1978 - April 1978
"Why is it that 60
seconds' worth of argument can wipe out a whole days' worth of good
January 12, 1978
Sitting in the Student
Lounge; Writing class was canceled today. Now I have an hour to fill
before the bus comes ... what should I do? Watching a documentary on
the Beatles on the video tape machine - already saw it once today.
Maybe buying this new
notebook will inspire me to write more. I hope so. I've had some kind
of mental block the last year or two - my journals have been sadly
neglected. Sketchy, inaccurate, inarticulate - whole big important
chunks of my life unrecorded and forgotten.
Today I got into a good
conversation with Doug Peffer in the Hilton; for some strange reason I
found myself opening up and talking to him about my life, what things
are important to me, things I've gone through, etc. The whole time,
part of me was standing apart & looking at myself &
wondering, "Why on earth am I
telling him these things?", w
hile the part of me that was doing the talking was enjoying the feeling
of discovering a new friend. Doug was very open, too, which is probably
the reason I was able to relax ... to a point. I have to admit I wasn't
totally comfortable with him. I'm seldom comfortable with anybody,
with the exception of certain family members and friends. I get very
nervous. I can't talk to people - especially strangers - very easily.
Sometimes I tell myself that I just don't like people, but it's more
hostility. Am I afraid that people aren't going to like me? The "real"
Scott has been bugging
me lately about my attitude toward people. Nagging. Sometimes it's
about small things, like "Don't you say 'hi' to people anymore?" Last
night when we were high and I was being goofy and laughing a lot, it
was, "You should be like this all the time." These comments usually
come right straight out of the blue and they always hurt. I tell him
that I can't help being the way that I am, that he shouldn't expect
such a radical change, that he's asking for too much. That never goes
over very well, and we end up in the middle of an argument that neither
one of us intended to start.
I don't know why I act
the way I do. Well, I suppose I could figure it out if I had the money
for trips to the couch, or if I had the sort of probing mind that was
able to figure such things out. I imagine it has something to do with
the way I look at myself, my self-image or whatever. You know - "Does
Terri like Terri?" My first response to that sort of question would probably be,
"Well, Terri isn't too happy about certain aspects of herself, but she
certainly does like herself." And maybe that's true. Whatever it is
that makes me act the way I do sometimes - withdrawn, hostile,
inhibited, unhappy, whatever - I would like to eventually figure it
out. See, I would really LIKE to LIKE people. I'd like to be
the sort of person who feels at ease in a crowded room ... who can
strike up conversations with anyone. I would like to be uninhibited -
dance at parties, laugh out loud, sing, whatever I feel like doing. If
I feel like being weird, I'd like to do so with confidence. But I
can't. Something inside of me is holding that part of me back, keeping
me from liking people. You know, sometimes when I'm sitting alone
somewhere - on a bus, or in class, or in the Hilton - and a stranger
sits down besides me and starts up a conversation, my whole body turns
rigid and I can actually feel myself
thinking "GO AWAY, MOVE AWAY, LEAVE ME ALONE." So I pretend to be
reading a book or doing homework or something, ignoring that person
until they finally become discouraged enough to either go away or to
quit talking. And I really hate myself when I do that. At times like
that, I could just kick Terri V. for being so hostile, so
self-engrossed, so self-conscious. I resolve that next time I'll find
something to say to the stranger sitting next to me ... kind of
"tomorrow will be a better day" thinking. And of course it usually
Now I'm sitting on the
bus, preparing to attempt the impossible - writing while the bus is
moving. (The bus driver just looked at my notebook and said, "Gee, you
make neat letters - almost like a draftsman." I just laughed and said
"Oh, thank you." Another contact with a stranger, but this time I
didn't freeze up - I didn't really have time. Usually in split-second
encounters like that one, I'm OK. It's when the encounters tries to
spread itself out into a full-fledged conversation
that I have
problems. I can handle compliments. That's a start, anyway.
There's a girl sitting
in the front of the bus today - her name is Marcia. Yesterday when we
were sitting at the bus stop we started talking ... well, she did most
of the talking, I did a lot of smiling and nodding and saying "Yah,
unh-huh." Today she's reading a book, and she looked up and smiled at
me as I walked past her. Now, if I was the sort of person I'd like to
be, I'd have this uncontrollable urge to go up and sit next to her and
continue our conversation from yesterday. But I can't. I don't even
really want to. Instead I'm sitting in my usual seat close to the back
of the bus, away from everyone else, with my nose buried in this
notebook. If a psychologist were to walk onto the bus right now, he
would be able to pick me out as the introvert of the crowd right away.
I'm the one with the invisible fence all around me that says "PLEASE
LEAVE ME ALONE."
Why? Why? Why?
conversation - another reason why I probably feel reasonably
relaxed around him
is that he's a guy; further, he's an intelligent guy, very articulate;
and even further, he was so willing to talk about his
life, so readily. I have always been able to communicate with guys a
lot better than with girls - another thing about myself that I wish I
understood further. I don't feel comfortable with girls. Most of the
really meaningful friendships I've had in my life have been with guys
(or men, whatever). Tusk, of course; Jerry Bates, Kevin, Rudy. Etc. etc.
etc. These have been the friends with whom I have had intelligent
conversations and mature relationships, friends that I've talked to
about feelings and experiences. Maybe that's the only level of
friendship I can adjust to? Maybe I just can't handle anything but
those kind of "deep" friendships? That sounds too crazy to be right. If
anything, it should be the other way around, shouldn't it?
Lately I've been
thinking that there are a bunch of Terri V.s, all rolled up into one.
When the bus stops lurching around, I'll try to split them up on paper.
I don't really feel like
dissecting myself right now. I'll do that at some other point in this
journal, when I can't think of anything "good" to write about.
I've thought of a couple
little exercises that I can do every day, "social exercises" related to
my problems dealing w/people. From now on I'm going to keep track of
how many encounters I have throughout the day with strangers or with
people I don't feel comfortable around, and then evaluate how well I
expressed myself - how well I communicated with them. Maybe that's
something I can do with this journal? Maybe by charting myself this
way, I can tell if I'm "improving." Does that sound like a sensible
idea? Might as well give it a try, anyway.
Another exercise: I'm
going to try and make a point of having some kind of social contact
with at least 2 people that I either don't know or that I don't know
well. In that way I'll be sort of forcing myself to reach out to people
a little more, each day.
1. Talked to a new guy
in our Anthro class, Roger Something. He asked me what the name of the
class was, and I said "Shamanism and Healing." Easy. I wasn't
uncomfortable, of course, since any kind of idiot could have handled
2. Having that long
conversation with Doug in the Hilton during my break. We talked for a
full hour - about classes, teachers, the changes some of our friends
have gone through (marriage, leaving home, death, etc.) He's involved
in Search & Rescue, and we talked about that. Also: journals,
the Beatles, family, boyfriends & girlfriends we've had, things
that are important in our lives. Etc. etc. What makes me feel
particularly good is that I initiated the conversation.
3. The bus driver and
his unexpected compliment about my handwriting. Again, a very easy
4. After I got off the
bus and was walking up the street toward home, a strange man in a blue
jeep pulled up in the street next to me and - apparently - was trying
to pick me up. This encounter, understandably, made me extremely
uncomfortable. He said he'd noticed me get off the bus and thought I
looked "familiar." (Sure.) Not a very original line, was it? He said he
thought I was "cute as hell," and then when he finally made his pitch -
"What kind of chance would a guy like me have with a good looking girl
like you?" - I surprised myself by quickly & naturally saying,
"I'm married." He just shrugged and said, "Gee, the cute ones are
always married. Have a nice day," and he drove away. I'll have to
remember that next time it happens.
Scott came over this
afternoon - he let me drive his car down to the store for pop and
cigarettes. It's surprising how quickly and easily I've gotten re-used
to driving, considering the fact that up until this week I hadn't been
behind the wheel of a car for two years. I guess that driving, like
typing or any other skill, is something you never lose completely. I
got my learner's permit (again) the other day, and now I'm going to
work super hard at getting my drivers license before March. It's very
important to me that I get my license. I think that getting it will go
a long way towards raising my self esteem. After all, being 20 years
old and still without a license is pretty embarrassing, especially
since I have no plausible excuse for waiting so long. How do you
explain to people that you haven't gotten your license because you're
What's funny is that I'm
not really sure exactly what it is I'm afraid of. Of course, being
behind the wheel of a car is a little scary - particularly when you're
a novice. And the prospect of the DREADED drivers test scares the hell
out of me ... but those aren't the fears that have prevented me from
getting my license. I can't put my finger on it, really. Am I afraid of
the responsibility that driving entails (insurance, getting a job to
afford the car, keeping it in good shape, being a good driver, etc.)?
Or am I afraid of growing up (drivers license = mature adult, which I'm
not ready to be yet)? It's all so absurd. Why on earth would I be
afraid of growing up???
Anyway, this is one of
my MAJOR goals for 1978: to get my drivers license BEFORE MARCH 31st.
I have a ton of homework
that I should get started on - two tests tomorrow, in Speech and
Geography, and I've got three chapters of reading to catch up on. I
always seem to put it off until the night-before, something else about
Terri V. that I'm not too crazy about: I'M A PROCRASTINATOR.
My head aches from
trying to cram so much new information into it at once. I am bound to
fail both tests tomorrow. I still haven't done my Speech homework and I
have a paper to type for Writing. Will I ever
get out of school?
I would like to do in my life: finish school, get an interesting and
stimulating job, marry one person and stay
married to him for 50 years, have 2 or 3 children, write books and
stories, be a successful author, be a creative mother, live to be very
I just remembered -
I left my Speech book in Scott's car!
saw Cray C. at school today ... haven't seen him for 3 years!
Head still aching.
Watching "The Waltons," thinking about taking a shower and washing my
hair. Tired. This has been a long day; thank God tomorrow is Friday.
Don't have any definite plans for the weekend, other than sleeping late
(which goes without saying) and maybe going to a party at Peterson's on
Saturday night. I've finally learned not to expect too much from the
weekend. It usually doesn't turn out to be quite as exciting as you
think it will.
Kevin just called a few
minutes ago - it's funny how he'll do that. I won't hear from him for a
couple of months at a time, and then one day I'll write his name in my
journal (like I did today), or I'll hear someone mention his name -
something that puts him in mind - and BAM, he'll call out of the blue,
just like that. Sometimes I think he must be telepathic. He was in
another of his rotten moods, but I'm just beginning to learn to expect
that from him. I used to think he was an incredibly good-natured
person, but now I can see he's just buoyant. He rises above his world
and looks down on it - very cynically, actually. Anyway, we talked for
about half an hour - he's getting a new job as a chef in Puyallup
("pooey aloop"), making EIGHT
HUNDRED DOLLARS A MONTH. I
could've died when he told me how much he's making. It's going to take
me six months to save as much as he will make in one month. That
doesn't seem fair, somehow.
You know, I really
want that car. There have been a lot of things that I've wanted in my
life - wanted so badly I've made myself sick with longing - and now
that's how I feel about the car. Every time Scott lets me drive it, I
feel this desperate wild longing. It's awful. I'm not really worried
about the money - I'm sure that I can come up with it somehow, at least
most of it. And I'm not really too worried about taking the drivers
exam. If I fail it the first time, I won't be crushed or anything
because I can always take it again. It's the waiting
that I can't stand.
I'm not very good at waiting for things that I want really badly. I
want them to happen now, today.
Six whole months
... it seems like the most interminably long period of time I've ever
had to face. I don't know how I'm going to do it.
Dad and I have a joke
about long periods of time like this - we call them "long dreary
plains." The poor sun-parched traveler, having to cross the long dreary
plain to reach the lemonade stand ... that's what these next six months
seem like to me. A Grade-A Long Dreary Plain.
Friday the Thirteenth,
but then I'm not a superstitious person so it doesn't mean anything to
me. Sitting in the Hilton with a Coke, surreptitiously watching the
people around me. I'm doing what I swore I wouldn't do this quarter ...
cutting a class, and on a test
day, no less. I'm
just not prepared for the quiz, so I can't bring myself to go to class.
Sometimes I wish I had more inner resolve, especially when it comes to
school. I know I'm not dumb - I'm quite intelligent, actually, or at
least I have the potential to be - but I'm lazy. Too lazy to study at
night, too lazy to get assignments in on time, and then when I'm not
prepared for a class I just "solve" everything by cutting it.
OH. I just remembered my
dream last night, and it was terrible: I dreamed that Grandma V. died.
I used to have that dream all the time when I was little. Once, in
particular, I dreamed that both Grandma and Gramps died, and that as I
was looking at them laying in their coffins, the coffins started
rolling down a hill very fast. I was running after them, trying to stop
them, but I couldn't. (Obvious what my subconscious was saying, right?)
I haven't had a dream of that sort in years, and it was really awful.
Grandma had died and I was filled with remorse because I hadn't seen
her in weeks so I didn't get a chance to say goodbye or "I love you" or
anything. I woke up crying and sweating and thrashing around in my bed,
and so today after school I'm going to make a special point of dropping
by and visiting her. One of these days the dream is going to come true,
as it must, and I'm going to
hate myself for all the
time I wasted, all the opportunities I threw away. I love Gram
& Gramps just about more than anyone in this world, and I owe
them one hell of a lot.
I feel like death is
something that will never happen to me, or to anyone I love. I guess
everyone probably feels immortal, the way I do. What a shock it must be
at the instant of death - when your consciousness realizes that you are
dying. What a horrible feeling that must be. Thus far in my life I've
been lucky - death hasn't really had much impact on my life. My dog was
hit by a car and killed when I was 12 years old, and that was a great
blow - it took me months to get over the pain of it. But Rowdy wasn't a
mother or father or brother or grandparent - he was a dog,
and the pain I felt at his death probably can't begin to equal the pain
I'll feel when someone very close to me dies, someone I love. I'm very
much afraid of that. I'm afraid I might not be able to handle it, that
I might fall apart completely.
For a long time after
Rowdy died I had all kinds of morbid, gruesome dreams - digging him up
from the back yard where he's buried, watching his skeleton running
around the yard, etc. Really awful dreams. The more I tried to stop the
dreams, the more they haunted me at night. Eventually they went away,
but it took a lot of time. Even now, I still hurt for that 12 year old
Terri and all the pain she went through.
Feeling good - or at
least, not half bad, anyway. Have had some good, interesting
conversations with people and I feel an inch better about myself, at
least. Notably: talked to one very nice guy in the Hilton, someone I've
been seeing here at school for the last few quarters but never really
talked to. (Oh
God. Was this Dwight?? Run, Terri
... as fast and as far as you can ... )
Feeling like I'm getting
some things done in my life, and it's a very pleasant, competent
feeling. Turned in my Avon order this afternoon, about $76.00 worth -
not bad for my second month. I also got paid for last month - only $18,
but that's a start anyway. Every cent of it will go into the bank
towards the purchase of that little red car. Joann (Scott's mom) went
with me and let me drive her car all over the place, even in the heart
of (relatively) busy traffic. It was a little scary, sure, but I've got
to get used to driving around in traffic and on highways and stuff.
That's the only way I'll learn. I have a feeling that someday I will
probably get to the point where I actually enjoy driving - IF I can get
over that panicky feeling I get whenever a car is behind me or
approaching me from another direction.
Getting ready to go out
tonite: Scott and I are going to a party at Steve Peterson's apartment.
I feel good and I think I'm in the mood for a party, so maybe it'll be
a fairly successful evening. I'm going to try and exercise my new
policy of talking
to people tonite.
Too hot, too crowded and
too noisy to "talk" to anybody. Scott and I stood in the kitchen for a
while, trying to fight off the swarms of people, and left early to find
refuge in a Jumbo Jack and the relative quiet of my driveway.
January 15, 1978
I did something last
night that I'd really like to get out of the habit of
doing -- I let Scott read what
I've written in this journal. It's not the fact that he read it that I
don't like ... it's just that I would prefer this to be a completely personal
notebook, so I don't
feel self-conscious about what I write, playing censor to myself for
fear that someone will read what I've written. You know what I mean?
There are some things that I would like to discuss in this journal -
private things - and while they may not be terrible or anything, I
would still like to feel that no one will ever read what I've written
here except me.
I know that's
impossible, though. Someday, someone will probably be holding this
notebook and reading it, and Lord knows what they'll think about me.
The man I marry (Scott?) will undoubtedly read it, or my children or
other family members. Someone.
(Uhh ... like the
whole world, maybe,
when I post it on my website twenty years later?)
After I die,
someone will take all my journals into possession. What a scary
Sitting in bed, watching
"Bridge Over The River Kwai," knowing that I should be trying to get
some sleep. I've got a wisdom tooth coming through on the lower right
side of my mouth and it aches. The gums all around the tooth are
swollen and tight and painful. My room is immaculate: I spent a good
part of this lazy Sunday afternoon cleaning and dusting and vacuuming,
and now everything is neat and tidy and in perfect order. I love this
room ... it is a refuge, a haven. The smell of DOG that permeates the
rest of the house isn't here. Instead, my room smells of furniture
polish, baby powder and incense. I eat my meals in here, study, read
books, watch TV, get high, write letters, listen to records, lay on my
bed and think and dream and plan. The things in my room are a comfort -
one stable, sure part of my life. The wooden bookcase that Grandpa V.
built for me when I was a little girl stands against the north wall.
The antique sewing machine I got from Great-Grandma Gim ... the heavy
oak rocking chair ... the linen calendars, hanging on the wall ... the
plants and knick-knacks ... the record collection ... the neat rows of
books and magazines ... all my "things," surrounding me, reminding me
of other past parts of my life. I have spent my life collecting all my
things. When I leave this house, I won't be able to take my room with
me - that makes me sad - but I will take my things. They are a part of
me, as permanent and as vital as an arm or a leg.
When will I leave (Dad's
Will I live in my own
apartment for a while, or will I marry first?
Who will I marry? Scott?
When I was growing up,
Grandma Vert used to tell me that I couldn't get married until I was 21.
Now my 21st birthday is less than a year away and I don't feel any
closer to the possibility of marriage than I did when I was seven years
old. It STILL seems like such a vague, far-off proposition, me ever
being Mrs. Somebody, wife of Mr. Somebody.
Some things I have
determined, however. I will NOT be "Mrs. John Doe." If I don't use
"Ms.," I will at least be "Terri Vert Doe." I refuse to resign all traces
of my identity just to become "the wife of somebody."
Highly tempted to skip
class, but finding some measure of that inner resolve I've been wishing
I had more of. Monday morning is definitely not the high point of my
Later - now I do feel
good. Got an unbelievably high score on my Geography test and I feel
quite proud of myself.
you notice first in a person:
General appearance (clothing, hair, face, etc.)
= key site of emotion
expressions: eyes, eyebrows, mouth are key areas
Partial (only one area shows an emotion)
Blend (one affect shown in one area while another affect is shown in
Micros (micromomentary) - fleeting emotions that pass across face in
1/32 of a second.
OF POLITICAL GEOGRAPHY
- Federal level
Congress (legislative branch)
Dwight (the guy from the
Hilton) has offered to give me a ride home today after class, and I
accepted ... but now, suddenly, I feel very shy and nervous about the
whole thing. He is super-nice, comes across as very humble and
friendly, but for no reason at all I feel intimidated by his interest
in me. I don't know why. The fear is just there.
Maybe I'm afraid
that I'll run out of things to say in the car, that I'll come off
looking dull and drab. Being so utterly and completely comfortable with
Scott for the last two years has, in a way, made me feel comparatively uncomfortable
around other guys,
particularly guys I don't know very well.
Dating is a game, a
ritual, a performance. I used to be good at it, but now I'm miserably
out of practice. A ride home from school isn't a "date," of course, but
it requires a performance just the same. At least it does for me.
Damn it! He asked me
out! During the ride home, he asked me if I wanted to go to a show on
Friday. Why does this ALWAYS happen?? Hasn't he SEEN me around campus
Joyce Carol Oates - "How
I Contemplated The World From The Detroit House of Corrections and
Began My Life Over Again"
January 17, 1978
Scott and I are sitting
in the Hilton. He is writing something on the back of a daily bulletin,
I'm drinking my usual Coke. Dwight is sitting at the next table with
his back to us. He won't talk to me w/Scott here. Relief.
I suddenly feel sad, for
no real reason. I wish I could just go home and go back to bed, but Dad
has decided to take the whole week off. He says he's "sick," but that's
unlikely since he was typing & drinking & shouting on
the C.B. until 2 this morning. We've been getting on each others'
nerves a lot lately. I have a feeling he's having serious financial
problems. God, I wish I could move out of that house before he drives
me right straight up the WALL.
You know, I'm really
very flattered that Dwight asked me out, but I wish he hadn't. It seems
like this happens to me a lot. Just when I think I've made a good
(male) friend, they
have to spoil it by trying to make it into something more. There's
nothing wrong with that, of course, but I still wish it wouldn't
happen. Kevin is a prime example of this. He's always trying
to make our friendship into something more, and I'm
always having to dodge his overtures. Why? Because of Scott, I suppose.
Scott is sitting across
from me, reading the school paper ... intent, absorbed, unaware that
I'm surreptitiously sneaking glances at him. Long curly dark hair,
unshaven, a contradiction of features ... sweet boyish face, dark
growth of beard, cigarette burning in one hand, drinking his Sprite ...
I hope that if we have children someday, they look like him.
the Student Lounge:
Lots of homely people in
the world ... fat people, skinny people, people with greasy hair and
acne and thick glasses and funny clothes. Poor, sad, pathetic Ugly
People. What a hopeless feeling it must be, trapped inside such a body.
How do they feel when they look at themselves in the mirror?
canceled today. Actually, Mr. Campbell just didn't show up, and by
11:10 people began drifting out of the room, one by one. Now I have two
whole hours before my next class, and nothing to do. Right now I'm
sitting in the middle of the Student Lounge. Very crowded, very noisy.
Clamor of pinball machines and pool cues hitting balls and people
talking back and forth. I feel extremely conspicuous - like everyone is
staring at me. I keep looking behind me to make sure no one is reading
over my shoulder. How paranoid. I don't especially like sitting here
all alone - I wish Scott was here - but I couldn't stand to sit in the
Hilton for the entire two hours. As a matter of fact, I'm not entirely
sure I want to go into the Hilton at all
today - I have this
burning desire to avoid Dwight. I don't
a ride home with him tonight, I don't
want to date him. If the two of us can just be friends, great, but
anything beyond that has got to be out of the question.
Another subject, please.
But what? My typical morning? Zzzz. My classes this quarter? Zzz. My
plans and hopes for the future? ZZZZZ. Shit, there's a whole 90 minutes
left. What is Terri V. going to DO with herself?
of the Hour (Minute, Week, Year, Eternity, Whatever): Why does Terri V.
habitually back herself into corners?
Why does T.V. allow herself to get into a sticky situation with a guy?
Why did I let Dwight get to the point where he thinks I like him
& thinks that I want to date him?
didn't do it intentionally. I don't even think I led him on, really. I
was nice. I struck up a conversation with him. Remember, that was going
to be a "social exercise"?? But he took it all the wrong way, and now
I've got the unpleasant job of letting him down.
January 18, 1978
Some days I feel like:
only Square Head in a world of Circle Heads.
Other days I feel like:
piece of a puzzle that doesn't fit anywhere.
On some days I've been
known to feel like this:
I must smell very, very bad because everyone has their back to me.
Or like this:
I'm standing naked (except for a few small fig leaves) on the busiest
street in town, because everyone is staring at me.
On days (like today)
when I feel like a Square Head, a misfit puzzle piece, someone who
smells very bad or a naked girl on 1st and Pine, I wish I had stayed in
bed ... or, better yet, that I could find a planet of square-headed,
funny-smelling naked puzzle pieces. I'd fit right in.
Well, things aren't all that
bad, I have to admit it. This thing with Dwight is a mess, but other
than that I may survive.
January 19, 1978
DAMMIT!!! Terri V. is really starting to get on her own nerves. I
didn't have the nerve to say "No thanks" when Dwight offered me a ride
home a few minutes ago, and Doug looked at me and said (under his
breath), "Coward." He
seems to think this whole situation is funny, and maybe it is - but
right now it's a great big Grade-A pain. I wish I had never struck up
that conversation with Dwight in the first place. I AM NOT INTERESTED
IN HIM!!! I'M NOT!!! And I wish he would leave
me alone .
Watching "What Ever
Happened To The Class of '65?"
There is a brand new
touch tone phone sitting beside me on the dressing table.
I want to be tired, but
I'm not. Yet.
Maybe I'm beginning to
live my life.
Want to hear my plan? I
want to buy that car in June. I want to take Teller Training in July or
August. I want to be working in a good job as a bank teller one year
from now. One problem: I have to be accepted to get into the T.T.
program. What does that mean? Will they want to see my high school
transcripts? If so, I am doomed.
What a life.
What a happy/sad,
mixed-up process life is.
Up & down, up
& down ... every year I'm one year older, but I still feel
ageless. Like I'll never be really
old; being young is all I've ever known!
People my age seem to be
the same size they were when I was in first grade.
Dee Dee Eason's (my penpal in Alton, Iowa) 19th
birthday. Iowa is worlds and worlds away from Seattle, Washington. At
least it seems that way.
Sometimes I get so
frustrated with Scott I can't stand it. He leaves me feeling so cold
and angry that all I can do is hang the phone up in his ear and splash
my face with cold water.
Lately we've been
picking at each other almost continually, and it's really beginning to
be a very big irritation. I love him, of course, but the bickering
& quarreling over idiotic LITTLE things is starting to wear me
down. It's reaching the point where we can't spend an entire afternoon
or evening together without starting on the same, worn-out old
arguments. I know them all by rote. I'll call him a snob, he'll call me
a baby, and on & on it goes until neither one of us is speaking
to the other.
Every day I seem to
write a little less in this notebook. That always seem to happen and I
don't know why. I always start off really well, writing pages &
pages of whatever comes into my head, but then after a week or so I
peter off until my entries are infrequent and only a sentence or two
long. I wonder why that is. Lately my head has been filled with all
kinds of different thoughts - plans, hopes, worries - and I feel like I
should be putting them down on paper. But I can't. When I pick up a pen
this "mental block" or whatever it is won't allow me to write whatever
I'm feeling. It's very strange.
These are the main
things I've been thinking about, not necessarily in order of
1. Scott and all the
arguing we've been doing lately ... which will end first, the arguments
or the relationship?
2. Getting my license.
3. MONEY - saving enough
to get the car in June; should I get a job here at school; will I make
enough selling Avon;
4. Teller Training this
summer - will I be accepted?
5. Moving out into an
apartment of my own by Jan. 1979 (!?)
Many other things, of
course, but don't really feel like listing them all. What would be the
point anyway? Sooner or later I'm bound to touch on all the problems in
this journal, so I don't need to start repeating myself this early.
Coming down with Cold
#1,000,000 this year ... maybe that's why I've been dragging it around
all day. Doug says that most colds are psychosomatic. In which case,
why do I "want" to have a cold today?
This afternoon I came
perilously close to losing one of the best things that has ever
happened to me; meaning, of course, Scott S., the one person who means
the most in the world to me outside of family. I almost took our whole
relationship and threw it out the window. We had a major, tears and
hysterics argument, culminating in him walking out the door. To tell
you the truth, I honestly expected it to be the end. I wouldn't have
been surprised if he never spoke to me again. But instead he called me
about half an hour ago and everything that needed to be said was said.
He is one guy in ten hundred million and I love him incredibly.
Except for my cold - and
it's a bad one - things are looking "up" again. Scott and I are sitting
here in the Hilton, and I feel very good about him. Somehow, some way,
we've got to work out the differences that have been dividing us
lately, because in the long run life is infinitely better with him than
There's a song that's
very popular now called "Sometimes When We Touch," by Dan Hill, and I
swear that it must have been written with Scott and I in
Eating greasy chicken at
Kentucky Fried. (This, apparently, being the only place where I can
avoid Dwight - or anyone else, for that matter - since all I want to do
for an hour is sip a Coke, have a cigarette and enjoy some solitude.)
I wish I could write
about that horrible fight Scott and I had yesterday, but actually maybe
it's all best left unsaid. We've had that scene many, many times before
and I know that if we decide to spend the rest of our lives together,
there will be many more. We both want to see changes in the
other, but neither one of us seems willing to take the initial steps
toward making these changes. He wants to see me become more outgoing -
I say I can't. I want him to open up to me more and quit being so
callous - he says he can't. And on and on it goes.
The way I am is the way
I am, isn't it? How can I change? I'd TRY if I knew how. Or would I?
Maybe I don't even want to
change. Hell, I just don't know. How do you go about making yourself
into a brand new person, a supposedly "better" person? It probably
depends on the equipment you've got to work with. (So what's wrong with
my equipment? Outdated parts? Faulty wiring?!)
Scott accused me of not
caring about people, of only thinking about me. You know what my
reaction to that was? I ran into the bathroom and sat ME down on the
edge of the tub and cried into a towel. When he tried to open the door,
I held it shut and wouldn't let him in. ME was very hurt by what he'd
said. I obviously can't take criticism when it hits that close to the
heart. I don't even know if it's true or not. Sometimes I am very
thoughtless and self-absorbed, but at other times I'm just plain shy.
Unable to think of anything worthwhile to say.
Scott says that I'm an "embarrassment" to him - that he always has to
explain why I'm "acting like a bitch" around his friends. That really
hurt me, too.
This is one way I've
usually looked at myself: that it's difficult to really get to know me
because I'm afraid of opening up, but that when someone does break
through the barrier and take the time to get to know me, I can be very
nice and understanding and easy to talk to. This is what some of my
closer friends have told me I'm like. Now, though, everything that
Scott said yesterday during the heat of the argument seems to refute
this, and I just don't know what to believe. He's making it very hard
for me to start liking myself, although I don't know if this is
intentional on his part. (Or maybe it's just the handiest excuse I can
find at the moment?)
Another question: how do
you really start liking yourself? Maybe that's a result of becoming the
person you'd like to be, or know you can be, or something like that. I
guess it's all tied in together.
At this point,
considering JUST the peripheral things, I would probably like myself a
whole lot more if I had my license, a car and a job ... if I were 16
pounds lighter ... and financially well-off enough to move out on my
own. Considering the non-peripherals, I'd like to be friendlier, more
assertive, more honest, a little more in control of my emotions. That
constitutes nine major areas of change. Now that I've listed the things
I'd like to see improved or changed, how do I go about doing it?
Obviously, the car and drivers license will be taken care of within a
few months, IF I work on them steadily. The job will probably come with
increased mobility (the car), and the apartment will come after the
job. Right? I suppose the weight could be lost any time. (As I sit here
with chicken grease on my fingers ... for shame!)
As for the
non-peripherals ... hmmm. A much tougher job. How do I become
friendlier? More assertive? Etc. etc. I've made an effort to talk to
people more readily, and where has THAT gotten me? Stuck with an
amorous "friend" (Dwight) who I can't get rid of. You can't win for
and still alone:
Where are all my fellow sinners?
to be in Hell is this:
to be alone.
FOR TAKING THE BUS AND SAVING ENERGY."
I don't mind being alone - it's loneliness I can't tolerate.
mind manifests itself through the eyes."
"A dog who pleads with fleas says. 'Fleas, please flee."
could quite possibly be the first day of the rest of my life.
the other hand, maybe yesterday was ... or the day before that
maybe March 7, 1968 was. Who knows?
I think he (Dwight) is
beginning to get the message, and although it's a definite relief, I
still feel bad because I'm not going about it in a particularly nice
way. I'm being a bitch. Oh well ... what can I do? I mean, he KNOWS I
have a boyfriend and still he persists. What other way can I handle it?
I'm beginning to get
tired of writing about Dwight.
Everything is money. I
wish it weren't, but right now (today:afternoon) practically everything
I need/want hinges on getting the right amount of money.
Not true! Not everything.
Does love hinge on
place curses, overcome illness, attract or find a mate, cast love
spells, gain protection, gambling luck, induce passion, avoid injuries,
prevent losses, influence Fate, increase fertility, bring financial
gain, change personality, ward off evil spirits, increase business,
Watching "James At 15."
Why do I always have to
"compete" when it comes to writing? Feel intimidated by a certain
couple of people in my Writing class who may actually write better
poetry (gasp!) than me.
written here from my Writing Instructor, Lonny Kaneko:
"That's OK - but don't just hide, because you "think" they might be
better. They're just different.")
Anyway ... how am I
feeling tonite? Dwight has me all tied up in knots, but aside from that
things are (semi) good. Real. It feels nice to be alive. Hey People,
all around me - we're ALL ALIVE! Tomorrow some of us may be gone, but
right now, at this very moment in time, we're all living on Planet
Earth, living, breathing, thinking, self-contained but with enough room
inside to hold each other, too.
I love Scott. I really
do. And I love my family. I love my brother, wherever he is tonight. I
love my mother (wherever SHE is tonight).
Goal: When I get the car
& the license, maybe Mom and I can grow closer together? I'll
be able to go over and see her more often.
Assorted Thoughts On A Thursday Night
I always make lists. I
am a list-maker. When I wanted to get my ears pierced in sixth grade
but Grandma wouldn't let me, I went around the school and made a list
of all the girls who had pierced ears (supposedly to show Gram as PROOF
POSITIVE that "everyone" really did have pierced ears). As I recall I
never did show her the list, and it wasn't until I moved in with Dad
that I was finally able to have it done. Funny that I should remember
Was it a rebellion? Was
everything I did after I left Gram & Gramps a rebellion? If it
was, why? Why would I want to rebel against the two people I loved most
in the world? Or is that the way it is?
Something new to write
about - a suggestion that Mr. Kaneko made in Writing class today - pick
something painful or important in my past that I'm reminded of today,
when I see certain people. Easy. Every time I see Jeff Welk and Dave T.
here at school, I am painfully reminded of the Terri V everyone thought
they knew in high school - the "bad girl" with the easy reputation. The
awful thing is that the reputation I was forced to carry around in
those days wasn't real. Jeff and Dave remind me of it because a mutual
friend once told me some really terrible things that J & D said
about me, and something like that sticks with you forever. *Fun
fact* -- Jeff wrote to me, after he read this old journal entry on my website,
and apologized for the things he said in high school. I now
consider him a dear friend.
I guess I know why I got
the reputation - I'm not bad looking and I went out with a lot
of different people. Period. That alone, apparently, was
enough to give me a name.
Must continue this line
of thought at another time. Must look at this Terri V. I left behind
and figure out exactly why people thought of her the way they did. Must
decide if I've really left her behind, or if she is still living a few
inches beneath the surface.
Bulver, "Chirologia-Chironornia" (dealt with non-verbal communication,
the natural language of the hand)
"Natural school" Thomas Sheridan (what people NORMALLY do)
"Mechanical school" John Walker
Not degree in which they showed movements, but Walker paid more
attention to vocalic communication.
About to take a very
difficult Geography test that I may or may not be prepared for. HOWEVER
I have learned that frantic last-minute cramming serves only to
confuse, so for the next minute or so I'll write about something
I had a lot of confused,
jumbled-together dreams last night. They would probably make for a
fairly interesting entry if I could just remember what they were. I
dreamed about Steve - what a shock. I haven't had a dream about him in
a long, long time and I don't even know what may have prompted it. It
was really strange - made me start thinking about him in Speech class
would like to change the storyline (of my life) ... go back and do a
few things differently. Say things that should have been said - NOT say
thing that shouldn't have been said.
that make sense?
everything I know now - today - I'd like to go back to 1970 and start
things all over again.
would be a LOT of people I wouldn't listen to ... people who really
screwed me over good.
Saturday night/Sunday morning
Got ridiculously high at
John and Karen's tonite: so high, in fact, that for a while I couldn't
do much more than sit there on the couch and look at the television and
smile a lot. In a way it was fun, or maybe relaxing is a better word,
but I don't really like to lose control of myself like that. Opium can
really turn your head inside out.
I'm really beginning to
hate him, and not because he isn't a nice guy - because he is - but
more because of the things he makes me do to him. (Lying, making
excuses, avoiding him, etc.) I'm not and never have been the slightest
bit interested in him!! So why is he knocking himself out over someone
as crummy as me? I'm not even really worth it - to him, at least.
I've got a boyfriend
that I love very much, and as far as I'm concerned no one else could
even begin to measure up to Scott. I'm perfectly happy with him and I
intend to stay that way.
Wondering how on earth I'm going to explain myself tomorrow? Probably
should just come right out & level w/him, right? (Right. I
I guess that I'm just
not comfortable with strange guys anymore. As long as things are
strictly on a friendship level, I can handle it, but the instant
anything more serious looks like it might be trying to happen, I freeze
up like an iceberg.
January 29, 1978
Things I'm thinking
about on Sunday night - sometimes I am easily influenced. All my life
people have managed to get me to do things that seemed OK at the time,
but that I regretted once I had time to step back and think about it.
Other times I'm too
stubborn for my own good. I wish I could be a little more flexible when
it comes to listening to other peoples' points of view.
This movie doesn't have
music. ("Shaggy Dog.")
Sometimes I think that
real life should be orchestrated, the way movies are. Maybe that's why
I listen to so much music ... I wish that all the major events in my
life had background music.
Actually, though, most
of them have. I
can pinpoint dozens of important periods of my life and immediately
name 2 or 3 songs that I automatically associate with that time.
Falling in love
Scott: "Crimson and Clover"
"Someone Saved My Life Tonight"
Mr. Miles: Tall, lean,
balding, easy grin, almost imperceptible country twang in his voice.
Looks like a big, clumsy, "Aw-shucks" farm boy.
Reduced to sitting in
the cafeteria this morning in order to avoid HIM. I don't really like
the cafeteria: it's too noisy and too drafty.
Very rainy today ...
feels like Seattle. With the exception of the ugly monstrosity that is
the new library, this is a pretty campus. Overlooks the Sound:
mountains in the distance. Mr. Sommarstrom (my Geog. teacher) said that
most people would choose their own area of the world as the nicest
place to live, and I know that's true as far as I'm concerned. I think
that I would pick Seattle as my #1 favorite place to be, simply because
it's all I've ever known. Something about the water, the mountains, the
trees, the cultural heritage ... I even like the weather. (Wish it
would snow more often, though.) Seattle makes me feel good. I'd hate to
live someplace dry and arid, like Arizona or New Mexico or Texas. And I
would HATE to live in a farming area, like Iowa (where Dee Dee lives).
I'd also hate to live downtown. I'm strictly a suburban person.
Ten minutes before class
and nothing left to write about.
it's a toss up between what I want to do and what I should do, which is
"right" and which is "wrong"? Heart or head? And how do you know which
way to choose?
One thing I CAN'T STAND
- people who try to read what you're writing when it is obviously
personal. (Pat W.)
I tried to be open; I
tried to explain why I did what I did. Part of it came out really good,
but toward the end I sort of fell apart and found myself making phony
excuses, etc. Not I'm (basically) right back where I started from and
things are no better. In fact, I may have made them worse. Why do I
back out on myself at the last minute? Dammit, that makes me mad!!! ONE
THING I HATE ABOUT TERRI VERT .... in times of stress, she cuts out on
herself!!! Why does she do this? It is extremely irritating.
Although: I've gotta be
good enough to at least give Terri a few "performance points" ... at
least she managed to scrape together enough nerve to actually sit down
with the guy, face to face, and apologize for being such a butt. That
wasn't easy. It took a lot of deep breathing and encouragement from
Doug to do it. (Some of his advice is irrelevant, but once in awhile he
comes up with a real gem. This time he told me to relax and do
it. Good advice?)
Now I've got to just
relax and forget about it for awhile or else I'll give myself an ulcer.
I'll go to Writing class, take the bus home afterwards, do some
housework (as little as possible) and have a quiet, uneventful evening
in which to recuperate.
On The Bus She Says:
Almost (but not quite)
stuck my foot in my mouth in Writing class, by criticizing Linda's
poetry. (Linda Jump, incredibly talented at writing poetry.)
My Face Red:
After I made my
criticism, I sat there in my seat for the next 15 minutes and thought,
"My God, what did I say THAT for?"
A fabulous person: Lonny
Kaneko. Restored my faith in my own poetry-writing ability and explained
that Linda REALLY doesn't mind the criticism. Relief.
written by Lonny: "She welcomes it.")
1. I RIDE THE BUS AND LEARN ABOUT NUNS
umbrella day. Wind, rain, soggy feet. I hold my new umbrella against
the rain and pray (silently) that this wind won't tug it inside out in
front of All These People. The bus is five minutes late and the bus
fare in my hand - two nickels and two dimes - is becoming very warm.
is a new bus driver. He doesn't look at us as we climb aboard and
deposit our fares - he is looking out the window ahead of him,
vacantly. We give him our money and take our seats in silence. No one
has a name here. We sit, one to a seat. ten to a row, bovine-like,
soundless. The bus lurches and leaps and takes to the highway, and I
begin looking out the window. I have a book in my lap but no one reads
on this bus. We watch the cars crawling below us, and we catch our
reflection in an occasional store window, and we think how ridiculous
we must look to people standing at the curb.
minutes and fifteen stops later, an elderly nun makes her way down the
aisle and takes the seat in front of me. I have never been this close
to a nun before, and I look at the back of her head. Her hair is iron
gray and clipped very short beneath her cap, and she has a mole on her
neck. A mole with one thin hair sticking out of it. I lean closer - I
didn't know that nuns were allowed to have moles. I wonder why this nun
isn't smiling, or reading a Bible, or holding a rosary. Instead she,
like all of us, sits expressionlessly and stares out the window at
boy and girl climb aboard at the next stop. He is very tall and
foolish-looking, and she is very short and round and foolish-looking,
and they are holding hands. He pays their fare and she turns to look at
the people on the bus. She sees the nun, and a moment later her
boyfriend sees her too, and they stop holding hands. They don't look at
the nun as they walk past her, but they take a seat in the very back,
and later when I look at them they are sitting very close together and
they are both looking out the window.
an hour later the bus is crawling toward my stop and I reach above me
and pull the cord and the bell rings. As I walk toward the front the
bus sways, unexpectedly. I stumble against the nun and my books fall to
the floor and the contents of my open purse fall and scatter. "Dammit!"
I say without thinking, and the nun is handing me my compact. I don't
look at her face, but stuff everything back into my purse and gather my
books and get off the bus as quickly as possible.
I MAKE A CHART
I take a piece of posterboard and a black felt pen and a red crayon,
and I make a chart. It is shaped like a very large thermometer, and at
the top it says "Nine hundred dollars." This is my goal. Then, with the
red crayon, I color in the mercury, stopping at the $25 point.
Actually, I have $26.38, but I round it out for the sake of neatness. I
put the chart on my bedroom door and sit on my bed to look at it.
Seeing it hanging there, I realize how very little $25 really is, and
suddenly I feel very depressed, and I take the chart down and stuff it
into my closet behind my laundry basket and go make a sandwich.
I show the chart to my father and he says "This is how much you need to
buy the car." (Not a question but a statement.) And then he
says, "And this includes all the money you'll need for insurance and
everything." I nod and say "Yes," but of course I never thought of that
and now I fold the chart in two and put it back into the closet and
make another sandwich.
February 2, 1978
I. Thursday morning and
wondering where does all my money GO? Today is Kim's 18th birthday and
I had to borrow money from Scott yesterday to buy her presents.
Remembering the night of my 18th birthday - December 15th, 1976, senior
in high school. Beach Boys concert at the Coliseum w/Rhonda, Debbie,
Mark and Greg. Got very high, sat on Greg's lap during the ride home
(no room elsewhere). Came home from the concert and looked in the
mirror - "do I look any different?" - but of course I didn't.
It's funny how we can't
see ourselves change. I suppose one day you look at yourself in the
mirror and see those first wrinkles or gray hairs, but you don't really
notice them happening until they're there.
2. Rehearsal. In one
hour (if all goes right) I will say something to the effect of the
following: "I don't know how to say this without hurting your feelings,
but ..." (and this is where I'll probably falter)
February 3, 1978
I. Scott is angry with
her and came looking for her in the Hilton. ("I thought you said you
were coming!") Now her good mood has dissolved and she doesn't know how
to make it up to him.
2. She wrote a letter to
the editor of the college paper and now she feels awful because she
knows, with all certainty, that it will be printed and it was just a
joke anyway, written to forget the ugly scene with Scott.
3. On a scale of 1 to
10, the guys in the newspaper office gave her a 9.17. Naturally all she
can think about is what's wrong with the other 1.83 of her ... ?
4. Very quiet. Wondering
about things. Class is going on all around me but I am somewhere else.
Why is it that 60 seconds' worth of argument can wipe out a whole days'
worth of good mood?
Reading "Go Ask Alice"
for about the millionth time, and I think it's kinda funny that a book
that's supposed to be preaching against drugs actually ends up making
them sound so great that I want to go right out and smoke a joint. I
wonder if the people who write about the "dangers" of drugs realize how
people are reacting to their descriptions of the drugs & what
Feb. 6, 1978
Look good today, feel
(relatively) good as well. The two usually go hand in hand. When I look
awful I feel awful,
and vice versa. Scott's first class has been cancelled and he's sitting
here in the Hilton with me. Dwight is making an obvious point of
ignoring the two of us, and I'm so glad.
People are talking to me
a lot more lately, and I can't seem to figure it out. Have I changed,
or have they? I know that the entire collective human race couldn't
have suddenly decided that Terri V. is a worthwhile person after all,
so I guess maybe it is me who has done the changing. But when? And how?
Finished reading "Alice"
and will now begin "I Never Promised You A Rose Garden" by Hannah
Green, recommended by my Anthro teacher. Got it for 25 cents yesterday
at a secondhand store. Scott and I spent a good part of the day
browsing through the Flea Market and Value Village, looking for
secondhand books and records. As usual, I spent more money than I
should have and now I'm almost broke and I won't be paid for another 12
days and the car is looking farther and farther away. MONEY. Why is it
that some people have more than they need, and other people don't have
enough? That's one of the most unfair facts of life - that, and loving
and not being loved in return, or being hemmed in by circumstances
beyond your control. Who was it that said "Life is what happens to you
when you're making other plans?" Boy, is that true. Practically all of
the really big, important things that have happened to me - things that
have changed my life in some way - have kind of dropped on my head
unexpectedly, without any warning, and many times completely contrary
to my "plans." For instance. If I hadn't been in the Glacier High
School cafeteria at 11:30 on February 27, 1976, I would probably not be
sitting here right now, going with Scott. That morning I met Joada,
and we became friends, and she later influenced me to go out with
Scott. That wasn't planned.
Here's another one: if I
had gone to the wedding I was invited to in June 1975, instead of
staying home, I never would have met Steve P., and I would have avoided
a lot of shit and heartache that influence the way I feel about some
things still, today.
It's funny how one
random, seemingly unimportant decision can have so much bearing on
future events ... how it can even change your whole
life. Kinda makes you wonder if you should stop taking everyday
decisions lightly. Who knows? Maybe deciding to walk to the store one
afternoon for a loaf of bread will somehow affect who your
children will be someday.
I. Sitting In Class
Half-listening to an
argument about stoned thinking vs. straight thinking, but today my body
is here and my mind isn't. I am very hungry but today is the first day
of my new diet and I'm determined to fight the hunger pangs and lose
the entire 13 pounds I need to lose.
Sitting in the
Doug is forcing me to
eat a salad, and actually I don't mind because I'm starved.
(Observation: plain lettuce is quite similar in taste/texture to wet
newspaper.) Now he is forcing me to put dressing on my wet newspaper
... dressing is "fattening." He can really be a pushy guy. Pushy isn't
the word. How about obnoxious?
I'm going to do: Find pictures and captions to describe them all, and a
collage to describe me. Dad, Mom, Dick, Gram, Gramps, Debby Jeanne,
Sitting (alone) in the
Hilton. Scott is in a really foul mood because of something that
happened at work this morning (he won't say what). As for me, I feel
practically the polar opposite of yesterday ... I look awful, I feel
semi-crummy, and I have this feeling that 2/7/78 is probably not going
to be the best day I ever had.
What a crummy attitude!
Today wasn't as awful as I predicted, although I got the first migraine
I've had in a long time, but that more or less because I was out
delivering Avon in the wind and rain, under a lot of pressure.
The Number Man
Number Man is peddling up the hill
the raff and the bindlestiff follow,
for his sums and quotients like
at the counter.
sings of rational and radical
the populations swell and divide about him;
ruck and the rout, begging and bartering
a single digit to carry home.
is small comfort in his numbers
the ragtag and the bobtail cry for what he offers -
small comfort in the divisor
Number Man is pedaling up the hill
the vagrant and the vagabond dicker and deal
his sums and quotients,
any comfort, even in numbers.
we set Joey free
his dragons did not follow him.
stayed behind to guard the hills and turrets
watch the quartermoon for signs of his return.
day Joey will come back
it will not be to this hand which loosed him;
it will be to those things he loved best -
temples and his towers,
who loved the boy
watched him take his leave without sighing,
that he who loves dragons
return to them.
Why is it that I always attract the kind of guy-friends that want to
smother me with concern? Doug is trying to play mother-hen in his not
so subtle fashion, and I can feel part of myself resisting that kind of
intrusion into my life. If I so much as put a caffeine pill into my
mouth, or skip lunch, or miss a class, or look particularly tired one
morning, I'm immediately under fire. I really like him, but for all his
pseudo-intellectual talk and attitude, he's really not that bright and
I can't really take things he says too seriously. Once I started
listening to what he was actually saying. I realized that he isn't as
tuned-in as he likes to pretend he is.
Why do I automatically:
instead of the ramps?
side of the bus?
hair when I walk into a classroom?
my back to the
Can you love
and hate a
person at the same time? Or is it more a matter of envy/jealousy -
resentment over something - resentment/need - resentment over the NEED
that it there, whether you want it to be or not?
People are lonely
because of internal barriers, preventing them from reaching out and
saying "Hey, I want you for a friend." We don't understand our needs,
so a lot of our behavior is neurotic - need-fulfillment -
anxiety=tension in the body
I must have a lot of
suppressed anger or resentment inside of me. About what,
I don't know. But it's manifesting itself in violent headaches, nausea
and moodiness whenever I'm at home & Dad is around. I wish I
knew what it was all about.
I. Afternoon (Barely)
Sitting in the Hilton,
as usual. The rainstorm that caused power outages in the state last
night has gradually let up and the sun is shining again. When I get
home I think I'll drag my ancient Socker-Boppers out of the hall closet
and punch myself out - or a wall, or a chair, or whatever is handy at
the time. I have this terrific need to get all this pent-up anger or
frustration or whatever it is out of my system, and to start using my
free time (what there is of it) in more creative ways. Yesterday I sat
on my bed for most of the afternoon and evening and couldn't move ...
couldn't write, couldn't read, couldn't concentrate. I wish I could
figure out what's BOTHERING me. It could be one of several things:
1. Anger and resentment
because Dad is home on vacation this whole week, leaving me with no
time to myself, no privacy.
2. Frustration because
I'm not making any progress money-wise, and the car is very important
to me but seems like I'll never be able to actually afford it.
3. Confusion. The same
tired old question of Where is my life going and what can I
do to start making necessary changes (the same thing that has made me
periodically depressed for three or four years, or whenever it was that
I started caring about things like that).
4. Anger about the
relationship with Scott. But why anger? Maybe frustration instead? The
longer we stay together, the more differences we seem to discover. "How
can I marry someone who doesn't like seafood?"
Dumb little things
like that, as well as bigger differences, like our positions on the
womens movement, children, traditional womens roles,etc. Outwardly
things seem very smooth between us, but there areconflicts beneath the
surface that may or may not be too big to resolve.
I would hate to marry
him and then discover,
"My God he was serious, he really DOES expect me to stay home and do
About Scott. I really do
love him, you know, but the conflicts we have make it hard to have a
really good relationship. I don't think it's entirely hopeless --
someday we may be able to resolve them, if we try hard enough. But as
it stands now, we've got a lot of work ahead of us if we ever want to
get married or make some other significant commitment. I've got to
realize some important things about him that are just a part of his
character, unchangeable ... just like he's got to understand that I
could never be happy or fulfilled playing fulltime housewife and
mother. That's just what I don't want to do with my life. I'm not
radically feminist, but I care enough about the role of women in
society to expect to be treated as an equal. I refuse to live under
anybody's thumb just because I'm a woman.
You know, that was one
of my biggest complaints about my old church - the way the pastors and
the youth leaders and the entire hierarchy of the church preached that
a woman's role was to serve her husband - to build him
up - to do whatever he
says - to live under his thumb.
I got very hot about the subject whenever it came up at Bible Study
meetings or on retreats, and I really resisted it. I'm still resisting
it. In my kind of marriage one person simply can't be the "leader" and
the other the "follower." I realize that that usually happens anyway -
one person is the parent-figure, the other the child-figure - but I
resent the implication that the roles must never reverse themselves.
That's what my church believes, and that's what I can't buy. The roles
HAVE to reverse themselves! That's the only way it could work for me!
If I felt particularly strong in a certain situation and sensed that my
husband felt particularly uncertain, I would naturally expect him to
step aside and let me be the parent figure and handle that situation,
without any fear of loss to his "male ego" or whatever - and vice
versa, letting him handle situations that I couldn't cope with. And, my
God, I don't mean that he should handle the money
that I take the household and the children ... I don't mean that at
all. It shouldn't be a natural assumption that simply because I'm the
wife I should be chief diaper changer and bottle washer. It should be a
mutual, sharing thing. If he doesn't do his share, then it won't get
done and that's that.
I suppose if I knew more
about Womens Lib I could quote some handy facts or something, but I
know how I feel and that's how I'm going to live my life.
it amazing how much we think
we know at twenty?)
Holes in my shirt ...
how embarrassing. Now I'm going to be afraid to MOVE.
I've got an hour to kill
and nothing to do, nothing good to write about. I hate long stretches
of empty time like this. I'm really hungry and am considering buying a
doughnut or something, but the rational part of me keeps reminding the
hungry part that we can't afford the calories OR the expense. Sometimes
the rational part of me is a real pain in the neck.
Week's end is almost
here. Tonight, or rather this afternoon, Scott and Jerry and I are
going out to John and Karen's for a steak dinner. I just hope we don't
get all burned out too early, like we ended up doing last time. That
was really a drag.
(Hoping that this little
man sitting directly across from me isn't going to try and strike up a
conversation. He has that look on his face, and I'm not really in the
mood to talk to strangers. Maybe my experience with D. has turned me
off of talking to older-men types.)
I spent two hours in the
Hilton this morning, skipping two classes (Speech, Geography). Guess
I'm not in a school mood today. I would probably have skipped this
class, too, but Scott asked me to get notes from Pat W. from their
Business Law class.
Overslept this morning
for the second day in a row, dammit!! I'm not over-tired or anything,
so I can't understand what the problem is. My body has been rebelling
against itself lately and it's very disconcerting.
My GOD!! What a dumb
thing to say! Asking Doug if he's "deaf or something," and finding out
In one ear! Terminal foot-in-mouth disease.
Brilliantly sunny today.
Heard "Good Day Sunshine" on the radio during the ride to school this
morning and felt like flying. Very, very UP for this week. Dad has gone
back to work, and I'll be able to have some privacy in the afternoons
again. Beautiful. Tomorrow is Valentines Day, Scott and I are going to
The Raintree for dinner with his Mom & Dad. The Goodwill truck
is coming tomorrow to haul away the boxes & boxes of old junk,
books and clothes mainly, that have been cluttering my closet and my
life, leaving me with lots and lots of room to start collecting new
junk. Little things today are making me feel relatively happy and at
peace with myself and with the world.
Of course the one
constant, nagging worry in my life is the money situation, and wanting
that car so much that it hurts. I've even started dreaming about it
Spring is coming ...
isn't that great? And after spring, summer, and all the seasons for the
rest of my life. Today I'm not even afraid of getting older. That seems
so far removed. I feel like I'll probably be twenty forever.
You know what's funny to
think about? When my mother was my age , she'd been married for four
years and given birth to three children already. By this time her
marriage to Dad was already falling apart. What a sad thought. I wish I
knew my mother better - that we were close enough to talk about things,
like her marriage to Dad and why they got a divorce and what that felt
like. I feel like I should know these things. I'd like to know what I
was like as a baby ... whether she was
really happy when I was born ... if I was
a good baby. I want to know if she loves me, I guess.
I think that deep down
inside I'm probably very angry and hurt that my mother didn't raise me.
I'm also probably jealous that Debby Jeanne is now getting all the
attention that I never got from our mother. I feel almost like an
intruder when I'm with the two of them ... they're so close. Mom calls
Debby her "shadow," and they go everywhere and do everything together.
It doesn't seem fair, somehow. What have I missed, growing up without
I was lucky that I had
Grandma Vert, at least, to raise me as a sort of surrogate mother. In a
lot of ways I'm much closer to Gram that I ever could be to Mom,
because Gram is the one who raised me and listened to me and scolded me
and made me a lot of what I am. Gram was all the things in my life that
my mother should have been, but couldn't be.
(But why couldn't she?
Why doesn't she reach out to me now and try to close the gap between
us?? Dammit, that hurts.)
In The Cafeteria
Should be in
Anthropology class but I'm not, so I won't make a bunch of excuses. For
some reason I just don't feel like going to class lately, and that's
all there is to it. That first feeling of spring is in the air, and all
my scholastic energy seems to be fading. If I could do anything I
wanted to do right now, I'd be at the Pike Place Market with a camera
and $500 worth of spending money in my pocket. What a fantasy. Wouldn't
that be great?? I could buy all the handmade jewelry and handpainted
sheets and silk-screened stationery and old movies posters I wanted.
Valentines Day. What can
I say? Hearts and flowers, Cupid, boxes of chocolates, will you be
Very depressed. I guess
I let myself get too "high" emotionally last night over the prospect of
getting that job, and now (today) I'm having the emotional hangover
that goes with it. I called the place this morning and they said they
would "call." If that weren't discouraging enough, the girl I talked to
said they need someone to type and use an adding machine. An adding
machine?? God, I don't stand a
chance. I'm probably the singularly WORST person at numbers &
anything remotely connected to numbers.
I have a feeling that
even the slightest irritations today (DOUG) are going to make me blow
God I feel rotten.
God I still feel rotten.
When does it end? I've been in a fairly good mood for the past month or
so - this is the first day that I've really allowed myself to be down
in the dumps over anything. Maybe I deserve it. Maybe I'll feel better
when I get home, but I doubt it. Something very traumatic happened at
home this morning, too traumatic to talk about. (WHAT DID SHE SEE WHEN
SHE WALKED INTO THE HALLWAY?? I KNOW.)
I guess this must have been
the time I walked into the hallway and saw my dad emerging naked from
the bathroom. I was horribly traumatized at the time, but now it seems
like no big deal.
Whatever was wrong with me yesterday seems to have disappeared with a
good nights' sleep. Scott is in a terrific mood because they've voted
to go union at Van Daal, and that helps. After school today we're going
to go downtown and see how the Fat Tuesday celebrations are going. (He
has half a lid of Columbian!!) I'm still not speaking to Dad, which
probably sounds childish, but lately we've been rubbing each other the
wrong way almost continually and I can't take it.
Got an invitation to
Christy's wedding on Saturday, but I won't be able to go because I've
already got plans, but I suppose I'll send her some kind of gift or
something. Seems strange to see Chris getting married. Another former
friend taking a big, irrevocable step. We've come a long way since Camp
Waskowitz in sixth grade. I don't think I'm envious, really, so much as
puzzled ... When will I start taking some
of those "big irrevocable steps" everybody else seems
to be taking ... ?
Didn't go downtown
yesterday - went to Burien instead - but we plan to spend most of the
day down there tomorrow. Happy, sort of. About to take a Geog. test.
Took the test - don't
think I did very well. Dammit!! Sitting in the corridor of my nest
class; the whole building smells like stew or something, cooking in the
Home Ec room downstairs. Guess I didn't realize that I'm really very
Have to sit home tonite
- Scott is going out with "the boys." He gave me some of his Columbian,
though, so maybe it won't be so bad. Get high, listen to music, eat,
write ridiculous poetry or something. I used to really resent sitting
home on nights when Scott didn't want to go out, but now I don't really
care. Maybe I'm secure enough now, or something like that. Besides, we
have all day tomorrow together, so I'll probably LIVE.
Catching cold. What will
I do tonight for entertainment? Sniffles. Owe letters to people ...
Rudy, Dee Dee, Karen, Janet, Georgia. Why haven't I been able to write
An Account of the
My three day weekend is
all over, but it's been really good. Scott and I spent a lot of time
together. Saturday we went and spent the day downtown, celebrating Fat
Tuesday with the rest of Seattle ... watched the parade, walked around
listening to street performers ("Professor Chumley and Brodie, Dog of
the Future!"), watching people in weird costumes and makeup, had a
generally cold time. It was cold and raining and I had a cold, but that
didn't bother me too much. Sunday was a REALLY fun day. Sun shining,
felt like spring, and Scott and I got in the car and drove around,
doing whatever we felt like doing. We did some "second-handing" at
Value Village ... took some Kentucky Fried Chicken down to Saltwater
Park and had a makeshift picnic by a stream ... went to the Swap Meet
for more second-handing ... stayed at his house until late, watching TV
and eating hamburgers. Finally, today, Joann and Kim took me out
driving down by Southcenter and on the freeway, and then I practiced
some parallel parking on their dead-end street with Scott. I feel
tired, happy, ready (sort of) to go back to school.
1. Get license
2. Buy car
3. Finish school
4. Find job
5. Move out
6. Marry Scott
7. Two children
8. Write books
Sounds so clinical and
depressing when you put the rest of your life into a list like that,
doesn't it? Maybe people shouldn't plan their lives. It looks so measly
I want to have two
children. If Scott is the father, I want them to look a great deal like
him - facial structure, hair texture, eye color, etc. Ideally I would
like to have a daughter first and then a son, and I would like to give
them fairly unusual, unisex names. I want them to be liberated kids,
raised without the ridiculous notion that girls play one way &
boys play another way ... that boys are "tough" and girls are
"delicate" and all that other male superiority crap. I want my kids to
be free enough to realize that people are PEOPLE, and that no one sex
Is "better" than the other.
I wonder what kind of
mother I'll be. One thing: I don't intend to quit working in order to
spend every waking moment w/my kids. I'm never going to be housebound
UNLESS that's what I choose to do. For instance - if my writing career
were to take off and I found it easier to work at home. I'd like to be
a good mother, though. I want my kids to like me, to be proud of who
and what I am.
My parents loved each
other at one time, but things just fell apart for them and they
couldn't provide Dick and I with the kind of home I'm sure they had
planned to. I'm sure it must have been devastating for them to break up
and give us to Grandma and Grandpa. I don't resent them for it, at
least not consciously, but deep down inside I know I must feel something.
probably resent it very much. The whole time I was growing up with
Grandma & Grandpa, I wondered what it was like to grow up
within a "real" family structure, with both parents, the way all my
friends did. I felt left out, almost embarrassed, because even though I
loved Grandma & Grandpa they were two generations older than us
& sometimes couldn't see things the way younger adults would.
It as almost as though they were trying to raise their own children all
over again, circa 1945, and that put a great strain on Dick and I. We
wanted to be just like the other kids, but we couldn't entirely because
Grandma & Grandpa were trying to bring us up the same way they
had brought up their own children 30 years earlier. That was hard to
When I was a little girl
I worshipped my father. I thought he was the biggest, strongest,
handsomest Daddy in the world - that everything he did or said was
wonderful. I didn't see him much, particularly during the years he
lived in Ellensburg, but I wrote him letters and he came to visit once
in awhile. Once he came from Ellensburg for the weekend, and on Sunday
afternoon when it was time for him to leave we sat in Grandma &
Grandpa's front yard and I asked him not to go, to stay and let me live
with him forever. He said he couldn't - he was going to school in
Ellensburg so he could be a teacher someday. "Can I be in your class?"
I asked him, and he said "Maybe." Then he gave me a half-dollar and got
in his big green car and drove away. I stood in the yard and watched
him drive away until he was out of sight.
Later, when he dropped
out of school and came back to Seattle to live, I saw him almost every
Sunday. Those were exciting, important days for me. Dad would come out
and pick up Dick and I and take us for the whole day. We'd go down to
the waterfront and explore places like Ye Olde Curiosity Shoppe (where
he would always buy us stick candy) or Trident Imports, or we'd go to
the Seattle Center and go on rides and look around the International
Bazaar, or we'd go to Green Lake for picnics and walks along the shore.
Sometimes we would go to the Flea Market in Federal Way, usually ending
up at Shakey's for pepperoni pizza. Once in a while he would take us
overnight - we would go to a drive-in movie and then spend the night at
his apartment. Those Sundays were very special to me, and on the rare
occasions when he couldn't make it, I would be devastated for days and
During those years I
called him every night, right after dinner, and told him about my day -
what happened at school, any problems I was having at home, etc.
Whenever there were conflicts between Grandma and I, I could always
count on Dad to intervene and take my part in the argument. I remember
one time in particular, when Grandma wouldn't let me go to junior high
school dances. I wrote Dad a letter about it, and he must have done
something because soon afterward Grandma started allowing me more in
the way of privileges. Dad made Grandma understand that I was growing
up, and that it was the 1970's - not the 1940's.
Now that I've lived with
Dad for nearly six years, he isn't nearly the godlike figure I once
made him out to be. I suppose that's natural, but in a way it's sad.
Sometimes I really can't stand him. Everything he does seems to rub me
the wrong way. It's funny, but the whole time I was growing up with
Grandma & Grandpa , Dad was the one who was pushing at them to
let me grow up - now he is the one who's trying to hold me back. He
wants me to be his little girl permanently, and I'm resisting that, and
that's where most of the problems begin.
What can I write about?
(I'm tired of writing about my father.) Feeling very quiet, sleepy,
pensive. "Soap" is on TV, the house is relatively clean and quiet, and
so am I.
God is in His Heaven and
all's right with Terri V.'s world.
Spring is in the air,
more and more every day -- I was just getting used to winter!
3. Personal life
8. Good times & fun
5. Personal life
6. Fun & good times
I think that the
differences in our lists (this was a class assignment) show that Scott
is more concerned with the people in his life - me, his friends, his
parents - and I'm more concerned with my
life, with me. That
doesn't necessarily mean that I'm self-centered or anything, but that
I'm trying to figure out where I'm going. I really care about my future
and where I'm going to be in ten years. Sometimes I think I worry about
it too much - feeling like I'm trapped here in February 1978, like
things will never start changing. My perspective isn't always what it
I want that car so much
because it will be a BIG
change. It will give me more in the way of freedom, more mobility. It
will probably make it easier to find a job since I won't have to count
on the bus taking me everywhere. I won't be forced to stay home all the
time; and maybe when I finally have the car, Dad will recognize me as
the 20 year old I am instead of the 14 year old he'd like to have me
Another giant change I'm
impatient for: moving out on my own. Sometimes I get so frustrated with
my financial inability to move out, it tears me apart ... makes me feel
like a baby, still depending on Daddy
for everything. My two best friends, Karen and Rhonda, have both moved
out and I feel like the odd person out. I want to live alone for
awhile, in my own apartment - free to come and go as I please, free to
do anything I want w/o the ever-present Parental Authority Figure
looking over my shoulder and screaming at me to wash the dishes, go to
my room, "turn that radio DOWN!" ...
I don't really want a
roommate, unless the financial obligations make it necessary; I want to
be alone, all alone, with plenty of time and space to grow and become
my own person. (That isn't unreasonable, is it?)
* * * PREDICTION * * *
on nothing more than hope - wild, desperate HOPE):
I'll be out of this dump
and into my own place by February, 1979. Exactly one year from now. Oh
please, God ... if You're sitting in Your Heaven listening to this
little person with her hopes and dreams, please help her achieve her
puny little goals. Help her get her license and the car by summer ...
help her find a good job by fall ... and help her be moved out by this
time next year! That's not asking too much, is it?
It will be a long, long time before Scott and I get married. We've
talked about it, we've argued about it, we've laughed about it, we've
cried about it, and we know that we've each got to experience some
measure of independence before we commit ourselves permanently to each
other. He wants to live on his own first just as much as I do, and of
course I understand that. At this point we'd probably kill each other
if we tried it now - even just living together. We both have too much
growing up to do. Maybe if Mom and Dad had felt this way when they were
our age, things would have worked out differently for them.
If I get some kind of
good job, sometime this year, I probably won't come back to school in
the fall. Grandma will hate that idea - she has big plans for me to go
to Western - and Dad will probably make a scene about it, but school
just isn't doing me good. My grades aren't any better than they were in
high school, and neither is my motivation. In those respects maybe I
never even left high school at all.
Everyone around me is in
a good mood - I'm kind of on the outside looking in today. Something I
seem to do a lot of lately.
1. Read Geog. Chapter 12
2. Study map
3. Write story. (STORY
OUTLINE!! I NEED A STORY OUTLINE!!)
Something I "should" be
doing - calling Mrs. Holstein and apologizing for screwing up her Avon
order ... but I just don't have the nerve. WAIT! I DID IT! I scraped
the nerve together and did
Skimming through the
Highline Times. Marla S. is getting married April 22. God. What does
that make, about the billionth old friend who has taken the plunge
since graduation?? Chris just got married last weekend; Dan and Marita
are getting married in May. I don't know how I feel about all this. Not
left out, exactly, but kind of out of the loop. I suppose this will be
happening to me for the rest of my life - friends marrying, having
children, dying, whatever. It's a strange, strange feeling.
Sitting in the Hilton,
waiting for Scott to finish registering and come join me. Gray, misty
day, beginning to feel overwhelmed by all the homework I've got. How am
I going to learn all 50 states, plus the 25 largest cities, by
tomorrow?? PLUS review the whole Geography book, PLUS organize my
notes, PLUS read Chapter 12, PLUS get 8,000 words done for Writing?
God. I feel like I'm back in high school. See what I mean? I'm still
worrying about the same dumb things I used to sweat over back at good
I've been studying
states and principal cities and maps until I could SCREAM. And the
infuriating part is knowing that I'll still probably do lousy on the
test. Life is so unfair.
Too hi to even care
about dumb things like Geography tests ... I've gone down about 5
levels and keep flashing myself to a ski lodge on a snowy mountaintop,
early in winter. Cold.
I'm back, in all
respects. Don't know why I got high this morning, but it wasn't a very
good idea. Now I feel quiet and withdrawn and I'll probably just sit
there in Writing class, staring at the walls. I feel really weird. I've
got to call my Avon people tonite, dammit. That is really a hassle.
Don't know what I'll be doing this weekend - probably nothing. God, I
wish I could just crawl into bed with a candy bar or something. Maybe
I'll go home now. Highly tempted!! Almost did it!! But CAN'T!!
No inner resolve - not a
shred. Here I am sitting on the bus, getting ready to go home. To do
what? To get higher? Fall asleep? Eat? I so often do things without
thinking them through all the way first. Now I'll probably be all
burned out tonight, great. If I go out, I'll fall asleep - if I stay
home, I'll fall asleep. Either way I've got one heck of a thrilling
evening ahead of me.
Put on a sweatshirt
& an old pair of jeans and brave the rain to walk over and see
Grandma .. ?
Sitting in bed, late at
night, preparing to go to sleep, having one final cigarette. It is
raining very hard outside. Scott and I went to the drive-in tonight -
we saw "Beyond & Back," a hokey little National Enquirer-level
movie that "PROVES that there is LIFE after DEATH!", and "Audrey Rose"
... a reincarnation film festival. Despite the cold and rain, it was
very pleasant - the Colt has reclining seats and lots of leg room, and
with the heater and the rain visor it was really very warm and
comfortable. We smoked a couple of joints and were pleasantly high most
of the evening.
When Scott brought me
home and we were parked for a minute in my driveway, he held me in his
arms for a minute and I couldn't help but say, "It feels so good to be
loved." Until that moment I don't think I ever consciously put that
thought into words. It's a feeling that I've felt in my heart for a
long time, of course, but just one of those things that you don't THINK
about. I mean, you know you love, and you know you're being loved in
return, but the actual pleasure that it brings isn't something I've
ever put into words. It's just a feeling that you accept.
I've been with him for
two years now. What a very long time. Oh, I know that in the face of
lifetimes, two years doesn't amount to much - but it's the longest that
I've actually been with one person, and that certainly counts for
something. The truly happy part is that it's only the beginning.
Knowing that we may have a lifetime together is a very satisfying,
There's so much more I
would like to write about, my head is swirling with thoughts, but I'm
tired. I think I'll just huddle here under the blankets for a while and
listen to the rain before I fall asleep.
Tired. Had a full day of
housework, and now all I feel like doing is sitting here in bed and
relaxing. Nice weekend. Last night Scott and I went to Leonard and
Tracy's for one last party before they move out of their house - 20-25
people, lots of beer and talk. Scott and I left at 11 so we could come
to my house and watch "Saturday Night Live," cooked a box of frozen
french fries, eventually fell asleep on my bed. I woke up at 5 a.m.,
the TV was still on but Scott was gone - he left a couple hrs. earlier
while I was asleep.
Today is Dick's 19th
birthday, but since he's in jail downtown I won't be able to see him or
take him a present or anything until Visiting Day next Sunday. I hope
he doesn't think I've forgotten him. I love him so much, and would
never intentionally hurt him. Too many OTHER people have done that.
Not feeling so great
today, for no particular reason. I just feel kind of quiet and
withdrawn, sort of like retreating away from the world for a while.
Got a disappointing
grade on my Geog. mid-term. This is one of those days where the
slightest little thing could set me off. Dad is home today and tomorrow
- another irritation. I can't stand it when he's home. We seem to get
along fine as long as we never see each other, ha ha. Oh God,
I feel low today. I
look terrible, I feel terrible, I'm yelling at people left and right,
and there's no refuge, not even at home. No where to go and get away.
There's always something to worry about, to fight against, to struggle
with. Doug is driving me crazy with his ceaseless, mindless talking,
talking, talking. He never shuts up, not for a minute, and sometimes I
feel like telling him to just shut up and go away and take his rotten
poetry and his family problems and his personal life with him and LEAVE
ME ALONE. I can't stand it when I have to continually EXPLAIN myself to
somebody - always having to make excuses.
Two stupid things I'm
trying to do - save money, lose weight - and nothing could be harder.
Every time I get a little money saved or lose a pound, something
happens to make me fall on my face & blow it all. Maybe that's
what's making me feel so frustrated and unable to get things done. The
more I fail, the more frustrated I get, and the harder it is to get up
and try again.
("All you're having is Tab?
Is that going to be enough?" Example of typical Doug The Mother-Hen
Feeling like I could
easily die from cramps this morning. No wonder I've been feeling so
rotten the past couple days. Sometimes being female is a big pain in
the neck. Guys have it soft compared to this crap.
Last night I was looking
over this journal and thinking of things I could write about, and it
made me realize something that isn't too comforting ... I would rather
write about things that have already happened to me in the past (my
childhood, high school, etc.), or things that are going
to happen to me
(getting the car, moving out, getting married) than about the things
that are happening to me now. What does that suggest about my life
right now? Nothing even remotely
interesting to write about?
Continuing that thought
... it isn't just when I'm writing about experiences, either, but also
when I'm writing about feelings that I seem to stick basically to the
past or the future. When I do write about what I'm feeling at the
present moment is usually in relation to some feeling I've had before.
Does that make sense? At any rate, I should make some kind of conscious
effort to deal more with the present than I have been.
My usual lunch
companions have all deserted me in favor of the free Magi concert in
the Student Lounge.
Thursday morning. Spring
is here. Wearing my first "warm weather shirt" of the year, a definite
indication. We probably have more rainy stuff to endure before
spring/pre-summer is actually here, but for all intents &
purposes, it's here.
I finally have enough
credits to officially be a college SOPHOMORE. But God, it's taken me
five quarters to do it, and I still have 41 credits to go. Divided into
15 credits per quarter, that's 3 more quarters. Shit. I may still be
sitting here in the Hotdog Hilton one year from now. What a horrible
thought. I hate school. I enjoy being around the people and all that -
infinitely better than sitting home, rotting away - but I can't handle
the homework!! I spent 5-1/2 hours on homework yesterday; I started
when I got home and didn't finish until 8:00. And the depressing part
is knowing that tonight I'll probably have to do it all over again. It
Had a humiliating
experience in Writing.
Scott isn't speaking to
me because - are you ready for this? - I lost his paper clip at school
today. Yes, you read that correctly - his paper
clip. Actually, it was a very
"special" paper clip; he had it bent just the right way, so that when
you spin it on a flat surface, it spins for a long time. He had that
paper clip for over a month, and I managed to lose it in one afternoon.
Now he's mad at me. Losing that special paper clip showed GROSS
NEGLIGENCE on my part. I don't THINK ABOUT HIS THINGS. I'm CARELESS,
UNTHINKING, INSENSITIVE and not worth bothering with. In fact, I'm not
even worth talking to on the phone - he hung up the phone in my ear,
twice, when I tried to apologize.
him. For someone who is always yelling at me
to stop being a
"baby," he's certainly setting a rotten example. I've never in my life
seen anyone overreact as violently over something as trivial. It was
For all his good
qualities - and he has a few - Scott can be the most irritating,
exasperating, entirely self-engrossed person I've ever known, and I've
just about reached my limit. Right now I doubt that I even LIKE him,
let alone love him.
semi-disguised): "Yes ... is
my ex-sweetheart there?"
Terri: "No, she isn't."
A few minutes
later. Terri calls Scott.
Terri: "How do you like
Scott: "I don't. Don't
do it again."
Terri: "Don't YOU do it
Scott: "Do you want to
Scott: "Then don't tell
me not to do it again." (Hangs up)
Several minutes pass.
Terri waits. And waits.
I have no backbone ...
at least, not when it comes to Scott. All he has to do is say "I'm
sorry, Sweetheart," and that's it. I can't stay mad at him. He called
back and apologized and that was the end of it. I love him, I really
do, in spite of everything. In spite of the arguments, and the crying,
and everything. When Scott is being his normal, sweet self, there isn't
anyone in the world who can compete with him. I've just got to learn to
handle his occasional bad moods a little better (and I've got to find
that stupid PAPER CLIP).
I found it. I can't
believe it, but I found
his stupid paper clip this morning, on the floor of my Writing
What do other people
argue about? What did I fight about with other boyfriends? I can't
remember. It must not have been important.
Sitting in class, but am
only here physically. Mr. Campbell is talking about Janov's Primal
Revolution; I'm sitting in the back of the classroom, writing. Pat W. is behind me, kicking the back of my chair every couple of minutes. There is
a certain restlessness in the air ... people are acting crazier than
usual, more familiar
with each other. Must be a combination of spring and the approaching
end of the quarter. Two weeks from now - vacation.
Dad will probably be
home for most of it so I'm not very excited, really.
level - present
level - past (verbal)
level - past (pre-verbal)
wish I could abreact!!
first frisbee-tossing of the year, outside the classroom window
sexuality of growing children. (Who suppressed mine?) Parental
messages, "don't grow up, don't become sexual." Affects ability to
develop normally and enjoy the sexual experience. Repulsive thought -
fathers having sexual feelings toward their daughters. Nauseating.
Severe case of the
Monday morning blahs. I've got to do my Avon tonight - can't figure out
why I always dread it so much. Cut my hair last night, several inches,
but no one has noticed. Had a nice weekend. Friday night Scott and I
took some beer out to John and Karen's for the evening; Saturday night,
went to The Other Side of the Tracks to listen to K & J sing.
Scott was served beer, but I got asked for I.D. - amazing what that
beard has done to make him look "older." Also went to a giant party at
Doug Bagnell's, overcrowded & overheated but (fairly) fun. Sunday,
yesterday, went to the Swap Meet, spent several dollars on records.
Later in the afternoon went and bought Scott an anniversary present,
one week early - a new turntable for his stereo. Ate dinner with his
family, came home and cleaned my room. Now it's Monday morning and I
can't seem to get excited about anything. Thank God the quarter will be
over this week.
Got ANOTHER goddamned
low score on my Geography test ... a 45, the second lowest score in the
entire class. The only person who did worse was that fat idiot with the
bad breath who sits next to me.
Sitting all alone. Wish
Paul or someone would come into the Hilton ... I've grown so accustomed
to spending my lunch hour with "company." Doug and I aren't friends
anymore, because I finally blew up at him last week and told him to
leave me alone. Now I would even welcome his
company. Oh well ... you get what you deserve. This is just one of
those not-so-great days when having someone to talk to - even someone
as obnoxious as Doug - would help.
The Hilton is crowded
and noisy today - all the tables are filled. People all around me. The
guys at the next table are staring at my low cut T-shirt, making me
feel self conscious, but that's something I've gotten used to. Some men
(boys, whatever) are really crude and blatant about the way they treat
women, and it never fails to make me angry.
I don't feel good. I
look good today (fairly) but I don't feel good: for once, the two don't
correlate. I'm under a lot of pressure today and I can feel the tension
in my neck and shoulders. I wish that it was a hot, sunny day and that
I was floating in an intertube in the middle of a lake somewhere.
Most Frequent Dreams
1. The one I had last
night (again) and generally dream once or twice a month - that I'm back
in sixth grade at Boulevard Park, with Mr. Iverson and Sandy and
everybody. A variation of this dream is that we're having a sixth grade
"reunion." ANOTHER variation is playing on the upper playground during
2. Going back to Camp
Firwood, in one way or another. Sometimes I'm there for summer camp as
a camper, other times I'm a counselor. Every time, though, something
has changed & I'm unhappy about it - the cabins are all
different, or there are people there that I don't like.
3. A variation of the
Firwood dream: my mountain. Heavily wooded, beautiful, peaceful. I love
my mountain and I always feel very happy to return. I am usually with a
group of people and I run ahead, leading the way up and down the paths.
Sometimes the mountain turns into Firwood, other times it leads to some
kind of secret valley or village. I always feel like I've come "home."
4. The dying dream. I'm
in a car accident or I'm shot or something, and I feel the experience
of dying. There isn't any pain, but it's sometimes cold and scary. I
usually wake up immediately.
5. The science-fiction
dream. This one varies greatly, and is actually several different
dreams. The ones I have the most, though:
A. The moon dream. The
moon has drifted very close to the earth, so close that it fills the
whole sky, and it is being colonized. Someone from the moon colony
comes to earth and tries to get me to go with him.
B. Going back in time -
usually to grade school.
C. Making friends with
someone from another world, always male.
6. The moving dream, one
I used to have all the time but not so often anymore. For some reason
Dad and I have to find a new place to live, and I'm never happy about
it because there's always something terribly wrong with the new house.
A frequent variation: being forced to move back in with Grandma
Why do all my most
frequent dreams involve going somewhere, or going back to some place
I've been ... ? Sometimes I'm happy about going, other times I'm
disappointed because things have changed too much. Going back to
Boulevard Park and Camp Firwood - two of the happiest periods of my
life - strange how often I dream about that, isn't it? Escapism? Trying
to relive my childhood? But then when I dream about moving back in with
Grandma & Grandpa, I'm resisting it. How confusing.
Sitting in bed.
Happy in spite of
"things." Watching a special on TV about the human heart ... it's
really fascinating. I just talked to Scott on the phone, and things are
good between us. He said something tonight that really came as a shock
- that he was "thinking" today about us, and about marriage and
everything, and that he thinks we'll probably be married by summer '79.
I could have died when he said that! It came almost entirely out of the
blue, and it was the closest he's ever come to an actual marriage
proposal. My God! Me? Married?
I can't picture it,
I really can't!! In so many ways I still feel so young - a 16 year old
at heart. I still live the same way I did at 16 - or 14, for that
matter - except that I'm going to college now, and a few other
relatively unimportant personal changes. I still WRITE the same way I
did at 16!!! And getting married seems so unreal.
Raining. Still in a buoyant mood. I have so many things I should be
worrying about ... money, primarily, and finals next week ... but for
some reason I don't feel like worrying today.
Last night I dreamed
that Rocky M. was trying to beat me up. (?) Won't even attempt to
interpret that one. Don't even care.
Penny Nicholes is getting
married this summer. Sigh.
Notice: I REFUSE TO
Watched "Reefer Madness"
in the Lecture Hall. Does marijuana make you want to kill people?
How many different personalities ... ?
One hates father
One puts ketchup on cottage cheese
One loves brother
One dreams One cries One is strong and says "Here there is no pain"
Bright, sunny morning.
Yesterday it rained. Today it is spring again. Sitting in class,
waiting for Mr. Campbell to arrive. Feeling quiet, as usual. "The death
of permanence" ... I don't seem to feel it yet. Now is now: it can
never be any other time but 11:00 a.m. on March 8, 1978. Now is now:
this day can never be a long time ago. Egypt was a long time ago, and
the Roman Empire, and the Middle Ages, but today could never be the
I wish I could be young
when the 21st century arrives. I'll be 43, as old as Dad is now. Grrrr. I wish
I could be young in 2057, but if I'm alive I'll be 99 years old,
probably too old to enjoy or understand anything. What a depressing
thought. The family I have then will maybe never have known me as
anything but a doddering, helpless old woman. They will never know me
the way I am now - 20 years old, very full of life, very hopeful about
my life, very pretty. I'll just be that old lady in the nursing home or
Which makes me realize
that the very old people in my family now - Gim, for instance - used to
be young, yet I've never known them
as anything but old.
People aren't born
We forget that sometimes.
intimacy. Conflict (existence vs. need), thinking disassociated from
feeling. Body is narrow and contracted. Face is mask-like. Feet are
contracted and cold weight on outside of feet. Some splitting of the
personality into opposite attitudes (virgin/whore). Withdraws in self
defense. Cause: rejection very early by mother, with hostility.
establish closeness only on the basis of his need for warmth and
support - that is, on an infantile basis. Conflict (need vs.
independence). Body is long and thin. Muscles are underdeveloped (but
not as stringy as schizoid), especially arms and legs. Body has
tendency to slump. Physical immaturity (small pelvis). Breathing is
shallow. Tends to cling to others, inability to be alone. Feels empty.
Cause - early deprivation, year one. "The world owes me a living"
only to those who need him. (He is in a position to control the
relationship.) Conflict (independence vs. closeness). Denial of
feelings. Great investment in EGO IMAGE. Drive for power and need to
dominate & control. Two body-types: over-development of upper
half or fairly regular. Drive to succeed is very strong. Sexuality is
used in this power struggle, pleasure in sex is secondary to
performance. Cause: sexually seductive parent but rejection of child's
need for support.
closeness on the basis of a submissive attitude. Conflict (closeness
vs. freedom). Whines and complains but remains submissive on the
exterior (inside: strong feeling of spite, negativity, hostility and
superiority). Thick, powerful muscles restrain any direct assertion.
Body is short, thick, muscular, extra body hair. Short thick neck. Ass
is tucked in. Feeling of being stuck in a morass. Tries to please.
Cause: love & acceptance with SEVERE pressure.
close relationships but remains guarded. Conflict (freedom vs.
surrender to love). Holds themselves stiff with pride. Defensive. Body
is healthy but with some loss of grace and coordination. Ambitious,
competitive, aggressive. Good contact with reality but it is used as a
defense against the striving for pleasure.
Ate lunch alone. Paul is
on a "field trip" to a TV station, and I don't know where Doug and
Cathy are. A little bit lonely. Looking at the five Bio Energetic
character categories (above), wondering where I fit in (or IF I do).
Scott is easy - he's definitely the masochistic category. Even the
physical description is correct. But what about poor, misguided,
uncertain Terri V.? What category do we put her in? It seems like I
have some of the schizoid characteristics, some of the oral, some of
the psychopathic (especially the physical), some of the masochistic AND
some of the rigid. What a mess I must be, internally.
Sitting on the sunny
side of the bus. Darece D. asked me if I'd gotten a tan, that I "look
darker." Actually it was probably because I was blushing furiously ...
I read Part II of my story out loud in class, and that doesn't come
easy, particularly on one of my "quiet" days.
Am I going to turn in
this journal at the end of the quarter (next week)? It isn't exactly
ORGANIZED, but then when I bought it, I never intended to turn it in.
Thinking about going
home early today, but can't find any plausible excuse. Clean the house?
It needs it.
I did come home early
after all, and am I glad I did. The house was a horrible mess and I
needed the extra time just to get it looking semi-decent. God, I hate
this house. A lot of things have happened in my life in the five years
that we've lived here, and there's lots of good memories & all,
but I really hate this place (with the exception of my bedroom, of
course). It looks terrible, it smells awful, and even hours and hours
of concentrated housecleaning barely make a dent. It's so discouraging,
like stringing beads on a string with no knot on the end. Once you get
all the way through, you just have to start all over again. Maybe
that's why I have no intention of becoming a fulltime "homemaker" - I
just plain HATE housework. After all, I've had six years of it already.
Who would know better than me? I can't understand women who enjoy it,
or who are willing to let their husbands walk all over them like that.
("Your place is in the KITCHEN.")
Discouraged with school.
What a flop I've been in high school and college. The frustrating part
is knowing that I'm a fairly intelligent person, and that I COULD do
better, but anyone looking at my transcripts would think I'm some kind
of brainless moron.
Writing while the bus is
moving ... not an easy thing to do. I don't know how, but I got through
this week in one piece and now the weekend is here. Today I'm not going
to get off at my regular stop, but am going to Boulevard Park to buy a
card for Scott at the drugstore, then to cash some checks at the bank.
I know this is going to
sound ridiculous, but right now I feel so completely happy, I think I
could explode. I wish this happy feeling would never go away, that it
could be Saturday, March 11, 1978 forever and ever. I love Scott - I
love being alive. Tonight we're going to go out and celebrate our two
year anniversary - we're going out to dinner, then to Wendy W's party
for awhile, then to the U-District to see my favorite midnight movie
(The Rocky Horror Picture Show). This afternoon we went and looked
around the Glacier Big G rummage sale, bought a lot of old records,
then went to A & W for a hamburger lunch, then to turn in my
Avon order. Now I'm sitting here in my room listening to "Snowball,"
and I feel so wonderful. I'm so happy.
Weekend is over and I'm
pooped. This was one of the busiest, most hectic weekends I've ever
seen, and now it's hard to get back into my regular school routine. I
guess it doesn't matter much anyway, because this week is final exam
week - I only have two - and then we have vacation. So I'll no sooner
get used to school again when it'll all be over for another quarter.
Saturday night was
perfect. Everything turned out just as well as I hoped. Scott gave me a
ring, a beautiful gold one with a tiny diamond in the center. I showed
it to Dad and his entire face sort of fell apart ... you could see
"FEAR" written all over it, so I had to reassure him that it ISN'T an
engagement ring. (?) We went to dinner at The Pizza Works in Burien,
then to Wendy's party (which turned out to be a LOT of fun) and then to
see "Rocky Horror" at midnight. Didn't get home until 3 a.m.
Sunday, went to the Swap
Meet for a while, bought some records and books (Scott bought me a
pitcher & bowl set). Ate dinner at his house with his family.
Will turn this journal
in, after all, in spite of some of the things I've written. I don't
care if it's not "organized" and I don't think Mr. K will, either. I'm
not a terribly organized person, anyway. (One look at my closets
& drawers & under the bed would reaffirm that. I just
packed away several boxes of junk, some of it dating back to grade
school, and had the Salvation Army come and cart it away. But even that
attempt at organization was futile, since I'm starting to collect more
junk all over again. Sigh.)
How do I feel? Tired.
Happy. Restless. Angry w/myself for spending $3.00 in the bookstore a
few minutes ago. But over all, just happy to be alive.
An hour to kill. I
almost went home early but at the last minute decided against it. Don't
know why, exactly - I hate taking the bus home. For that reason alone,
I probably won't be taking another 1:00 class next quarter ... riding
the bus is so depressing. Sitting in the Hilton with Doug and Paul -
probably for the last time, ever. Paul is getting married on Saturday
and is transferring to Bellevue CC next quarter, so I don't know when
I'll ever see him again. Getting used to temporary friendships, though
... such is life.
Note to my Writing Instructor:
I WANT THIS JOURNAL BACK, MR. K! PLEASE!!
March 28, 1978
JOURNAL!!! We are
reunited!! For the past two weeks of Spring Vacation I've been going
INSANE without you to confide in, and now at long last I've got you
back! Mr. Kaneko made some comments about the things I've written here - he
says I'm too hard on myself. Well, I don't care about any of that,
right now. I'm just glad to have my old familiar notebook back in my
hands. I've grown so accustomed to writing in you, you're like an old
friend, and it was tough getting through my vacation without you.
Spring Vacation '78 was
boring. It had its high points, of course, but for the most part it was
a real drag sitting around the house every day while Scott was working.
Easter Sunday was nice, though. Scott and I went out to the Swap Meet
in the morning, as usual, and then I was invited to have dinner with
his family - met his Grandma and Grandpa S.
Problems, problems. It's
a minor miracle that I haven't yet developed an ulcer from all the
worrying I do. I have just realized, for certain, that I have another
Bethany Day problem. The strange part is that it hasn't started to
bother me yet, emotionally or otherwise. Maybe it just hasn't sunk in
yet. I'm still worried sick about money, too. God. If I ever live to
see 1979 I'll be amazed. I'll be even more
amazed if I get the car. Will I? When?? You know what's frustrating?
Knowing that maybe a year or so from now, I'll be reading this journal
and smiling because it all sounds so infantile. My car will probably be
sitting out in front of our house, and as I read this I'll be thinking
"Thank God I don't have to worry about that kind of stuff anymore!"
My classes this quarter:
9 a.m. (M-W-F) Science
Fiction in Literature
10 a.m. (M-W-F) Oral
Interpretation of Literature
11:00 a.m. (Daily)
Introduction to Logic & Practical Reasoning
That last one sounds
great, doesn't it? Imagine Terri V. thinking logically and reasoning
practically. Sounds too good to be true. I'll probably flunk.
hasn't been home in 3 days.
is my kitty??
He came home safe and sound, and lived to a ripe old age.
Very late, very high.
Scott and I smoked some hash tonight and the effects are taking a long
time to go away. I'm just sitting here in bed watching CBS' 50th
anniversary show, sipping a 7-Up on ice, thinking about how much my
journals have changed since I first began keeping them in eighth grade.
The three biggest things in my life in eighth grade were my unrequited
love for Kenny Roberts, trying out for cheerleader & losing
(ouch! that one still hurts, a little) and Grandma getting sick
& us having to move in with Dad. Funny how much things can
change in eight years. I'm not even the same person I was when I was
fourteen. That funny little Terri V. is still living back in 1972,
waiting for summer, waiting to grow up. Most of the friends I had then,
the friends who were so important to me then, have married or moved
away. Even our old junior high school has been shut down and converted
into a warehouse. Everything has changed.
I wonder how much
things will change in the NEXT eight years? Where will I be in 1986?
(Note: Reading this "old" journal and
In 1986 I'll be 28
years old. I will probably married and probably have one or two kids. I
will be working, maybe writing, and will probably have had something
published. The friends that I have and the things I'll be worrying
about in 1986 seem as far removed and distant as 1972 seems to me right
now. Heck ... in 1986 I probably won't even CARE that Thaddeus Colas
had a terrible headache ...
Feeling very good today
IN SPITE OF EVERYTHING. I still can't figure out why I'm not feeling
panicked, but who cares? I have plenty of time left, and things are too
smooth between Scott & I right now to rock the boat. That can
wait, for a little while longer at least.
Went to my new
literature class, "Science Fiction," but Mr. Olson never showed up so
we all left. Denise Day is in my class, so is Craig S. and a couple
other faces I recognize from around school. Now I'm sitting (where
else?) in the Hilton. I've got two more classes to go to today,
wondering what they'll be like and how long this buoyant mood will
Just walked into my room
and - for the first time this year - smelled spring. Felt
it. It's an
impossible sensation to describe .... just a feeling in the air, a
smell, the change in the light, something intangible. It was nice.
Ate lunch at A &
W with Scott after school, the way we used to do sometimes during our
senior year in high school. Now he has gone to work and I am sitting
here in the quiet, quiet living room, finishing my Coke and having a
cigarette. The clock on the wall is ticking, the refrigerator is
humming in the kitchen. Very quiet. Today was a nice day. My other two
classes seem fine - I am particularly taken with my new Speech
teacher, Mr. Sandifer.
It is growing cloudy and
overcast outside, but nothing can touch that spring quality I'm
feeling. I'm going to try and get my housework done by 2:00, and then
maybe I'll have a bowl and listen to some music and relax. This nice
feeling is too good to waste worrying about things.
Today Terri V. likes
Tonight we got very
Didn't go to school
today. Only my second day of classes and I'm cutting them already.
Hmmm. Actually, I overslept this morning and didn't make the bus on
time. I only had one class today so it's no real big thing.
Sitting on my bed, doing
my nails, watching TV. Tonite Ellen Corby returned to "The Waltons" as
Grandma Walton, and it was such a moving episode that I found myself
crying two or three different times. I get so emotionally involved with
that program, I forget that it's only make-believe. The Walton family
is so idyllic and warm and perfect. It makes me envious, in a way. In
spite of their poverty and all their problems, it would still be such a
wonderful family to be a part of. I don't know what I'm going to do
when they take the show off the air. I'll miss them all as though they
were real living people.
More stoned gibberish.
Would you believe it?
The entire cast of "The Waltons" (including Grandma) is hosting "CBS On
The Air" tonite!
Bing Crosby singing
"White Christmas" - people
We must write all
What delights me is
that my handwriting is still nice.
Twitching muscles ...
underwater feeling in ears and eyes.
The little oceans in
Dots on finger.
Bone under skin.
A plane buzzing in
the night, very high in the sky.
The planes are what
take us to the nearer moon when it fills the sky (one dream).
Some people have
The Miracle Worker
There isn't a thought
or a word which cannot be heard.
The crowds of people
trapped in video tape, forever.
Things we can't
understand: eternity. eternal existence. existence or form of God. infinity. time.
non-time. heaven. hell. divine birth. resurrection. satan.
Discovered these people
are in my Science Fiction class: Jeff Simons, Ted J., Bryan Wetzler, Denise Day
(I already knew that one). I think this class will probably get very
dull later in the quarter ... the teacher has no charisma.
Read my poem
"Amputation" in Speech class, very nervous, but Mr. Sandifer liked it.
He said that there are only seven or eight poets in the entire world
who can read their own poetry effectively, and that I'm one of them.
(?) Mr. Sandifer likes me. He said I have a "deep, sexy French voice."
That embarrassed the hell out of me, but it's nice to know he likes me,
Brilliantly sunny day.
Watching "All In The
Family," wondering what I'll be doing this weekend, if anything. I'd
like to go out tonite but Scott is working late and there's no telling
when he'll be through. How do I feel? Pleasant. Lazy. Drowsy. I got
another letter from Karen today, and she sent a picture of herself and
Dean at Christmas. I envy her, in a way - living in California, so
satisfied with the way her life is going. She could have weakened and
stayed here just to be with Dean, but she knew what she wanted to do
and she was strong enough to do it. I wish I had the strength she has -
to know what I want to do, and then to DO it.
What am I thinking about
on this lazy, uncomplicated afternoon?
Watching Gloria have her
baby on a rerun of "All In The Family," drinking diet pop (trying to
lose weight again), trying to get enough energy together to clean up my
room. Another sunny, spring day, and I feel good, if not energetic.
Watching this show makes me wonder what it'll be like when I have
children. Will it hurt? Will I be conscious, or will I be under
anesthesia? What will my kids look like? What kind of people will they
Am now watching The
Academy Awards (50th year). Does it seem like I'm ALWAYS watching TV?
Don't have any weed, but I used my resources and scraped together the
resins from the bong ... now I'm pretty high. Wondering: why do I
always let Sweetheart read my journal, dammit??!!!?!?! Now I can't
write anything that I wouldn't want him to read.
Morning. Not going to
S.F. - sitting in the Hilton instead, hoping against hope that Dwight
won't come over here and sit down at my table. I don't think I could
bear one of those forced, uncomfortable conversations.
This is the kind of day
that has a "hump" in the middle - something you've got to do that
you're not looking forward to at all, but you know that once you get it
over with it'll be all done & you'll never have to worry about
it again. Tonight I've got to go to a Mariners '78 opener with Dad and
Gramps, and I really DON'T want to go at all. I'm all burned out from
getting high and drinking coffee to stay awake, and I'd rather stay
home with a good book and go to bed early. No such luck. I don't know
why I even said I would go. I don't like baseball all that much, and I
positively HATE going to the
Kingdome ... noisy,
crowded, congested. Shit. With all this negative feeling inside me I'm
probably going to have a lousy time, whether I try to or not.
Thinking about: myself.
How do I handle problems? Avoid them? Ignore them, hoping they'll go
away? Put them off and deal with them "later"? I wonder: do we deal
with problems the same way we deal with people?
Well ... he came over to
my table - I knew he would, dammit. Some people just never give up, do
they? AND HE ASKED ME OUT AGAIN. Dammit!! Again!! Shit, I've turned him
down five or six times and he still asks ... what IS it with him? Or
what is it with ME? I'm not encouraging him or anything, so what is it
that he finds so attractive? You would think I was the only female in
the entire world, the way he hangs on.
Sitting in the Hilton
(again, not still). Doug has been yakking my ears off for almost 45
minutes and I don't believe I've heard a word he's said. I've never
known anyone who can talk to much and say so little. Karen used to be
that way but she's outgrown it, I think.
I'm starving. My stomach
feels like it might collapse from lack of attention. I don't want to
eat until dinner, though. My pants are starting to get a little tight
around the waist because I've put on 5 pounds and none of my clothes
Feeling very, very good
... but, as is sometimes the case, I'm not exactly sure why. Maybe it's
because the ordeal of the Mariners game is over, and it wasn't such an
"ordeal" after all. (We won, 3 to 2, against the Twins.) It could be
because I'm more well-rested than I've been in days. Or maybe it's
because it's spring, and a sunny day in April. I rode out with Jerry
this morning to school. I was nervous about it because I was afraid
that conversation between us would be awkward and strained, but it was
a very pleasant ride and I enjoyed it. I like Jerry very much and I'm
happy that we can be comfortable around each other again, after what
happened last year. I was afraid we would never get back on the right
terms with each other. It's a relief to be able to sit next to him in
the car and not be embarrassed every single minute, wondering what the
hell he's thinking and if he feels as dumb as I do, etc. etc.
I figured something out
the other day - I've gone to school with Jerry longer than anyone else
- 14 years, to be exact! Boulevard Park, Sunset, Glacier, and now HCC.
Makes me feel like I've been sitting behind a desk for a long, long
Only a couple more pages
left in this journal. I feel very proud of myself, the way I've been
writing so faithfully these past couple of months -- it's been a long
time since I've gone all the way through a journal without giving up in
the middle or something, and it gives me a good feeling to know I
haven't lost my touch. I think that from now on - or for a while, at
least - it'll probably be easier for me to write in my journals, now
that I've gotten over this hurdle and broken my "creative block" or
whatever it is that's been preventing me from completing a journal. Now
I'm back in the habit, and it feels good.
(What in the world is
wrong with my handwriting today? Must be the coffee I drank this
In a few minutes I'm
going to go to the Bookstore and buy a new journal, as soon as I
scribble my way through these last couple of pages. ("Hi, Carole.")
Before I do, I'd like to kind of review the things that have happened
in my life since January 12th, when I first began this notebook. That
way I can sort out what's important and what isn't ... what has changed
my life and what hasn't.
I made some new friends
- Doug, in particular, and Dwight, and Paul (although he's gone now).
That is important to me. I dealt with the problem of an overly-amorous
guy, came right out and said I didn't want to date him ... something
I've never been able to do before.
I dealt with the subject
of death - what is it like? am I afraid of it? - and youth - how it
feels to be young & alive. I faced the fact that deep in my
heart I feel immortal. I talked about my parents, and came to the
realization that I resent my mother very much. I've never understood
that before, until I wrote about it in this journal. I also faced the
fact that my father has never been the god I thought he was, even when
I was little. I realized that even though I love him, I can't stand to
live with him ... a fact that could apply to anyone in the world.
I wrote three good poems
- "Still Dead," "The Number Man" and "Epitaph." Three poems may not
seem like a lot, but for me it is. What's more, I do believe that
they're good, and that's important. I've got to believe in my
I celebrated two years
with Scott, the longest I've ever been with one person, and I
realistically explored the possibility of marriage.
I figured out why I
can't go back to my old church (because of their antiquated, slanted
view of a woman's position in the world). Later I'll talk about my
feelings toward God -- too bad I didn't do it in this book, but it
gives me something to explore next time.
Spring arrived. I
straightened out my priorities a little better, figured out what I want
to do first and how to go about doing it. I may not have accomplished
many of the goals I've set for 1978, but at least I know how I want to
get started, and that's the first step. I've resolved to get Terri V.'s
life moving in a forward direction instead of backward.
I started looking at my
dreams - describing them, or drawing pictures of them, even the private
ones I've wanted to keep to myself, and in doing so I may be on the way
to discovering what my dreams mean, why I dream the things I do, what
my subconscious mind is trying to say to the waking, walking Terri.
All in all, 1978 has
been a pleasant year so far, at least the small piece of it that I've
recorded in these pages. I've been happy for the most part, and the
best thing is that I have so much to look forward to. Getting my
license, getting the car, summer '78, moving out, marriage, children,
writing, my whole life stretched out ahead of me like one long, lazy
summer day ... so much living yet to do. I hope I live a long, long
time, but even if I should die tomorrow I've had a happy life. I've
managed to pack a lot of living into my twenty years and four months on
Planet Earth, and as far as I'm concerned nothing could beat being
to throw a rock?