a little better on this dull, nothing day. Tomorrow Dad
begins another three
day weekend, dammit. I can't stand it when he's around on weekends.
very last thing I feel like doing
is writing a poem about you.
out who-knows-where, and I am busy sitting.
shake off the lethargy.
should I do tonite? Get high and write ridiculous poetry? Watch "The
Musketeers" or "Mary White" (can't decide which) on TV? Write my
pathetically overdue letter to Rudy in Canada? Work on my scrapbook or
my photo albums?
Call Mom and get her Christmas lists? WHAT?
last night, the first snow of the season. Waking up this morning to
find the world blanketed in
white made an ordinary day something special; I love snow, especially
the first snow
of the year. Makes me want to break out the old Christmas albums and
happy isn't the word. "Happy" should be reserved for special times. Content
is more like it. No
reason ... just content. Scott called a
little while ago, invited me to Thanksgiving dinner this week at his
aunt and uncle's. That really made me feel good. I've always believed
Thanksgiving dinner should be shared by a lot of people, not a turkey
TV dinner on a TV
tray alone in my bedroom.
Scott and I are going out tonite. Don't know where or when yet.
like writing. Specifically, I feel like writing about my life and the
way I feel
about things today, now, this minute.
night I spent the night at Scott's house with him and his family. We
drinking a little beer, watching TV, having a very relaxed, pleasant
time. Scott and
I fell asleep on his bed -- we slept
through "Saturday Night Live" -- and woke up
around 1 a.m. when his mom came in to bring us some extra blankets. I
Scott's bed, wearing a borrowed pair of jammies, and he slept on the
sofa-bed next to
me. This morning I woke up when Squirt, their little dog, jumped on the
bed and started
chewing on my head. We ate breakfast together, around the
table -- a breakfast of eggs and
hashbrowns and sausage and toast, a real Sunday breakfast --
and then spent the morning
reading the Sunday paper, sitting around in the living room talking,
Dad and I had dinner at Grandma and Grandpa's, and again it was dinner
around the table, a real family time.
the way I should be living ...
with a real family. Eating around the table, spending time
together. I really miss that kind of life. I don't hate Dad,
of course. I love him, because he's my father and
you're supposed to love your father, aren't you? I just hate the way
living here. There's no warmth, no real understanding, no older woman
to talk to, no
"family." Living in this house makes me feel sad and lonely and like
missing out on something.
love someone and still not enjoy living with them.
Monday afternoon 5 p.m.
my room, as usual. The first thing Dad said when he got home today was,
"How do you like this digusting weather?" See? All he does is
I'm getting so tired of hearing it all the time. He complains about the
commercials, work, his health, bills, the family, traffic, the people
he works with, the
neighbors, practically everything imaginable. It's very tiresome. I
hope to God
I'm not like that when I get older.
letter from Dee Dee today.
baking in the oven. Trying to decide if I'm able to stomach a steak or
Hungry. Very, very cold today - freezing, in fact. Wish it would snow
some more tonite. I
need a good thick snow to raise my spirits.
stoned, watching television.
is slanted again and very, very mellow.
thoughts ... thinking is soft. The bed is soft, my body is soft, all
sounds are soft.
should find a song to share.
song can rival "Vincent" for pure beauty of melody and thought.
is cold somewhere but it can't touch me through the softness.
love Scott. Love is soft - a soft pure feeling.
love someone and he loves me back.
alone in the Hot Dog Hilton, drinking a Tab and looking out the window.
probably snow later today because it is very cold and the sky is gray.
I am feeling good
today. Looking forward to Thankgsiving in two days.
What am I
thinking about? I know ... where will I be in two years? I will be
approaching my 22nd birthday, but other than that I have no idea what
I'll be doing or where I'll be. Slightly uncomfortable feeling - having
no real plans for my life. Will I still be in school? Will I be living
on my own, or married?
ago now (here I go again, delving into the past), I was in my senior
Glacier. I was sad about Steve, wishing I had someone to love. Rhonda
and I were very
ever write a book that people will read and love, the way that Laura
Wilder did? I've been reading a book about her life, and it's really
She was an incredible woman. I wonder if people will remember me
after I die.
very guilty about not going to Thanksgiving Eve services with Grandma
Grandpa, after I said I would. I hate it when I let them down.
I had (another) argument last night, and he hasn't called all day - so
here I sit in semi-seclusion, a hermit, alone on a Friday night with no
one to talk to but a rumpled teddy bear, a television and my journal.
This dumb argument was, as usual, largely my fault ... consequently I
am too proud to call him up and beg forgiveness. HE certainly won't. I
have the impression that he's going to let me sit here and stew in my
own juice, seeing how long it'll take me to crack and call him.
Actually, I don't feel half bad. I mean, I'm not sitting here wallowing
in desolation or anything: I'm reading a good book, there's some good
stuff on TV, I have a couple of joints left. I'm not happy, but I'm not
miserable, either. I think I might possibly manage to live without
Scott S. for an evening.
I wonder if I really love him. Most of the time I feel certain I do;
time I question it is when we've had a fight. I wonder if I'm more
when things are smooth between us or when they're rocky? I'm probably
objective when it comes to Scott. I either love him to distraction or
unreasonably, and neither feeling should be the norm.
what I wish I could do, Journal? More than anything in the world, I
could grow up.
That's right - I wish I could grow up, get past this fourteen year old
stage I'm at. I've been fourteen for five years now, and it's getting
to be a very big bore. I'm going to be twenty (chronologically, anyway)
in three weeks, and it would be nice to feel my age for a change. It
would be nice to be in control of myself - to get past these adolescent
emotions. I'd like to spend an entire evening with Scott without
blowing up at him for no reason, without crying over nothing, without
hearing him justifiably accude me of being a "baby." I AM
baby - an over-sensitive, selfish, unthinking baby, and I'm sick and
tired of hearing
him say it and knowing that it's the truth.
Saturday night 7:30 p.m.
for Scott and Wayne to come pick me up - we're going to Steve
Peterson's party tonite. Scott called this morning, so once again our
resolved - I'd better make damned sure I don't blow it tonite, though.
getting too high. Wish he'd hurry up and get here. All I can do is
nervously pile on
makeup and mess with my hair.
we did have another fight after all. How many does that make? Seems
our nights out together end in argument.
... I feel like someone should amputate my head.
Do I ever have one heck
of a hangover. I can't even get out of bed. I had seven beers last
which is about four over my limit - and now my head and my stomach are
telling me all about it.
Dad will be gone to the Seahawks game today, so I'll have some time to
myself to recuperate.
feeling rotten (physically). Just took two aspirins to calm my aching
head, but I
really feel horrible. WHY do I drink too much at parties?? At the time
those seven beers
barely touched me - I felt like I could go on drinking all night and
never slur a word.
It's always the morning-after that makes me realize I went over my
the Hotdog Hilton. Back in school. Should be in class, but the
almost-December feelings are inside of me and I feel restless. I want
I'm not quite sure what it is or how to go about finding it. (Damn. I
wish I had a
cigarette! Why didn't I bring any?? Should I ask the lady sitting next
Don't think I have the nerve!)
Everything is nerves. My nerves are quickening and racing and I'm VERY
restless. I feel vague and uneasy, like something should be happening
but isn't. What
do I want??
little girl sitting with her mother at the table next to me is drawing
on pieces of
notebook paper ... every few minutes she whispers "Mommy!" and shows
she's drawn. She's saying something now about going to the North Pole
Santa Claus. Santa Claus!?! Do children still believe in
him?? It seems as though I never
believed in him; at least, not all the way. We're expected to be so
early. I wanted desperately to believe in him - to see him come sliding
down the chimney
on Christmas Eve. How do they expect children today to believe in Santa
sitting in the toy department of every store in town? One Santa is hard
enough to believe
in; several hundred is impossible. Little kids are smart. They can
smell a rat when Santa
turns up looking a little different at every store they visit. And that
business of making
little kids sit on some strange man's lap and having their picture
taken with him ...
that's almost ridiculous. With older kids it might be OK, but smaller
usually scared to death and they make a giant fuss. I think it would be
a lot more fun for
some kids to have their picture taken with their father or grandpa or
someone dressed up
to LOOK like Santa, only they know who it really is and that Daddy is
"pretending" to be Santa. That way they would be more comfortable, and
they'd probably be more willing to relax and smile, and you'd get a lot
picture of two
people you love. Later, when they're a little older, you could
take them to see a store-Santa. I certainly knew a lot about raising
children when I didn't HAVE any.
course, this is all ridiculously trivial and I don't really know why I
whole page writing about it. I will probably go down in history as
having the most boring
journals ever written. That is, what's left
of them ... I've been going
back and re-reading them, especially the ones I kept in high school,
and I've been
censoring the hell out of them. I feel bad about doing that - playing
censor to my own
history - but some of the things I wrote back then are so intensely
personal, that the
idea of anyone getting their hands on them and reading what I've
written scares the
heck out of me. Especially after I die. What if I died TOMORROW, and
Dad or someone took
it upon themselves to go through my journals? What would they think??
about all the dumb mistakes I've made, or the stupid things I've
I've been drunk or high, or just the rotten things I've written about
when I've been angry or depressed, and they would wonder if they ever
really knew me
at all. I don't think I'd want them to know about those sides of me.
I wonder why I started keeping these journals in the first place. I
wanted to be another Anne Frank or Alice (as in "Go Ask Alice"). What a
I've never been articulate enough to qualify and I never will be.
in History now. Not in a good mood but I don't know why. Feeling very
quiet. I hardly said a word in Writing. I must give the impression of
being a terrible
snob, but actually I just can't think of anything I need to say.
Colonies (as seen by England) are an economic element of England
affairs (other than economic) are left largely to the colonies.
- Wool Act of 1699
Act of 1733
Act of 1751
Act of 1732 (fur hats)
Act of 1750
developing need for economic stability
2 asparagus ferns
1 Wandering Jew
1 Grape Leaf
day of December! And this has been one of the nicest days I've had in a
long time. It really has.
home from school today - no real reason, except my period started last
and I was feeling crampy and tired when I woke up. I slept in until 10,
when Scott called
me from school to say "hi." Then he came by after school, and we spent
afternoon together. Layed on my bed in my room watching TV &
played the organ and sang Christmas carols at the tops of our lungs ...
made scrambled egg
sandwiches and chocolate milk ... he brought me an album of Christmas
music, and before he
left we sat in the living room (he in the armchair, me in his lap) and
listened to the
album straight through. I love him so, so much.
Saturday nite 1:35 a.m.
wish I could write better because I have some important things to say,
but I sprained a finger on my right hand yesterday and I can barely
hold a pen. What I
want to say, basically, is that I think I've reached a turning point in
Nothing momentous or earth-shattering ... it's just that today and
begun to realize that things aren't always going to be as stagnant and
they have been. Things WILL change. I WILL get my drivers license. I
WILL get a car. I
WILL move out on my own. My life is going to begin to move, and I have
a feeling that
it's going to happen soon.
I remember this. It was a genuine turning point. I was sitting in Scott's car that night,
and all of a sudden I just knew that
everything was going to work out, that things would change for the
better soon, that my life was about to get very interesting.
I remember I tried to explain my epiphany to Scott,
and he thought I was nuts. (As usual.) So I just
kept the feeling to myself. As it turned
out, though, I was absolutely correct: within a few months, everything about my life began to change.
sprained finger feels a lot better and I can write again. What I wrote
last night probably sounds kind of goofy and melodramatic, right?
Wrong. This is something I really feel, something almost tangible
enough to touch. I've NEVER had a feeling like this before - so
I've been tearing myself down so much lately that
I'd forgotten what it feels like to feel positive about my life. And
not just vague,
all-purpose self assurances that "things will probably be OK, someday."
true, genuine feeling that my life is in the process of changing RIGHT
write more about it later.
always: sitting in the Hilton. As always: skipping Lit. I look rotten
today (my clothes, my hair) but actually I don't really care. Another
draggy Monday morning, dead tired. Scott lost $13 playing cards last
night and he didn't get home until after 3 a.m., so he feels terrible.
I feel like Christmas and all holiday spirit is about ten million miles
away. It doesn't even feel like December. Damn, I wish it would snow! A
good, thick, heavy snow to blot out everything. Sunshine in December is
the ultimate in depression. Guess it's a good thing I don't live in
Florida! Maybe I should move to the
Christmas season has been doomed right from the start, anyway - I
"Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer" on TV this year for the first time I
remember. (I caught the last 25 minutes, but by then it was too late -
missed Clarice singing "There's Always Tomorrow." Might as well write
this Christmas right now. Ha.)
that repulsive guy at the table across from me would quit staring. He
is the low
point of my morning every day.
something Scott wrote for his Speech class:
I would like to say that you should have given us a warning about the
book before you assigned it. It was almost frightening, the number of
times I saw myself
in what the author was saying.
my favorite part in the book, though, was the section dealing with the
importance of gut-level communication in a relationship. I never
reallyused to think about
things like that back in high school. I had a couple offriends that I
was very close to
since elementary school. We always did everything together. We got in
trouble together, we
hung around outside of school a lot, and most of our teenage
experiences were experienced
did a lot of growing and learning together, and we all thought we could
open and honest about things. This was true, but as I look back I
realize that it was
mostly about superficial things that really seemed importantat the time
weren't. We hardly ever got to the point where we could really open up
to one another
and share our opinions freely. Sure, sometimes after we had a little
too much to drink we
would get into honest and open discussions without getting embarassed
or feeling foolish.
But for the most part we talked from the surface, being careful not to
say anything that
the other guy might consider "weird." And at the time, I guess we were
or less satisfied with our friendship being what it was.
wasn't until after I graduated that I had someone that I could be
open with. Near the end of my senior year I met a girl. It wasn't a
love at first
sight thing or anything like that. We had been good friends in junior
hadn't talked much during high school. So I guess I should say that I
"rediscovered" her in my senior year. Anyway, we started going out and
a normal teenage relationship. There was nothing special about it at
first; we had our
fights, goodtimes and problems, just like everyone else. Actually, as
time went on we had
gone through a lot together, and as a result our relationship
tremendously. We found ourselves becoming more open and honest with
each other, and found
we had each found someone who we could really talk to without worrying
about what the
other would think.
can't begin to tell you what a great feeling it was to have someone
like this. I
finally found a person that I could share everything with, and her the
same with me. Not
just superficial things, either, but my thoughts, my experiences and
even my emotions,
which is something that is very hard for a teenage boy to do.
almost eerie in a way, to have grown to a point with another person
can usually tell what the other is feeling about certain things. She
something I'd never had before; a person that I could come to, and if I
need, cry on her shoulder without being ridiculed or feeling scared of
what she might
think of me. I like to think that I have given the same to her; someone
she can be totally
honest with, without any hesitation or misgivings. I must tell you that
this is quite a
thrill to me. I'm not saying that our relationship is one of those made
where everything's always peaches and cream; to do so would be lying.
But we have
grown to where if something about the other bothers us, we can talk
about it, without
having any hostile feelings. We really can and often do talk about
anything we want,
without having to be phony or beat around the bush.
case you haven't noticed by now, I am very much in love with her and I
same is true with her. We don't feel that we have to live together
married to see if we're compatible; the two years that we have been
that we are. I really wish that everyone was as lucky as I am now,
especially those that
are in their difficult teen years. There's a passage in the book that
"One's not half two - it's two are halves of one." I think that really
sums up what our relationship has grown into. It is almost as though we
have become one
great person out of two lessers.
December 15, 1977
minutes past midnight ... I have just turned twenty. A glass
of wine to celebrate: a candle burning beside me on the dresser top.
The house is very still, very quiet. At this moment I am more
completely at peace with myself than I have been in some time. I can't
even begin to say why. It is usually so easy for me to be
depressed and dissatisfied with myself; give me a
half minute and I can list a hundred things that are "wrong" about my
Pinpointing my faults, my shortcoming, my disadvantages, is almost
But -- at
this quiet hour, when I've slipped easily from a teenager to a young
adult -- I would like to look at the things that are "right," and to
alive, first of all; perhaps that is the greatest blessing of all. I am
thinking; I can see, I can hear, I can touch. My senses are intact. I
am a whole human
being; what's more, I am an individual and unique human being. My
thoughts are mine;
my feelings are mine. I was created out of the love two people had for
each other - I am a
byproduct of love. The love those two people felt for each other is
gone, but I remain as
proof it existed once. One chance in a million billion that I would be
the end result, and
yet, here I am!
I am a Christian, a child of God, daughter of the King. I have been
again into the Kingdom of God and a place is reserved for me. Others
"What's the point of life if death
is the result?" but I don't
have to fear death. Sometimes I fear it, for other people especially,
or for that actual
moment of realizing "I am dying" ... but knowing that I will continue -
life force in me will not evaporate - is another great blessing. Life
can have real
meaning for me because I know it won't end the moment my heart stops
been born into a wonderful time, in a free country where my rights are
I have the freedom to voice an opinion or challenge a law; I will
probably never know true
oppression or persecution. I have been born into a place and a family
where my needs are
provided for; I will probably never know true hunger.
seen history - one president assassinated, one involved in terrible
have seen men walking on the moon for the first time, and the first
actual look at another
planet. I have seen technology and society undergo incredible changes.
many people who truly love me: my father, my mother, my grandparents,
and sister, my darling Scott.
had a happy life and a particularly happy and memorable childhood.
been gifted in many ways. I am pretty. I may not make the most of what
but the potential is there. I am talented in many ways - my writing, my
art, my music. My
talent may be undeveloped, but the potential is there, as well.
been created uniquely, not exactly like any other person who has ever
sensitive. I bruise easily. But on the other hand I can also feel for
am: easily moved - by inspiring music or poetry, by babies, by special
times of the year,
by sad movies. I am: sentimental, nostalgic, romantic. I despise
prejudice and injustice,
and I want to see women have equal rights and freedoms ... but at heart
I love the idea of
romance, however sexist. I will not resign myself to one life option: I
automatically step into the Housewife/Mother mode when I'm married.
There will be
more for me than that. I am proud. I am stubborn. At times I am easily
persuaded, but at
other times I stand my ground unyieldingly. I am imaginative. I can
express myself well: I
can be articulate. I have a great deal of self-awareness and, whether I
admit it or not,
self-love. And self-love is the beginning of loving others.
this may sound incredibly vain, but it has been very hard for me to
I'm not used to building myself up this way, and it seems all wrong.
tempted to tear these pages out - that's how unaccustomed I am to
writing nice things
about Terri V..
tonight, when my birthday is now one hour old and I am comfortable and
sleepy, it's hard to look at the world any way but happily.
minutes past midnight on December 19th and I can't get to sleep ...
Head is hurting from too many little white pills, full of worries.
Tomorrow I must get
eight more things for Christmas presents and then I'll be finished. We
put the tree
up tonite; a tiny one. Ho ho ho
I bought for people this year:
- Seahawks jacket, green plaid shirt, slippers, 2 pr. wool socks,
calligraphy set, bottle of ink
- record-cleaning kit, "Best of Traffic," Jefferson Airplane
"Flight Log," "Who's Next," "Tommy," Eric Clapton
"Slow Hand," short sleeved T-shirt, Highline College baseball jersey
red wool blouse, pearl neckchain, red earrings, mushroom wall plaques,
cologne spray, plant stand w/4 small plants
Gram S -
Trilogy (J.R.R. Tolkien), plant stand w/4 small plants, clip earrings,
- oven mitt, stationery, hand lotion
- mens handkerchiefs
- Big Beauty Barbie Horse, purse, 3 lip glosses
Dick V -
long sleeve pullover, T-shirt
- candle holders
- T shirt w/decal
- wall plaques for her nursery, striped overalls, terry-cloth
- T-shirt w/decal
- T shirt w/decal, wall plaques
- sweatshirt (gray)
Joann (Scott's mom)
- Jontue perfume, necklace
Kim (Scott's sister)
- necklace holder, necklace
Mrs. L (Scott's
grandma) - candle holder
Neil (Scott's dad) -
is only a few days away, but I swear it feels like an eternity. I'm
as excited as a little kid this year! I don't know HOW I'm going to get
these next few days.
for Scott to come over so we can go to Grandma's. Very VERY excited. I
feel ten years old again.
What a relief. The curse was due two days ago, and I'm usually so
that I was starting to panic. I started tonite - minutes ago, in fact -
and I feel pounds
lighter. God, what a scare! That is one nightmare I don't intend to
again, not until Scott and I are married and in good financial shape
and we both want a
little freckle faced addition to the family, thank you. Good night.
the day off with another phony "sick leave," so that means
he'll be home today, tomorrow, Saturday, Sunday and Monday. What a
depressing way to
end my Christmas vacation. No more beautiful solitude. No more peace
and quiet. No more
nice clean house. Nothing but newspapers strewn all over the floor,
dishes piling up in
the kitchen faster than I can wash them, and listening to him complain
and grumble about
anything that comes to mind.
Christmas blues are bad enough. Now I can't even be alone.
my period started last night. You probably know what a relief that is.
God, if I'd been pregnant again, I COULDN'T have told Scott ... I would
have had to leave the country.
At my grandparents' 50th wedding
December 30, 1977
January 2, 1978
(practically) brand-new year. I wonder if 1978 will be a more inspiring
eventful year than poor old 1977 was ...
smoked a joint and now everything is fuzzy and soft and slanted. Really
Before Europe could begin to consider overseas exploration, discovery
colonization, the monopoly of the Church had to be broken. The Church
dictating nearly all aspects of European life, and served as the
"channel to God." It controlled politics, it controlled people.
was little sense of national unity
is the end of all my beginnings
bloodless and unreasonable
comes home from school to find her mother
passed out on the couch, dead drunk. (thrilling)
grew from the seed we planted
picture hangs on our wall
And we live our lives all around him.
fingerprints on a window
to the clinic had been a tremendous waste of time. There are
things a person knows intuitively, without having to spend an entire
afternoon wearing a
paper gown and having people poke needles into your thumb: Melia had
known all along, and
having some strange, sweaty-palmed doctor confirming it seemed an
inconvenience. When the nurse brought in the clipboard, he looked at it
eyebrows, and then said in his kindly voice, "Your tests were positive."
stand in the backyard long enough tonight
Will the snow that is whitewashing the trees and the picnic tables
Cover me for the winter too?
If I stand still as a fencepost
And wait for the flurry to quick-freeze my blood
Will the drifts settle and camouflage me in white?
Hidden in layers of soundless cold
I could sleep, undistrubed, and dream the dreams of long winter icicles
While children put berries in my eyes
And starving birds pick them out again.
WHILE I WROTE THIS JOURNAL:
Down" - The Alan Parsons Project
"I Feel Love" - Donna Summer
"Nobody Does It Better" - Carly Simon
"Slip Slidin Away" - Paul Simon
"You Light Up My Life" - Debby Boone
"We Will Rock You" - Queen
"Sheer Heart Attack" - Queen
Names For My Future Children:
Kyle (Hi Kyle!)
to throw a rock?