1978 - April 1979
"I'm happy. I'm moving into my first apartment day after tomorrow. I'm hung up on a great guy.
I'm alive. I'm 20 years old. I'm going to live forever."
September 24, 1978
This is the state of my
life on a crowded Sunday afternoon in late September, 1978:
am happy and sad
I am positive and negative
I am decided and confused
This weekend has been
Friday night Bruce and I
double-dated with Rhonda and Scott Wolf, and it was a very
long night! First, the four of us sat at Rhonda's apartment, drinking
smoking Columbian, snorting a little coke, eating speed and doing a lot
of general talking
and relaxing. It was raining like crazy, but we were more or less
determined to go
downtown and see Rocky Horror at midnight, rain or no rain. Scott drove
like a crazy
person - I am surprised we're all still alive - but we made it to the
show in one
piece, and it was great.
Afterwards we went to
Scott's apartment in Redmond, and on the spur of the moment
Scott and Bruce decided to fly to Hawaii for the weekend. Can you believe
they called and made airline reservations, and the next thing I knew we
were all piled
back into the car heading for Bruce's house, so he could pack. The
was totally unreal!!
Their flight wasn't
until 8:30 a.m., so while Scott drove Rhonda home, I stayed
with Bruce for a couple of hours, supposedly to "keep him awake." It
only chance to be alone all weekend, and we made good use of it (which
about later). Anyway, I drove myself home from Rhonda's and got home at
I slept until noon, but
even after I finally dragged myself out of bed I'd lost
every ounce of energy. I was burned out, tired, and depressed because
Bruce going to Maui
sort of fucked up the rest of the weekend for me. Grandma was at the
Puyallup Fair all day
so I had the house to myself. I ate some more speed and started doing
things to take my
mind off of Bruce ... I did a gigantic laundry, straightened up the
bedroom, washed some
dishes, sewed buttons on some blouses, etc. etc. Little domestic
things. Later in the
afternoon the speed started to hit me in an unpleasant way, and all I
could do was put a
Moody Blues album on the stereo and sit on my bed and look out the
Last night I was so
tired, I just wanted to crawl into bed and get some extra
sleep, and that's exactly what I would have done except that Rhonda
called at 8:30
and asked me to come over and help her babysit her two nephews. We sat
at Renee &
Jeff's until midnight, watching TV and reading magazines and smoking a
Columbian that Bruce gave to us.
When I was driving home,
my car died on Des Moines Way, right in the middle of the
road! I was scared out of my mind -- it was dark and late and foggy,
and I was stoned, and
there was no help in sight. Finally a couple of guys I know (Tony Delorenzo,
Roberts) stopped and helped me push my car off the road, and then them drove
me back up to
Renee and Jeff's. Jeff came down and gave me a jump and I got
home OK. Today I took
the car down to the service station, and thankfully it was just my fan
belt that needed to
be tightened and not a dead battery, which I was afraid the problem
was. It was fixed in
minutes and runs just fine now.
I was supposed to go to
church with Grandma and Grandpa and Gim this morning, but I overslept.
I think I really needed the sleep. Today is Gim's 90th birthday, and we
had an open house at Grandma & Grandpa's -- a real houseful,
including Uncle Paul and Aunt Elva, Uncle Vaughn and Aunt Leona, Linda
and Stan with Dawna, Sean and Shannon, Kenny and Kathy Naff with
Heather and Aaron, Dad, Johnny and Gail Naff with Michael and
Nathaniel, Elva, Irene and Kirby Naff. I stayed for a couple of hours
and told the story of my new job over & over, but the houseful
of little kids started to wear on my nerves after a while so I made my
excuses and left.
Cousin Linda (holding baby on her lap), Cousin Elva Naff, me
(more family reflected in mirror)
Now I'm home. ("Home,"
for now, is still Grandma St. John's.)
I'm sitting in the living room watching "American Graffiti" for the
or sixth time ... Grandma, Mom, Ken and Les are noisily playing cards
at the kitchen table
... Debby is wandering around restlessly.
I'm happy because we'll
be moving into our apartment in a little over a week.
I'm happy because I've lost more than ten pounds. I'm happy because
I'm in love.
At the same time, I'm
depressed - maybe I'm just over-tired - but this whole thing with Bruce
has got me down and I don't know what to do about it. He is everything
I've always wanted in a man - supremely self-assured, easy to be with,
perceptive, sensual, considerate. Making love with him is the greatest.
Whenever I'm with him, I just let it all go. I haven't yet learned to
discard all inhibition the way he does, but I'm learning. He can be so
tender and so aggressive at the same time, and it drives me out of my
mind. No one has ever made me
feel like this, and that includes all of the supposed "great loves" of
life. With Bruce, there is passion and there is tenderness,
instead of only one or
the other, the way it's always been in the past. I can
have it both ways!
The depressing part is
knowing that I can't really have him unless I'm
willing to give up my job. I'd be fired in an instant if Kirk ever
found out Bruce
and I are dating. That just burns me up. It's so unfair. Why do I
always reach for
the unattainable, in love anyway?
But would Bruce ever
love me anyway? What am I to him? Just another
"thing," or someone he could really care about? In the quiet after our
lovemaking there is always a silence that just begs to be filled with
an "I love
you" or something similar. We'll be laying there together, and inside
screaming "LOVE me! LOVE me!"
Bored. Lonely. Restless.
I got in the car and drove past Rhonda's apartment ...
Bruce's car is still there (he left it at her apartment for the weekend
he's in Hawaii, which disturbs me somehow) but Rhonda isn't home. I
McDonald's and bought myself a Coke - sat in the parking lot and had
part of a joint
and worked on my Coke. Then I drove home. Everyone is still here, but
even a houseful of
people doesn't ease this vague feeling of being completely alone.
What will my life be
like two weeks from right now, living in my first apartment? What
will I be doing the Sunday evening after my first weekend on my own?
Who will I be with?
What will I be thinking about?
You know, the six months
I waited to get the car seemed to go by in no time, but these two weeks
of waiting to move are taking an eternity to pass. This is not "easy
waiting," either, but very difficult
Traces of a beginning
headache. I've been taking speed every day for almost two
weeks. I've lost ten pounds and barely eat anything anymore, but my
sometimes and my face is breaking out. (I didn't know that speed
promotes acne, but
Rhonda mentioned something about that tonight.) I want to lose ten more
pounds and then
I'll knock it off.
Everyone has left. Ann
got drunk and struck up a screaming argument with Les in front
of Mom and Ken and Grandma and I, and soon afterwards they gathered
their coats and went
home. Now Grandma is upset ... she's cleaning up the kitchen,
wordlessly. I am in the
living room, half-watching "Battlestar Galactica," ignoring my
ignoring the vague hunger pains, ignoring the fact the work tomorrow is
going to be a real
pain without the pleasant distraction of Bruce in the office ...
(Every time I hear a
plane rumbling overhead, I wonder if it's Bruce coming home.)
Think I'll take a bath
and go to bed. What a weekend.
I have just now realized
that I haven't yet explained to you how this whole crazy
thing with Bruce began. Unusual for me, since I ordinarily have every
detail of every love
affair carefully recorded and preserved for posterity! ... but at the
time we were
beginning to be interested in each other, I was still technically going
with Scott and I
couldn't write about Bruce, for fear that Scott would read my journal
and find out.
Now I'm 100% free and clear to write exactly what happened - every
detail - and who gives a damn who reads it?! This, then, is ...
To begin: Scott and I
went with each other for 2-1/2 years, and I have to admit they
were good years. We had a warm, intimate, mutually caring relationship,
and for a long
time I was happy with him. It was a nice secure feeling to have Scott
to lean on. But
after the first year, it got to be more of a habit than anything else,
at least as far as
I was concerned. There was still tenderness and intimacy, and yes, I
loved him, but the
passion, and the excitement - the thrill
of being together -
had long since faded
away. I didn't enjoy our sex life.
In the beginning it was nice, and even exciting to a point,
a while I started to really hate it. I made up excuses and lied and did
everything I could to change my feelings, but that was impossible. The
part is that he probably thought everything was OK. He was satisfied,
and I did such a
terrific job of making him think I was satisfied too, he never
questioned it. And the
whole time, little pieces of me were dying every time I gave in and
went through the
charade, knowing that there had to be something better for me,
After I moved
out of Dad's house and got the job and the car and everything in my
life really started to move, something inside of me changed. I knew
that it was insanity for me to stay locked in a dead-end relationship.
I would end up old and hard and incapable of passion ... or, worse yet,
married to a man I didn't really love. How fair would this be
to either one of us? Realizing this scared the hell out of me, but I
didn't know how I could ever break up with Scott. I felt stuck.
Then I saw Steve again,
which was a major mistake. I had myself thoroughly convinced that I
loved him again, but when he still hadn't called after two months I
realized I'd been "had" again and let it go at that. Chalk up another
value lesson for Terri V.: Steve is incapable of loving me. I
can't bleed for him. I
won't bleed for him.
A few weeks
ago, I started noticing Bruce around the office. I can't pinpoint
exactly when it happened, which is
sort of out of character for me ... all I know is that suddenly he
stopped being one
of the salesmen in the office (and a rather arrogant one, at that, who
irritated me more
often than not) and became a very attractive, charming guy
that I wouldn't mind
dating. I would sit at my desk and watch him bouncing around the
office, all energy and
vitality and life, and I would plot little subtle ways to get him to
notice me. (Dabbing
sexy cologne behind my ears and then walking over to his desk with a
about an order, leaning very close to him.) All the stupid little
things that women do to
attract men. It wasn't working, though. He was very friendly, but it
business. I was growing more and more powerfully attracted to him every
day, and it was
frustrating as hell.
In the meantime, Scott
and I were still plodding along ... bickering constantly, mainly
because he sensed me drifting away and he wanted to prevent it from
happening. The harder
he fought our break-up, the more I pulled away.
It got to the point
where I was living to see Bruce. The high point of my day was
coming to work in the morning and seeing him. Maybe it was his
inaccessibility that made
him so attractive - the "thrill of the hunt" that made me want him so
I've always been like that - wanting what I either can't have or what
to get, because it's more exciting that way. At any rate, I wanted
Bruce, and I was
determined to get him.
Once, at lunch, Bobbi
and I were talking about guys and dating and the whole business, and I
decided to tell her. "I've got a terrible crush on somebody,"
I said. "Is the feeling mutual?" she said, and I shook my head with a
he-doesn't-even-know-I'm-alive expression on my face, and inside I was
her to ask me WHO? But instead she just said, "Is it someone here in
office?" and I nodded and we just left it at that. I think she probably
It's funny, but I sort
of knew that
I would end up going out with Bruce
eventually. Intuition or something. I'd look at him, sitting his desk,
what he would be like away from the office, and I knew that someday,
something was going
to happen between the two of us.
finally, on Tuesday the 5th. After work, Randy & Tom (a couple
guys from the warehouse) invited me to go to The Boardwalk with them
and have a beer. I
sat with them and talked for about an hour, and after three beers I was
feeling no pain at
all. When I was walking out to my car to go home, I saw that Bruce's
car was still in
front of the office and the lights were still on inside the building. I
decided to take a
chance. He was still working at his desk, alone. I walked in and made
some phony excuse
about needing to use the phone -- made a quick call to Rhonda, just to
make it look good
-- and then, with a courage I didn't even know I possessed, sat down
next to him and
said "Would you like some company?" He wasn't at all annoyed - he
pleased, actually - and we sat and talked for over an hour. It wasn't
on a business
level, and it wasn't exactly on a personal level ... it was just a
conversation between two people getting to know each other. Actually it
was the first
non-business conversation we had ever had.
Somehow or another we
got onto the subject of getting high, and when he asked me if I had any
drugs with me, I thanked the Powers That Be that I had a little stash
of great Columbian and little cocaine outside in my car! We
sat in the office and got high while he
finished his work.
I was really coming on
strong, but we were both a little high so I don't know if he noticed
right away or not. We got very comfortable and relaxed with each other,
right away, and
before I knew it he asked me if I wanted to go out and get something to
ear. We drove (in
his car, leaving mine at the office) to VIP's and had an omelet for
dinner. He was
very attentive and polite, and he carried the weight of the
conversation. That's the
sort of person he is. The whole time I was on Cloud 9, but I tried to
be real cool about
the whole thing.
After we ate, I hinted
around a lot about how I didn't really want to go home yet
- not very subtle, admittedly, but hell! this was my golden
opportunity! - and he picked
up on it and invited me to come to his house with him. It was already
late and we both had
to work the next day, but this was the chance of a lifetime and I
couldn't pass it
up. He lives on Mercer Island in a house with two other guys, Craig and
Tom. My first
impression of the house: magnificent view of Lake Washington. BIG
Beautiful. Craig was in the living room, sitting in front of the
fireplace reading. We sat
down on the couch and got a little higher and watched a movie with
Craig. The whole time,
we were sitting fairly close together, but he didn't so much as lay a finger
on me. Frankly, it was frustrating as hell!!
Finally, at 11:00 when
the movie was drawing to a close and I'd come to the
unhappy conclusion that he just wasn't interested in me "that" way, he
half-turned toward me and said, "Well, you about ready to go?" and
and kissed me. Just like that. I didn't have time to react because then
kissing me again, and the next thing I knew we were in each other's
didn't leave until very, very late. Of course we didn't sleep together
wasn't ready for something like that - but things were really intense
anyway. It was
like we broke all the barriers with lightning speed. No one had ever
made me feel quite
that excited, and it was incredible.
The first time we slept
together was the following weekend - the night that Bruce, Kent, Rhonda
& I went out to dinner and then went to Bruce's for drinks and
to get high.
I'm not going to write all the details, but I will say that it was the
of any sex I've ever had before ... it was
beautiful, tender, exciting and satisfying.
I'm hungry for the man just THINKING about it.
September 26, 1978
Back to the present.
Dead tired. The weekend is only now catching up with me; think I
might go to bed early tonight, for a change. I could certainly use the
extra sleep. Last
night I spent the night at Rhonda's - Bruce and Scott came home from
Maui at 3:30
a.m., and I slept on Rhonda's couch so I could answer the door when
(Bruce's car was still there at Rhonda's, and I had the keys). I was in
nightgown and I looked like hell, but he kissed me and was very sweet
and nice. It was
GOOD to have him back in the office today - the place is like a tomb
without him. Rhonda
and Scott and Bruce and I all went out to lunch at Perino's.
Good news. Rhonda and I
will be moving into the apartment this weekend, instead of in
the middle of next week as originally planned. Naturally, I'm very
happy about it,
but I'm so tired that I can't seem to get excited about anything except
bath and a shampoo and bed, and maybe a joint if I can scrape up some
Only 8:30 ... I can't go
to bed yet! (Can I?) Still obscenely early. Still too
many things I should write about.
Moving out on Sunday. TERRI
V. IS MOVING OUT ON SUNDAY, OCTOBER 1st, INTO HER FIRST APARTMENT.
I'm moving out! Strange - I can write the words,
and know what they mean,
but they don't have any impact on me. Yet. Maybe they will, when I wake
up on Sunday
Quickly. Yesterday was a
tough day at work. I was very tense, had a lot to do. After work Bruce
left a note on my car ("I'll
talk to you in a bit - Bruce")
and later he came up to Rhon's. The three of us snorted some coke, had
couple beers and got very relaxed. He left too early, but hell - at
least he came by.
"Later" is now. Sitting
at my desk with a cigarette and a can of diet orange
pop. I hate myself - I lost ten pounds and was doing terrific, and then
last night after I
left Rhon's I made a Taco Time run. Now it's back to speed &
until I lose another 10. I'll stop at 110. Any less than that would be
The state of things
today ... feeling very positive. Getting a lot of work done today.
Kirk has been a little easier on me the past few days, which helps. I'm
any time something comes up missing or incorrect, whether I'm actually
not, and he still treats me in an offhand way, like I'm not really very
but I can handle that. All things considered, I like my job.
About Bruce: I've sorta
reached a conclusion. I care about him very, very much,
and I'd like to have a long and satisfying relationship with him, and
the only way I
can make that happen is to take things SLOW and EASY. He is obviously
not interested in
rushing into anything too involved, so I guess the only way for me to
handle it is to feel
the same way. Or at least pretend to. One of my problems is impatience
... I want
everything RIGHT NOW, whether it's a car or an apartment or a
relationship. I can
stand in a grocery store line for half an hour and never bat an eye,
but when it comes to
the important things - changes, events, people - it's got to happen
immediately or I
go crazy. Bruce and I got very intense, very fast - at least
physically, and (for me)
emotionally - but now we've got to slow everything way down before it
out just as fast.
I know he feels the same
away about this, which (I admit) hurts my feelings a little. I don't
even know how
he feels. In fact, I don't honestly think that
he's taking it seriously at all.
There have been no words. I'm the one
who has gone overboard, while he remains cool and in control of
Oh well. I've been in
this position so many times before, I know all the lines by
MOVING OUT THIS
What do I still have to
do? Pack the stuff downstairs - clothes, dresser top stuff,
records mainly. GET BOXES. Drag everything down from the attic. Locate
bedspread. Get my furniture from Dad. Secure ample transportation and a
couple of big
strong men to help me move. Help Rhonda pack. Call the Goodwill to cart
off my junk.
NEXT PAYDAY: Bedspread
or comforter? ($20) Ruffle ($8) Pillowcases ($10?)
Bedside lamp - Bedside
Friday afternoon, home
The weekend begins.
I'm hoping like crazy
that Bruce and I go out tonight, but we didn't have a chance to talk in
the office today and I stayed at my desk during lunch, so I have no
idea what his plans are. All I can do is sit here at the kitchen table
and wait, I guess. God, how I hate waiting.
This is something I
haven't done in a long time ... just sitting in my room
getting drunk alone, listening to old 45's ("Love Is Blue"), relaxing.
feels terrific. Bruce didn't want to go out tonight - he said he's "got
early one tomorrow" - and Rhonda went to Glacier's Homecoming game with
so I just said fuck it all and decided tonight would be a good time to
start packing for
the big move on Sunday. I put on an old flannel shirt and tied my hair
back and jumped in,
and I got everything done in an hour. Now I'm just sitting here on the
floor with a
wine flip and a roach, feeling good. Bruce and I are going to do
On Sunday -
1. All the junk down
from the attic
2. Pack all my
"immediate stuff" in luggage (tote bag & overnight case)
WHO'S GOING TO HELP ME
I'm happy. ("Blankets
and bedclothes/the child of the morning..")
I'm moving into my first apartment day after tomorrow. I'm hung up on a
guy. I'm alive. I'm 20 years old. I'm going to live forever.
Final day of September.
Final day before moving out.
Sitting at the table
with my nth cup of coffee of the morning. Listening to the radio.
Grandma is eating bacon and eggs and waffles, which I'm trying to
ignore - I weighed
myself this morning and I'm down to 118. Only eight more pounds to
Feeling very, very good.
Rhonda just called and I'm going to head over to her
place as soon as I've finished writing this. We're both packed and
ready to go.
I still haven't lined up anyone to help me move tomorrow, which has me
Hoping I'll see Bruce
Hoping about life.
Wondering ... what is
beginning now? And what is ending?
Judy Collins on the
record player. Freshly bathed and shampooed, I am perched on the
bed in my bathrobe, wondering whether I should bother doing my hair and
making up my face.
Am I going out tonight, anyway? Bruce hasn't called, and I'm sure as
going to call him again, the way I did last night.
Rhonda and I finished
emptying out her apartment today, and then we drove out to our
new apartment to give the manager our first rent check.
We're all set!
We drove around the Kent
valley a little but, sort of getting a feel for the place.
It's so peaceful down there ... good for the soul.
Well, it's 7:00 and
still no word, so I've pretty well resigned myself to the
fact that Bruce and I aren't going out. Sigh. I really despise my
inability to remain
uninvolved emotionally. I leap before I look, in ALL things, and
someday it's going
to cause me a lot of pain. Hell, it already has.
I'm not in love with
him. I would LIKE to be ... and I probably COULD be, with the
proper encouragement form him ... but he's made it abundantly clear
that any sort of
commitment is out of the question. I can't fault him for that, but I
hate myself for
expecting things of him that he's not prepared to give.
This is so fucked up. I
should be so happy and excited tonight - I'm moving out
tomorrow, something I've dreamed about for years - but instead I'm
because some jerk hasn't called me. Why do I let men take priority in
my life? Why
are all my moods - my ups & downs, my highs & lows -
based on whether or not a
certain guy calls, or whether I go out on Saturday night, or whether
the person I'm
involved with pays me enough attention? Why does every facet of my life
revolve around my
love life? It's not healthy! I've been this way for as long as I can
and it's caused me nothing but needless pain and ceaseless worry.
And what's really
strange is that once
a guy does love me, and get into the
middle of another secure relationship, I start looking for ways out.
I'm not happy without it
- and I'm not happy with it.
Saturday night: Bruce
decided to go out "bar hopping," so Rhonda, Kim, Wanda
and I got some wine and went downtown to see "Rocky Horror."
October 1, 1978
Very, very tired after
one of the longest and most hectic days of my life.
We're all moved in!
My furniture is still at
Dad's and my bed is in Grandma's shed, but most of
my other stuff is here. I've spent most of this evening sorting,
putting things away,
throwing junk away, arranging, etc. etc. I think it's going to be nice
we're finished. On the whole, the apartment is bigger than I
the combined living room-dining room area, although my bedroom is tiny.
I don't care.
It's my first apartment and I'm in love with the whole idea of it.
I moved one carload this
morning by myself (and it damn near killed me), and then later
in the afternoon Bruce came by to help. After we hauled all my stuff
and Rhonda was gone
for about an hour, we had an interesting close encounter of the
Nothing to do. I have
all this newfound freedom, but haven't yet figured out what
to do with it. What do I expect out of life, anyway? Once I finally get
I've wanted, I don't know what to do with it.
Evening. Rhonda is at
work and I'm sitting in the apartment, alone, drinking and
listening to the stereo ("Rocky Horror"). I am bored out of my skull.
apartment is beautiful, I am completely free to do as I please, and all
I can do is sit
here and blow my nose and get high and try to keep myself from beating
my head against the
guy with a gun broke into the apartment tonight and threatened to shoot
me if I didn't give him the sofa cushions - what could I do?
guy who stole the sofa cushions will return them shortly cuz
they smell and need to be cleaned.
sure slept through a wild party last night. Couldn't you
hear the stereo blasting. This place holds about
100 cats. Boy do they like to get loose.
Please tie up the bread when your done, cuz it will go stale
if you don't."
October 5, 1978
Randy W. just called -
he wanted to come over with some coke, but Rhonda and I are
both deathly ill with the flu and all I want to do is wash my hair and
swallow some more
cold pills and go to bed. I think Randy and I might do something this
weekend, which I
have mixed emotions about - I'm still hung up on Bruce, but part of me
says I should
just go ahead and go out with other people, in an effort to fight my
feelings for him.
After washing my hair:
Not depressed anymore -
maybe I never really was - it was just because I was coming
down with this cold that I've felt so low. Today I reached a
conclusion. I am now
completely and utterly free to become whoever I want to be. I'm living
on my own and
supporting myself, there are no longer any real emotional ties to any
one guy, and
although my social life may be a little slow right now, things are
bound to pick up. I can
be whoever I want to be.
October 8, 1978
Sitting bathrobed and
ponytailed on the living room floor with a cup of coffee. Mulling
over the events of the weekend ... which were next to nothing. Rhonda
and I wound up
sitting home alone on both Friday and Saturday night, getting high,
listening to records
and trying not to think about men.
Our social lives have
hit a definite standstill. Whether this is temporary or not
remains to be seen.
As I expected, Bruce
didn't call me all weekend, and I feel terrible about it. Not so much
sorry for myself as ashamed of myself for getting so involved with
like him. He's slick and he's smooth and he knows all the right lines,
and I was
sucked in just like all the other girls he's known and used, probably.
believe I was so gullible.
Now I've got to find
SOME WAY to get him out of my system - preferably with
another man. Unfortunately that's easier said than done.
Where do you find men?
HOW do you find men? And what exactly is it that I want? A more
sincere version of Bruce Mitchell, I guess ... the charm and the
sensuality with sincerity
... not calculated polish.
Rhonda is at work, so
I'm home alone, getting high & listening to music. I
mixed myself a stiff drink, smoked a bowl and am now listening to music
volume. I feel good, but I know it's just because I'm almost-high.
all, things are as low as ever. Bruce all but ignored me at the office
today, and the
vibes tell me it's all over. Nothing has been said but I just know.
meantime, Randy W. is coming over tonight. Who knows .. ? Just having
someone to TALK to
is going to be a welcome relief.
Still waiting for
Hoping that I'm not
getting into the drinking habit again.
(Written shortly before
passing out on the couch.)
October 10, 1978
Randy never showed up
and I just fell
asleep, waking up four hours later when Rhonda came home. Needless to
say I am hungover as
hell today, but SUCH IS THE PRICE YOU PAY. Randy said today that his
car broke down last
night and he "couldn't call." It didn't faze me in the least.
Actually, I was relieved he didn't show up - I was drunk enough and
lonely enough to
do something stupid. I like Randy and I enjoy all the friendly flirting
that he & the
rest of "the warehouse animals" do with me, but I'm not attracted to
any way special.
Bruce took me out to
lunch today - his invitation, not mine! Just when I think I have
the man figured out, he does something unexpected to screw up all my
rationalizing. I still feel like it's over between us. The glib
phony relaxedness didn't change my feeling about that. Like I said last
night - I
just KNOW that it's over. He mentioned something about "cooling it for
awhile," but I wasn't paying much attention to him at that moment so I
lost the context of the remark. I don't know if he was talking
Do I even care? Right
now I'm not so sure I do. I'm strongly attracted to him
physically, and I would like to have a committed relationship with him,
but all things
considered I'm not sure it's worth it. We're just too different. Our
are polar opposites of each other.
All I know is that I
want to find a man. The anticipation is the best part; the waiting
is the worst part.
era of The Balding Aluminum Sales
October 17, 1978
later, and the waiting is over.
So much has happened in
seven days, I am completely at a loss for words. I don't
even know where to begin telling you about it.
To begin ... I wish that
I could just rip out the things I've already written in
this journal and begin all over again.
I left work early and
came home ... now I'm sitting in the apartment with a glass
of wine, listening to the stereo ("Agents of Fortune" at the moment). I
whole afternoon to relax and be alone and get my thoughts together.
Anyway ... what I was
starting to say is that I regret the way this journal begins.
I'm tempted to pull out the first few pages and start all over again.
Today is Day
One of my life, as far as I'm concerned.
I NEVER should have
allowed myself to get involved with Bruce. He is a very special
person and a good friend, but it just wasn't meant to be and I knew it
all along. I
guess I was just looking for someone, ANYONE, to provide me with an
excuse to break up
with Scott, and Bruce gave me that, at least.
important has happened. I'm in the middle of another intense,
light-speed relationship, but this time it's different. This time it's
Last Thursday night I went out with Scott W. Originally we
planned to go out to dinner,
but when we were at his apartment we just started talking &
really opening up to each
other, and the next thing we knew dinner was forgotten. It was
incredible. I've never
opened up to anyone so quickly and so completely, and after the
depression I've been
going through these past couple of weeks, it was a great release. Maybe
it was my
loneliness that allowed me to talk to him so freely, but whatever it
was, it was great.
What's strange about it
is that I'd sorta been avoiding going out with Scott,
because I was almost afraid of him in a way. He's very intense, and
come on so strong, and I thought that a date with him would be an
evening spent fighting
him off. He's always been so blatant. That's why it was so strange - he
isn't like that at all. At least, not with me. He's currently in the
divorcing Pam, so that whole thing is very much on his mind. There he
was, sitting there
telling me the whole story like we were lifelong buddies, when actually
together for less than two hours.
Friday after work
October 20, 1978
Sitting on the floor
listening to the stereo and nursing a drink. Rhonda isn't
home at the moment but all signs indicate she just stepped out for a
minute & will be
back shortly. I am tired. My energy level has reached an all-time low.
getting to bed until 2 or 3 a.m., and then I have to get up at 5:30
a.m., plus I've
been getting all kinds of high every night - more than ever - and it's
wear me down. I haven't spent the night at home in a week - I sleep at
apartment every night.
There's so much I want
to write about, but lately there is just no time.
I'm in love with Scott
W. It's strange, but there it is. I know myself
well enough. It all happened so fast, but some of the best things that
have happened in my
life have happened (literally) over night, so I'm not totally
unaccustomed to it. I
didn't exactly WANT to start caring about him as much as I do, but some
just can't fight and it's pointless to try.
A thought just occurred
to me ... for most of my life, when I've tried to imagine true love, or
what sort of person I could be happy with, I have always pictured
someone very much like Scott. He fits the picture I created? (What
exactly? Intelligence - confidence - experience - sensitivity -
maturity - a certain recklessness - someone I can talk to?)
We've been together every night for the past week, and I have to say
that never have I felt more at ease with anyone. Of course there are
still a lot of hang-ups on my side. Never capable of total ease? But
for the most part I feel more completely comfortable with him than with
anyone before. I would like to just totally let go and be completely
myself - I can't yet - but the encouraging part is knowing that I
probably will, with him, given time. He's just that sort of person. I
have the potential to be something good with him. He brings that out in
October 21, 1978
Still so much that needs
to be written, and so little motivation (or time).
A thought that occurred
today ... someday I will probably be looking back on this exact
period of time as one of the very happiest. So much in my life is
changing. It's as
though my life is finally starting to begin, after several years of
depression. I'm happier, more consistently and more completely, than
been before. Not just an occasional "good mood" or a temporary feeling
optimism, but a consistent undercurrent of peace with myself and my
world and the way
things are happening. Even when I'm low now, it isn't nearly as low as
Maybe there's hope for
me after all.
Right now I'm sitting in
the living room of Scott's apartment - he's
doing some paperwork at the desk next to me, I'm stretched out on the
"Stealers Wheel" on the stereo - fire burning in the fireplace across
the room -
companionable silence between the two of us. Completely at ease, as
known each other for years and years, when in fact it's been a little
over a week.
I am hardly ever home
anymore - I've spent the night here with Scott every night
for nine days. Rhonda is starting to think of me as the "Phantom
those rare occasions when I do make it back to the apartment, it's
usually just to
pick up some more clothes or to kill time until Scott comes over. I
can't tell if
she's angry; I know she gets lonely, spending so much time around the
no one to talk to. But tonight she's out with Bruce (!) so at least her
is picking up a little.
I'm probably going to be
moving in with Scott within the next couple of weeks. He actually asked
me the first night I was here, but I didn't begin to take him seriously
until a day or two later, when it dawned on me that there was no reason
in the world why I couldn't. It was a totally amazing realization. The
gone, and the restrictions, and I hardly noticed them go.
Of course, it's going to
be hard to tell my family. My God, Grandma V. might not
survive the shock of me MOVING IN (gasp) with a 26 YEAR OLD (gasp)
MARRIED (gasp) MAN
(gasp) with two young daughters (GASP!) If it's at all possible, she
might not even
find out about it. I'll undoubtedly conceal it as long as I can.
There's also the
complication of work, and again it comes down to the standard
problem of Kirk & Herb and their policy of no personal
relationships within the
company. I'll be fired in an instant if they find out I'm dating him,
moving in with him. I've more or less reconciled myself to the idea of
another job before too much longer, which is too bad because I was just
starting to feel
comfortable and useful at Lusk Metals. But Scott makes me so happy that
I don't doubt
it would be worth it. I don't doubt it for a minute.
Late Sunday afternoon
October 22, 1978
One quick word - because
there isn't time for anything else - but the happy
feeling continues. We are waiting for our steak and lobster to cook ...
waiting for Bruce
and Rhonda to show up ... we're going to the 10CC concert at the
Scott and I went shopping a little while ago and bought me a semi-sexy
went driving around looking at houses.
Too happy to even write
in my journal. Sorry.
October 27, 1978
Sitting alone with
candles and Cat Stevens albums and quiet. Scott is still at the
office - this is inventory weekend - so there's no way of knowing how
Kirk fired me yesterday.
I didn't take it easily, and I spent the afternoon
vacillating between uncontrollable hysterics and resigned depression.
But now I've
come to the conclusion that it was the best thing that could have
happened, and that
ultimately it will be more blessing than curse. I loved my job, and I
the people I worked with (except for Kirk!) and I don't believe I was
fired for any
valid reason. Kirk said he thought the "job pressures" were too much
which is total bullshit. But it's over now, and I start my life from
Point One again.
I'm living with Scott
now. We broke the news to Rhonda yesterday afternoon, and
while she obviously wasn't thrilled, she was very nice about the whole
I'll pay her my half of the rent until she can find a new roommate, and
meantime I'll probably move all my stuff out this weekend.
As for a job, I think
I'm going to enjoy one whole week of being entirely lazy &
unmotivated, and then start looking seriously.
How do I feel right now?
Slightly hungover - last night Scott and I met Bobbi and Bruce
for drinks at Perino's, and after a couple hours Bruce followed us back
apartment and the three of us got higher still. I haven't been that
in a long time. I have a huge bruise on the back of my leg from where I
fell into the
bathtub (!?). I couldn't even get myself out of bed until 4:00 this
even once I was up it was all I could do to take a shower and clean the
apartment and eat
something. Scott won't be home until 10:00 at least, so I have three
hours to kill.
I'm totally in love with
him, and I have been since the third night we were
together. I've plunged headlong into another intense, intimate
something I swore I wouldn't do - but rather than regretting it, I'm
Just sitting here alone in his apartment, looking at his things,
cleaning, cooking my
dinner in the kitchen, listening to his albums on the stereo ... silly
inconsequentials ... makes me feel more alive and more aware than ever
before. The last
thing in the world I expected to do was move in with a guy this year,
but the unplanned
things are what make my life interesting.
I've never had this kind
of relationship before. I've certainly cared before
- there have been three other people in my life with whom I built a
certain level of
intimacy and love - but I have to say, quite honestly, that it never
approach the level of caring Scott and I have. With Phil there was the
of sharing a Christ-centered relationship. With Steve there was blind
passion. With Scott
S. there was intimacy born of habit. I loved them all, to one degree or
separately and individually and in completely different ways, but each
time I always felt
that I wasn't caring quite as much as I should be. It felt like
something was holding
me back. There always seemed to be something missing - some vague,
in the relationship that should have been there but wasn't. Maybe
distinguishes absolute love from imperfect love. (No love is perfect?
But it should be? Or
At any rate, I am now in
the middle of the best relationship I've ever had, and it
October 29, 1978
Tired. Full of thought
but incapable of writing much. I'd rather just THINK about
it all. We moved two carloads of my stuff over to Scott's apartment
this afternoon -
his car and mine - mostly my clothes and my albums. He asked me, "Do
you feel moved
in yet?" and I had to say no because I don't. I'm so unsettled inside
head that it's hard to get settled
into any physical
space. I still hurt about losing my job, and about letting Rhonda down
by moving out of the apartment after only four weeks, and about not
calling Grandma, and I think Scott thinks I'm somehow dissatisfied with
our relationship, when that's not the case. I'm characteristically so
afraid of hurting people or stepping on any toes that it's hard for me
to loosen up completely and enjoy an experience. In this instance, it
means that I think I should feel guilty about moving in with Scott
(because of Rhonda and Grandma), so I do
about it, and the guilt is inhibiting my ability to
just let go and relax and enjoy this new development in my life. I
guess I feel obligated
to feel guilty, if that makes sense.
Besides which - and I
have to admit this, almost in spite of the fact that I know
damned well that Scott is going to be reading this - I'm NERVOUS! This
is the most
intimate and intense relationship I've ever had, and because I rushed
into it I left
myself no time to get "emotionally prepared" or whatever. No
jitters" or the equivalent (in this case) because there wasn't time. So
having my attack of nerves NOW, when they can't possibly do me any good
and they just
put a strain on everything. Terrific. I'm scared to death that he's
everything I do or say to the things Pam said and did, and that there's
no way I can
measure up - even stupid things like cleaning up the kitchen, the way I
act in the
supermarket with him, etc. The rational part of me knows this is
ridiculous, he loves me
the way I am & knows that no two people are the same, etc. -
but my all-around
insecurity about myself feels that in some crazy, ridiculous way I'm in
with Pam. I'm absolutely insanely in love with him, which I believe he
knows, but it
might take me some time to loosen up and relax enough to enjoy the
experience of living
with him - something I want to do with all my heart.
(In case you were
Maybe I'm in more of a
writing mood than I thought. The words are coming a little
easier than usual. Maybe my creative block is giving way, finally. I
could probably even
write a poem tonight.
(This is now - sitting
on opposite parts of the sofa - he is engrossed in a book,
barefoot, feet propped on the coffeetable - I am hunched over my
notebook, scribbling - an
all-time favorite on the stereo ("Only Living Boy") - fire in the
very quiet, very relaxed.)
I just want to think, I
October 30, 1978
Scott is at work; this
is Day One of my "vacation from life." I got up around
10, had my customary bowl of Alpha Bits and milk, took the elevator
downstairs and put
three loads of laundry in the machines, came back upstairs and took a
shower and mopped
the kitchen floors. I know it all sounds nauseatingly domestic, but
just the sort of activity I needed most .... humdrum, unexciting little
things that keep
me occupied. In fact, I'm enjoying it. I can't see myself doing this
extended periods of time - I wasn't born to be a housewife - but until
I find a new
job, I'll just kick back and enjoy doing relatively nothing, keeping
apartment clean, cooking for him, being here when he comes, loving him
the best way I know
how. He's done more for me than he probably realizes - he's "fed my
spirit" (K.L.) - and it's hard to know when you've repaid someone
"enough." I suppose with real love that isn't necessary ?
November 3, 1978
Evening alone - stereo
is playing. Scott is at the Lusk Metals company dinner, to which
I was pointedly not invited. I was upset about that for a while,
especially since Rhonda
is going (with
Bruce) and the whole thing seems somehow unfair. I did work there for
three months, after all. But my rage has subsided. Scott will be home
early and we're
going out after he gets home, possibly to see "Rocky Horror" (although
pouring down rain and I shudder at the thought of standing in that long
This week has been
wonderful for me. No tension, no real pressures. Yesterday I drove
down to Kent and single-handedly moved the rest of my stuff out of
apartment. Today I spent a couple hours arranging it and putting it
away here. I have to
admit, I'm getting to be an "old hand" at moving ... this is my third
in four months. I've got it down to a science.
One serious point about
moving, though - I'm wondering if I'll ever feel a sense of "roots"
again. Will I ever find a place that is really 'home'
again? Could this be the place?
for the Alpha Bits message this morning - itreally
made my day. It's too bad that I can't tellanyone
about it, though, because that would be likeadmitting
I actually EAT Alpha Bits ...
have a staggering amount of things to do today andI
seriously doubt that I'll be here when you come home. HOWEVER,
wherever I am or whatever I'm doingat
5:00 p.m. (or thereabouts), I'll call and let you knowwhat's
thinking about you - I love you too.
I have to warn you ... for your own peace of mindand
sanity, DON'T look in the spare bedroom.
(And if you do look, don't say I didn't warn you)"
morning 10 a.m.
November 6, 1978
Monday morning after an
incredibly long and tiring weekend. Friday night Scott and I
went to Rocky Horror after he got home from the company dinner, so
didn't get to bed until 3 a.m. or so. Saturday morning we met Bruce and
Kent for breakfast, and then Scott and I went out shopping - he bought
me a new dress at
Nordstroms to wear that night - we had dinner with Randy T. and Lenae
Stuart's at Shilshole, and then came back to the apartment and got high
until 2 a.m. Yesterday we picked up Scott's daughter Brittany and went
various members of my family - we went to Grandma and Grandpa V.'s -
Dad was there,
too, so it was like killing three birds with one stone. And then later
in the evening we
took Mom, Ken and Debby to dinner at Terero in Burien.
pooped this morning. I woke up at 8:00 and Scott had already
left for the office, so I took a shower and made some coffee and am
only now beginning to
actively feel any signs of returning life and energy.
Unfortunately I'm not
going to be able to spend this day the way I would choose -
finishing my book, listening to music, recuperating - because Grandma
V. called here
this morning and wants me to drive down to see her. I guess Mom gave
her my phone number
(which sorta pisses me off), so now she KNOWS, for a fact, that Scott
and I are living
together. From the sound of her voice I can tell that she's not exactly
wants to "have a talk." Shit!
Shit (again). What is it
with me, anyway? The things that I've been writing in
this journal sound so one-level ... I'm merely recording events, not
thoughts, the way I used to. I'm impatient with myself right now. Do I
have to be in
the middle of some kind of crisis in order to write the way I want to?
(need to?) Does my
world have to be falling apart before I can pick up a pen and put it
all into words?
What about the GOOD
things - the GOOD feelings - that I've been filled with this
past month? Don't they deserve words, too? Why can't I write about how
is to be loved by Scott? How it feels to sit next to him in the car, or
watch him at night
when he's sleep next to me? Or what I'm thinking about when I'm making
bed in the morning, or when I'm folding his socks? Even the silliest,
things deserve some mention when they make me feel so good and so
alive, and yet it takes
a death in the family or something equally earth-shattering to wrench
the words out of me.
I'm up against some creative block and it's frustrating as hell. I want
preserve all the good
I'm going to Gram's in
half and hour and I'm prepared for the worst ...
the inevitable showdown, I suppose. Somehow I've got to convince her
that I love
Scott with my whole heart, and that I see nothing wrong with our
arrangement, and that her
worries, whatever they are, are unfounded. Easy. Why, then, do I feel
like an unwilling
soldier preparing for the battlefield?
November 7, 1978
Waiting for my coffee.
Sitting on the sofa, bleary-eyed from a nightful of strange
dreams. I didn't fall asleep happy last night, and that usually
wake up tired and run-down in the morning. Scott and I are having some
problems, and we
went to sleep last night without attempting to resolve them. When I
woke up this morning
his side of the bed was empty. I knew that something was bothering me -
that something had
happened last night - but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Now
coming back to me, and I feel very strongly the need to write about it
Perhaps not so much for the sake of keeping a written record so much as
the need to figure
out exactly what's bothering me. Maybe writing it out, however
clumsily, will make it
easier for me to talk about it with Scott when he comes home tonight.
It is cloudy and gray
this morning. I keep forgetting that it's November already
and when I step outside the feeling in the air surprises me - that
prelude-to-winter feeling in the air. There has been a feeling of
timelessness inside me
since I stopped working; it is an effort to remember what the date
Everything has more or less come to a standstill.
Grandma V. called me
again this morning. She and Grandpa have accepted Scott as a
fact - even the fact that I'm living with him - or at least they seem
to have. I can
never completely tell with Grandma. I'm surprised that she accepted it
with so little protest, but I suppose I've reached the point in my life
where I can
pretty well do anything & it wouldn't surprise them. They can
be hurt, or
disappointed, but not surprised.
Anyway. Back to the
subject ... or, at least, trying to figure out what the subject is.
We've got a problem.
Largely it's a communication problem - we're not reading each other the
way we could be. It seems like we're continually misinterpreting each
other. Maybe I'm not secure enough in the relationship, because I can't
seem to totally relax ... I'm always on edge, waiting for the let-down.
Ideal relationships scare me because (basically) I don't believe there
IS such a thing, and until recently our relationship has been so close
to "ideal" that it scares me. I guess that what I'm doing is
anticipating some kind of major problem because my experiences have
taught me that there usually is one. And so even if nothing actually
arises, I will create a problem just by anticipating it.
My God. That doesn't
make any sense at all. Total gibberish. Let me try again.
I've got to relax around
him. For the most part, I have. I feel very comfortable with Scott most
of the time - when we're sitting on the couch talking, or driving, or
grocery-shopping, or other non-threatening activities. At those times I
ease. But once it gets past a certain point, I freeze up, and that's
where the problems begin. He expects complete and total intimacy, I
think ... not only sexually, but in all other things, and for some
reason this is something I can't offer him yet.
Will I ever be able to?
Part of me thinks I can,
Um ... I
believe that this was basically about oral sex, which
twenty yr. old Terri had a HUGE problem with. But of
course I wouldn't come right out and admit that in my journal.
I never finish what I
start, do I? Nearly a week later ... remembering that the worst day of
my life was on this date, five years ago. I was devastated that day.
Now it doesn't matter at all, because I'm so far removed from the
person I was that day. I can remember the pain, but I don't feel any of
it anymore. What does that say about us? We recover. We remember, and
in some ways we're better because we do remember, but we recover. Bear
that in mind, Terri ...
Cold, clear day. Scott
is at work and I have just finished cleaning the apartment. "The"
apartment? Scott's apartment? Our apartment? Still feeling rootless.
When does a place start feeling like home? My heart is here, if not my
furniture ... maybe that's all that counts. My heart is here because
Scott is here. I love him so much. We
I spent some time this
morning leafing through a couple of old journals - mostly the ones
concerning Steve and Phil and my first year at Highline College. It was
a revelation. God, how I've changed ... did I ever really
feel that way? Or write that way? How do we change? When does it
happen? If you blink you miss it, I guess.
Sitting on the couch
listening to an old Simon & Garfunkle album, waiting for lunch
to cook. Two o'clock in the afternoon. It's been almost three weeks
since I lost my job, and I've spent a lot of time sitting around this
apartment doing exactly what I'm doing right now. I feel the same way I
used to feel during those long, uneventful summer vacations, when
everything comes to a standstill and it's an effort to get out of bed
in the morning. I'm not depressed in the least ... there's too much in
my immediate future to look forward to, which (perhaps) is what's
saving me. Scott and I are driving to Bellingham on Thursday morning
and coming back on Friday; maybe I can talk him into driving over to
Firwood. I would LOVE to see the camp again; my happiest summers were
spent there on the lake. And next week we're going to Hawaii for
Thanksgiving weekend, and after that there's all of December to enjoy,
with my 21st birthday and Christmas and everything. So I'm in good
shape emotionally, as far as the immediate future is concerned. As long
as I have definite things to look forward to, I'm OK - I don't mind a
little boredom. These past couple of weeks have been good for me. The
pressure has been lifted, more or less. I've just let it all go.
There are, however, a
couple of things that are bothering me. I've tried to ignore them,
hoping they'll "go away" or that I won't worry about them, but
unfortunately they're not the kind of problems that can be wished away.
They've got to be tackled, and that's the part I'm not looking forward
First is the matter of
finding a new job. Shit. I hate job-hunting with a PASSION - probably
because I haven't had a lot of experience with it. Both of my past two
jobs were more or less handed to me, with practically no effort on my
part. I've got to find a job, and I don't actually mind the idea of
working ... it's the hunting that I hate. It's so degrading.
I'll start looking
seriously at the end of this month, when we come back from Maui.
The other problem is
that my period is five days late and I think I'm probably pregnant.
Isn't it amazing how casually I include it in my list of problems?
"Scott and I aren't communicating ... I'm sort of bored ... I need a
job ... oh yes, and I'm pregnant." Well. There's no point in getting
all carried away about it, because it's not the end of the world. I'm
not contemplating slashing my wrists or anything. Frankly, at this
point, all I feel is a sort of numb, vague concern. No panic. Nothing
in the way of emotion, really, except wondering what to do. Scott knows
about it, of course, and it has been a considerable source of friction
between the two of us, but we've come to some kind of understanding
finally, I think. Or at least I have.
This is how I feel: At
this point and time in my life, I'm not equipped emotionally to commit
myself to much of anything. Too much has been changing too quickly, and
I don't feel stable. I don't mean (my relationship with) Scott - I feel
very comfortable with him, and more of less capable of commitment, to a
point - largely because we won't be married for a year at least, and
living together is about all the "commitment" that Terri V. can handle
right now. Taking it in stages is the best way. The only way, in fact.
We completely skipped over the preliminaries. I spent the night with
him on our first date and (literally!) never went home again. We went
from first date awkwardness to living together within 24 hours. Now
it's time that we start taking things in stages. I'm not unhappy about
the way things happened, and I don't regret it for an instant, any of
it. Some things just happen fast. But as far as having a baby is
concerned, that's one stage I'm not ready for, and I won't be for a
long time. I'm only now learning what I need to give myself - how in
the world could I give a child the things it would need?
Of course, I'm not at
all thrilled about the alternative. But there doesn't seem to be any
other feasible way out.
November 15, 1978
Scott won't be home
until late tonight - 10:00 at the earliest - he has to take a customer
out to dinner - and since it's only 3:00 in the afternoon I'm just
sitting here alone in the apartment, feeling at loose ends. Jerry B.
called a while ago and he helped cheer me up, but I've been down in the
dumps since last night. The really frustrating part is that I can't put
my finger on what it is that's got me down. Discontent with myself, I
guess. I don't know. Worrying about being pregnant, too, although I
can't talk to anybody about that yet, not even Scott -- it's too
private a pain.
Still alone, but better.
I took a nap for two hours, drove to the store to buy some dinner and
an evenings' worth of magazines, and settled down on the couch to
relax. And think. I'm not sure I'm really in the mood to write about
this, but I'm working everything out. Talking to Jerry today helped.
Thank God for friends. I explained to him some of the things that have
been bothering me, and he straightened me out. He wasn't exactly kind,
but he was honest and that's what I needed more than anything. More
than bland condescension, anyway.
I've been putting on
weight and my face is all broken out. I feel sloppy. Not ugly, but not
attractive, either. I've been going through a slump - emotionally?
physically? - whatever. I'm not TOO concerned about it because my
"slumps" are periodical and more or less predictable, and they pass.
The only problem is that they're hell until they do.
Question: What exactly
is a "slump?"
Answer: I haven't the
Q: Why do I get them?
A: I haven't the
Q: How do I get rid of
A: ... (what do YOU
Took a bath - washed my
hair - and am now snuggled on the couch with a pillow and an afghan,
watching TV. This will sound strange (I realize) but a thought occurred
to me as I was taking my bath, and "suddenly" everything was crystal
clear. It happens that way occasionally. I'll be depressed about
something and not really know why, and suddenly it'll snap into place.
I've defined my slump. Or at least, I think I know why I'm slumped.
I'll tell you about it later.
This is going to be
clumsy, but I've got to write about it now while it's still uppermost
in my mind. First, I thought about this: where was I one year ago? I
was locked in a little room with no windows and no doors ... leading a
narrow life. No job, no money, no car, not even a Drivers License yet
... living completely under Daddy's thumb, dependent on him for
everything. I was depressed all the time and I felt like nothing was
ever going to change soon enough. Then, in the past six months,
EVERYTHING has changed. I moved out of the house. I got my license. I
bought my car. I quit my old job and got a new, better one. I broke up
with Scott S. I moved into my apartment. All of a sudden, I was
completely in control, and for six months I felt on top of everything
... And now I feel like
I'm back at Square One again.
Briefly. (Neither the
time or the desire to be anything but.) Late evening - fire in the
fireplace - first snow of the year, outside - Scott and I are sitting
here with Coffee Nudges, watching TV. Quietly, completely happy.
Had to share the feeling
with you. That's all!
Sitting on the sofa with
my second cup of coffee ... clean wet hair wrapped in a towel. Feeling
overwhelmed. We leave for Hawaii in the morning and I have so much to
do. The apartment is a mess and I have a million little things I've got
to buy before we leave.
There are no real journal
entries written while I'm in Hawaii, although I did manage to scribble
a brief itinerary of the things we did/ places we went:
Flying most of the day. Vague depression at Honolulu airport. Hotel @ 9
p.m., fell asleep and slept straight through the night.
Woke up to find myself in paradise. Scott and I breakfast at Whaler's
Market; shopping for shorts and sandals; back to hotel to change. Bruce
and Craig came over to our hotel room, got high with us. Fell asleep,
awake at 10:30 p.m. Hungry! Thanksgiving evening but most restaurants
were closed already! Finally had a ham sandwich at Drysdale's, heard
"Place In The World For A Gambler." Sat on beach getting high.
Breakfast (omelets and Bloody Marys) at The Organ Grinder in Lahaina.
Drove to Hana and back, took all day. Scott got drunk and surly. Went
to dinner at Chuck's with Scott, Bruce, Tim & Mike. Scott got
pissed off and disappeared, I went to a party with Tim and Bruce.
Brunch at Drysdale's, nap. Sat on beach late in the afternoon, drinks
at The Blue Max, then dinner at Nimble's. Champagne and Maui Wowee on
Brunch in Kanapaali; drinks with Bruce and Tim; Scott bought me a pearl
ring as a surprise. Driving around with beer, taking pictures. Flight
With the BASG in Lahaina
November 27, 1978
One week later.
Transplanted back into a gray, sullen Seattle morning after five days
How in the world can I
tell you about it all??
the next day:
Scott is in the office
all day today and I am, as usual, alone in the apartment, listening to
music, passing time until he come home. This place seems so big and
empty when he's not here.
I tried to clean the
apartment a little bit this morning, and I started writing a letter to
Sparky, but my energy level has reached an all-time low. I'm vaguely
depressed - a case of the post-Maui blues, I suppose. That place is so
beautiful. Sigh. If I believed in reincarnation, I would believe that
Terri V. lived a previous life in Lahaina. The place just felt like
HOME. I didn't want to leave.
Thanksgiving night was
one of the most perfectly beautiful evenings of my life. Scott and I
had been drinking steadily all day long, so late in the afternoon we
decided to take a quick nap in our hotel room so we could be "fresh"
for that evening. We both fell sound asleep, though, and when I woke up
and looked at his watch, it was 10:30. I was so pissed!! I felt that
the whole evening was shot, and to make things worse we hadn't eaten
anything since morning and we were both ravenous. We got up and sat at
the kitchen table and moped a little bit.
next door to the cafe
restaurant was closed but Scott talked them into making us cold ham
sandwiches because we'd missed dinner and it was Thanksgiving
A Place In The World For A Gambler" came on the radio
on the beach in the moonlight
million stars in the sky
the world was beautiful
December 5, 1978
Again a week later.
Sitting on the floor of
the spare bedroom, hair in rollers, listening to the radio. I think
Scott is sitting out in the living room, but it's so quiet out there
that he might have left while I was drying my hair. We're having
problems. Or maybe it's just me who is having the problem. I feel
frustrated, bitter and angry.
A line from a poem keeps
running through my head ... "The
idyll now is shattered; in the end we have only ourselves."
I'm not sure it applies, but I can't shake it. He's pressuring me to
get a job, and for some reason I'm balking at the idea. You grow
accustomed to laziness, I guess. All my motivation has shriveled up and
blown away. I don't feel ready to start the humiliating
process of job-hunting, but the longer I wait, the harder it gets.
Also - the withering
comment he made this morning about being "bored" with our sex life.
God, that hurt. That was such a blow, especially since I thought things
were getting better. Just thinking about that comment makes me so sad I
just want to disappear.
A minute later:
I was right ... he did
leave, and I didn't even hear him go. No note, either. I guess it's for
the best: I need some time to be alone and sort everything out.
Maybe I shouldn't have
moved in with him. It was too soon - we hadn't seen the bad sides of
each other, only the attractive sides - and now it's a shock to see
just exactly how ugly we both can be.
I don't feel trapped,
exactly, but I do feel like I have no place else to go. Actually, this
is the only place I want to be, but it's got to get better between us
or else it won't work.
I'll never cease to be
amazed by the ease with which I fuck up my own life. He's two hours
late and the dinner I made is stone cold. I know I sound like a
complaining housewife but I'm thoroughly pissed.
I was wrong ... he
didn't skip dinner intentionally. He called and little while ago - and
so did the Tukwila Police Department. He and Bruce got fucked up at
Perino's and now Bruce is in jail and Scott is over at Craig's. I don't
even want to write about what they did because it's so incredibly
got drunk and smashed some lights in the restaurant's back hallway: the
charge was 'malicious mischief')
, but at least I know he's OK and that he still loves me. He assured me
of that. He said that he's determined to make this work out, and I feel
like a TON has been lifted from my shoulders ... in that respect, at
least. Now all I can is sit here & wait & smoke
& wait some more, until he calls back and tells me what's going
December 6, 1978
Sitting on the sofa
watching an old Bob Newhart re-run ... Scott is sitting beside me, his
nose buried in the evening paper. Everything is more or less
straightened out and I'd prefer to forget the whole ugly mess. Scott
bailed Bruce out and as far as I know everything is back to normal ...
even in our relationship. I am very confident of his love at the
moment. I only wish I could be this secure all the time. It would make
life so much easier. My insecurities are really going to get me in
A thought: Why aren't I
feeling Christmas yet? We drove to Fred Meyer tonight to pick up our
Hawaii pictures and I heard Elton John's "Step Into Christmas" on the
radio for the first time this year, but even that didn't do it.
(after reading some of my poetry): "I'm afraid that you're going to
December 8, 1978
Still wobbly from an
incredible hangover ... difficult to even hold a pen ... my fingers
feel thick and heavy, and my head is pounding. But it was worth it!
Believe it or not, all this morning-after agony is REALLY worth it,
because last night was SO nice.
Monday night/Tuesday morning
December 11, 1978
Late at night.
Scott is flat on his
back in bed, sound asleep ... but I felt restless and decided to come
out to the living room and try to get sleepy by forcing myself to be
up. Bruce was over for dinner tonight (my famous pork chop &
potato casserole, part of which is heating in the oven at this very
moment as a "midnight snack"). Too bad there's not a good late movie on
December 18, 1978
Another week later.
Scott's mom is staying
with us this week, and since Scott works all day it's up to me to keep
her "entertained" ... and I think I'm going to go insane. The tension
(real or imagined, mutual or only on my end) is unbearable. She's
nothing like I expected - certainly not the tyrant of my nightmares! -
actually she's a very nice lady. But I can't think of anything
interesting or amusing or witty to talk about, and she must think I'm
the dullest, dopiest girl Scott could have picked.
December 20, 1978
Late afternoon ...
growing dark and cold outside. I am perched on the counter with a
(diet) beer ... Scott's mother is curled up on the couch, napping. The
Christmas tree lights are plugged in and the entire apartment looks
clean and festive. I wrapped some presents - Ken's sweater, Rhonda's
diary, wine for Jerry and Jody, Dick and Ann.
Phyllis and I went out to lunch at Denny's this afternoon, and
she talked about Scott and Randy when they were little boys. I'm no
longer so uncomfortable around her, although I'm still at a loss for
words sometimes. I desperately want her to like me. I want her to feel
that I'm good for her son. (Am I?)
Things have been
strained between Scott and I the past two nights ... I'm not sure why.
Last night I fell asleep in tears because of something Grandpa V. said
on the phone (which I'll talk about later), and because Scott
apparently had no interest in making love.
Interrupted - Jerry B.
December 21, 1978
Scott and I have been
tense and brittle with each other for the past couple of days, but last
night we managed to more or less resolve it.
December 22, 1978
Waiting for Scott to
come home from the office party. We're taking his mom back to Pam's
today ... thank god. We got a long better than I had anticipated, but
there is too much tension in the apartment with the three of us there.
I've found Scott's Christmas present - a large photograph of a
sailboat, mounted in a huge wormwood frame.
December 27, 1978
10 a.m. Friday
Christmas has come and
gone and I never even mentioned a word about it. This journal is sadly
January 2, 1979
1979, and one of my
resolutions for this new year is to write more consistently in this
journal ... too many important things are happening to let life go by
Preparing to leave for
my typing test at Micro Soft and my second interview
at Unit Process. Who knows ... by this time tomorrow, I may be employed
once again. Nervous. I've never taken a standard typing test before,
and I'm miserably out of practice besides. God knows how I'll do.
Sick. Sore throat,
fever. Maybe it's all in my head. More later.
Wrapped in layers of
clothing and blankets, laying on the couch ... REALLY SICK tonight.
Can't seem to shake this cold or flu or whatever it is, and now the
virus has spread to my right eye - it's all puffy and red and bloody
looking. My typing test was an abysmal failure. No surprise:
I'm so out of practice. But I went on another interview later
in the afternoon at a place in Redmond, called Ridgway Packaging, and
I'm extremely optimistic. I want to work so bad I can taste it, and
everything about the position at Ridgway is perfect for me ... minimal
typing & lots of phones, a five minute drive from our
apartment, pleasant working environment, good salary and benefits. I
could go on & on, but I'm making a point of NOT getting too
excited too soon. I don't want to set myself up for a big
January 5, 1979
Well, I got the job at
Ridgway and I'm very
pleased about it - and I'll probably write more about it when I come
home this evening (I'm home for a quick non-lunch at the moment, and
have to head back to the office pretty soon), but at the moment I've
slumped into a vague depression. Scott left for Las Vegas this morning
and will be gone for the whole fucking weekend, and I'm already so
lonely for him I can't stand it. This is the first time we've been
separated for any length of time, and the apartment feels incredibly
empty without him. I'm not looking forward to this weekend at all.
Pick up tonight:
Stationery (plain white) - beer - reading material
Write to: Dee Dee,
Melinda, Teri, Sparky, Ron, Dave, Beth, Marie, Karen, Tammy, Becky
Scott to Terri 1/5/79
felt real bad about it later in the morning when I realized that I only
left you $10 for the weekend. Here is another $20. I really
wish you could my being away for a weekend a little better, but I guess
that it is the first time we have been apart at all. With
$30-$60 worth of c., you should be able to do something this weekend. I
love you. Please don't forget that. You make me almost sorry that I'm
going at all.
Home from work and I'm
so depressed I can't stand it. This is ridiculous. If I were a normal
person I would be calling Rhonda or Jerry or ANYBODY, trying to find
something interesting to do tonight, but instead all I can do is sit
here and miss Scott and cry and feel totally miserable.
January 6, 1979
Went to bed last night
at 7:00 and slept straight through until this morning. I feel a little
better this morning (emotionally) but am still unused to Scott's not
being around. Lonely. Wondering what to do with my time today. The
apartment is a mess and I have some good books to read, but somehow
that doesn't quite do it.
Thinking about: Scott.
Where is he right now? What is he doing? (Sleeping with his ex-wife in
Las Vegas. But I don't find out about it for a couple of
he having a good time? Does he think about me? Does he miss me?
Our first date was on
Thursday night, October 12, and since that first evening I have never
really left this apartment ... or, more accurately, I've never really
left SCOTT, since we've gone to Bellingham and Hawaii since then. Maybe
that's why this separation is so tough.
Taking a momentary
pause. I'm now up and starting to do things. I've finally concluded
that I can either sit here and mourn all day, or I can determine to
MAKE this weekend entertaining. Or at least useful. Already this
morning I've read an entire book and started to straighten out drawers
and such around the apt. Still a ton of things left to do.
January 7, 1979
Quietly happy. Scott is
on his way home; the apartment is clean and beautiful; I've managed to
do a lot while he's been away. I've missed him incredibly, but at the
same time (I admit it) I've enjoyed my time alone. A year ago I would
have killed for an entire weekend all to myself, and once I got over my
initial loneliness for Scott, I began to appreciate this time spent
being myself. For the first time in a couple of months I feel
completely together. Having the new job helps ... knowing that in the
morning I have a reason to get out of bed, and that I'm able to make a
financial contribution, and that my life has a certain degree of
direction. That's important to me. I can't stand feeling purposeless.
In the meantime, though
- this evening - I'm sitting here in happy anticipation, waiting for
the sound of his key in the door. He'll be tired and cranky, no doubt,
but just having him home is all I care about. Waking up in the middle
of the night and feeling him next to me in the bed is the most
comforting feeling I know.
morning before work
January 8, 1979
Putting on my makeup,
getting ready for work. Happy. Scott came through the door at the
stroke of eight last night and his "homecoming" was everything I hoped
it would be. The world has started turning again and everything is back
January 11, 1979
Scott is out to dinner
with a customer tonight and I'm alone again. Had some KFC for my
dinner; wrote a couple of letters (Becky Bear, Tammy Cooper). Now I'm
on the sofa with a screwdriver and sloppy clothes, relaxing.
My body is slowly but
surely adjusting to a working schedule again. Getting up at 7 a.m. is
hell after two months of sleeping till noon every day, but other than
that the job is ideal. I'm beginning to get the hang of it, I think.
There are still procedures that confuse me, but overall I'm pleased how
quickly I'm adjusting.
Rhonda just called and
we talked for half an hour. She's got bronchitis and feels shitty, plus
she still hasn't found a new roommate and can barely afford to eat, let
alone pay the rent. I almost hate to talk to her anymore. I feel SO
guilty. Why do I feel like I've let her down? I didn't plan to fall in
love with Scott and move out ... it certainly wasn't intentional.
She also told me that
Kevin is getting married. KEVIN
IS GETTING MARRIED????!!?!?!?!
Apparently he tried to get hold of me last night at her place, to tell
me. I can't believe it. I guess I honestly believed he would be in love
with me forever. Of course, that love was never returned, but it was
flattering and comfortable all the same. My God. Things really do
change, don't they?
For so long nothing
changed. Reading my old journals - even those from just seven or eight
months ago - reminds me of how stagnant my life was, how trapped I
felt, how firmly convinced I was that life was never going to move in a
forward direction. And now .... everything is changing so quickly I can
barely keep track of it all. A year ago, back in January 1978, if
someone had told me that within a matter of months I would have my
Drivers License (an important and seemingly unattainable goal at the
time) and a car, would be working at my second office job and living in
my second apartment, living with the man that I want to spend the rest
of my life with ... I would have thought they were toying with me. Now
that all these things have happened, though, I don't know how to feel.
I'm pleased, of course.
Things are moving along, right on schedule. For that I'm thankful -
stagnating is no fun - but it's happening too fast. At the tender age
of 21 I'm beginning to fear growing old, and considering how fast
everything else has been happening, it'll probably be only a matter of
minutes before I'm checking into the nursing home ...
First things don't move
fast enough, then they move TOO fast. God. What's the point??
January 16, 1979
Quiet after another
hectic day at work. Waiting for Scott to come home. Watching stupid old
re-runs on Channel 11. Listening to the McGowan's stereo throbbing next
door. Shuffling through an old pile of Redbook magazines. Nursing a
It occurred to me today
that I need to cultivate some new interests to fill my evenings. Part
of life is busier now that I'm working, but coming home - however
relaxing - is almost a let-down. Scott and I make love all the time -
even this morning before work, when we were both already dressed - but
somehow that doesn't qualify as a "hobby." Recreation, maybe. Hobby,
Scott just called from
Lynnwood ... he's on his way home now and we're going out to dinner.
January 8, 1979
A fairly serious
argument (serious to ME, anyway) on Tuesday night at dinner has left me
down in the dumps all week. Things have got to be clarified once in a
while, I guess, but he always picks the most inopportune times ... like
when we're sitting in a public restaurant.
January 27, 1979
Don't know why I'm
writing because I have nothing to day. Yet another argument with Scott
last night, after we went to see "Invasion of the Bodysnatchers." Both
of us too high, screaming at each other, Scott stalking out of the
apartment at midnight and coming home smashed at 4 a.m. Just a
miserable evening all the way around. Neither of us willing to listen
to the other, neither willing to compromise. It's all blown over
tonight, of course. One thing we do seem to have in common is the
inability to hold a grudge. Things have been very loving and good
between us lately with the exception of these occasional blow-ups.
Tired. This has seemed
like a much longer week than normal. The plant was closed again on
Thursday and today so things should have been slower, but I ran myself
ragged and now I'm pooped. I re-did all of the carton and label
cardfiles today and that took several hours. Scott and I went out to
dinner with John & Kerri E. - we went to The Turning Point in
Lynnwood. Had a fabulous dinner (the best teriyaki I've ever had in my
life), but I was in a bad mood - yesterday was my appointment with Dr.
Campbell and I was still unhappy about that - Scott and I ended up
having another screaming argument when we got home. We made up
immediately, of course, but these huge emotional upheavals are becoming
entirely too routine.
Right now: Brittany is
sitting on the couch eating the sloppy joe I fixed for her, drinking
her orange juice, absently kicking the coffee table. Scott is puttering
around in the kitchen, pouring himself another glass of wine, getting
me another beer; he is bathrobed, hair rumpled, energetic after the two
hour nap we all took this afternoon.
Saturday night: Scott
put Brittany to bed, then we brought the silk comforter off our bed
into the living room and spread it on the floor in front of the
fireplace; a relaxed, loving, intimate evening together.
Sunday: after a
breakfast of ham and eggs and hashbrowns, we bundled up in warm
clothing and took Brittany up to Snoqualmie Pass for an hour or so of
intertubing on the slopes. Stopped in Auburn for doughnuts, before
dropping Brittany off at home; then Scott and I had our typical relaxed
Sunday evening of TV and early bed.
February 5, 1979
Sitting at my desk ...
half an hour to kill until my lunch hour begins. I typed a machinery
quote for John Rea and another letter to CCA for Bob, and now I'm at
loose ends for awhile. All that intensive filing I did on Friday
cleaned out my "IN" basket, and now I have nothing to do.
Last night it stormed
outside our bedroom window - rain and wind so violent, I was sure it
would pick the ducks up right off the pond and blow them away. The
noise woke me at 3:30 this morning, and I went over to the window and
watched the storm, and then I crawled back into bed and rolled over
next to Scott and fell asleep with my arm flung around his waist.
This morning we drank
our coffee together in the kitchen - he in his brown pinstriped suit
and me in my bathrobe - before he left for the office. It was still
raining when he left. Why does rain in the morning make you feel so
of the day:
Scott is thinking about
buying a condominium for the two of us.
Am I going to be moving again??
February 7, 1979
Home ... drinking my
lunch today, half a can of beer. Not exactly nourishing, I know, but
the cupboards are empty and I'm so sick of Campbells Chunky Beef Soup I
could throw up.
Scott is in Woodinville.
He just called to remind me that we're driving down to Bill V's and
then to Harris H's tonight after work.
The pace at the office
has picked up today ... I'm busier. It helps keep my mind off the
things that are troubling me.
Last night we went and
looked at the condominium that Scott bought. It's right here in the
6001 complex, so moving (on March 1st if all goes according to
schedule) shouldn't be too rough.
Depressed. Scott really
hurt me last night at dinner ... unintentionally, I realize, but
nevertheless I can feel my whole attitude has changed and things aren't
going to be the same. This is
his place we're moving
into. Not ours. I don't really have a home.
Everything is so fucking
temporary. Any roots I was beginning to put down have been pulled out
February 12, 1979
pre-bed. Sitting, both of us bathrobed, on the living room sofa
watching TV. Feeling rundown but in a tolerable mood. My period has
started (finally) and I've got my billionth cold of the year, so
physically I'm below zero, but we've got some coke from the guy next
door and that helps. Plus I had a terrific weekend, and that helps too.
Scott and I left on
Friday night to spent the weekend in Wenatchee with Harris and Marsha
H. and another couple, Jim and Cathy something. Originally the plan was
to stay the weekend with them in a condo, but the plans changed when we
discovered that there were only two bedrooms and three couples. Scott
and I started to have second thoughts ... we started thinking it might
be more fun to take off on our own, just the two of us, and explore
Eastern Washington. We felt bad about just leaving Harris &
Marsha with no explanation, but the prospect of being on our own was
too enticing! So we spent Friday night in the condo (Scott being smooth
enough to finagle one of the bedrooms for us) and then we packed and
left on Saturday morning while the other two couples were skiing. We
bought a six-pack of beer and looked at the map and just took off ...
two free souls, able to go anywhere and do anything we wanted.
We wound up in
Leavenworth, that great little Bavarian village that I visited during
the '74 Bus Caravan. This time, though, it was snowing, and nothing was
the way I remembered it. It was BETTER than I remembered. The sloping
green hills were covered with snow ... the unbearably stifling heat of
summer 1974 was now deep cold 1979 winter. It was beautiful. We decided
to stay there for the rest of the weekend, which meant we needed a room
for the night. We went to one hotel in town that looked OK on the
outside, but inside it was horrible and tacky, run by two ancient old
ladies. (We asked them if they had a room with a fireplace, and one of
the women said, "No fireplace, but one room has a heater that glows
red. Maybe you can pretend?")
The second place we
tried, a hotel located above a restaurant, was only slightly better. We
might have taken it, but we decided that just this once we would be
picky. It was our weekend now, and we wanted to go for the best. We
walked around town a little, eventually stopping in a clock shop, where
the owners told us of a place just outside of town, The Haus Rohrbach.
We drove out to look at it, and it was like a dream ... a little
Bavarian pensión, nestled in the snowy hills.
Scott was turned down on
the condominium and he's really upset about it. I'm sitting here at my
desk, preparing to leave, and I'm almost afraid to go home. Maybe I'll
stop at the store and buy him some little thing to cheer him up.
Perched on the kitchen
counter with a bologna sandwich and a Rainier Light, listening to the
stereo. Thinking. Three day weekend coming up ... isn't that beautiful?
Monday is Presidents Day, and an extra day off is just what I need.
We're going to have Brittany over for the weekend, and possibly Mindy
too, and when we take them home on Sunday we'll still have one whole
day left to recuperate. I think that's excellent timing.
February 20, 1979
Rollers in my hair,
munching peanut M & M's, scribbling a word or two. Scott and I
have to go out to dinner tonight with one of his customers and his
wife, and if it's anywhere near as boring as the last such dinner (with
the Easterbrooks), then I'm in for a less-than-exciting evening.
Scott will be gone all
night tomorrow night - he'll be in Bellingham. And then this weekend is
Inventory at Lusk Metals (AGAIN!) so he'll be gone Friday night and
most of Saturday. I guess that means I'll pretty much be on my own, and
at the moment I'm not looking forward to it. I HATE it when Scott is
gone. It reminds me of how basically lonely I am, underneath it all.
Rhonda and I aren't
speaking anymore. I refused to give her any money for this month's
rent, and that seems to have more or less ended our friendship. I feel
rotten about it, but I think that my financial obligation has reached
its limit and I just can't afford it anymore.
Grandma V. and I are
estranged, too, and that's what hurts most of all. I hung up on her
Saturday night when she started with the accusations again, and I
haven't talked to her since. I wake up in the middle of the night and
remember the whole nasty conversation and I feel just sick. I know I
should call her and make amends, but the pride in me won't let me.
For that matter I should
call Rhonda, too, and Dad, and Mom -- all the people that I've been cut
off from or offended -- but at this point it all feels beyond my
control and I don't know what to do about it. It seems like I always
step on the people I love, in the end, and I never really mean to.
Thank God things are so
good between Scott and I. I don't intend to make him the focus of my
life - at least, not permanently - but it's good to have one solid,
complete relationship to build on.
you're home before I am, would you please check and make sure that my
rollers are plugged in? I certainly want to look lovely for our big
dinner date tonight.
Ready to go out. Waiting
for Scott to finish showering and dressing. My lunch hour "gloom and
doom" mood has passed; Scott and I are both in light, buoyant moods.
We're going to snort something called a Black Molly ... I ate one this
morning but it did next to nothing for me, so maybe this way will be
better. I kind of hate to kill my appetite, though ... we're going to
The Turning Point again, and they serve the most luscious teriyaki
steak I've ever eaten.
Dinner was fine. Norm M.
didn't bring his wife after all, so it was just he & Scott
& I. Afterwards was when everything got fucked up. Scott drove
120 miles an hour for most of the way home, and he couldn't understand
why I was crying. Now he's slammed out of the apartment once again,
undoubtedly out drinking somewhere, and I'm so fed up with his lack of
understanding and his arrogance that I wish he would just STAY out and
never come back. How am I supposed to deal with someone who is
unwilling to even listen to my point of view? He said, "I listen to some
people" -- making it entirely obvious that I'm not among those chosen
few. Fuck him.
February 21, 1979
Things are resolved once
again. Our arguments may be brutal, and they may be petty, and they may
be entirely too frequent lately ... but at least they're
brief. Neither one of us holds a grudge for long, and for that I am
truly thankful. Life is too short.
Scott left for
Bellingham this morning, and he'll be back tomorrow afternoon. I'm
missing him, of course, but I'm in a better frame of mind today than I
was 24 hours ago, and I plan to use this time alone to its fullest
advantage. The whole apartment is MINE and I have the whole evening
ahead of me to do whatever I want.
I'm really bouncing
around today ... these beans are OK. I feel like writing poems or
Oh ... Rhonda called
last night. We sort of skirted any "touchy" subjects (like money) but
it sounded like things might be alright. I don't expect that we'll ever
be as close again as we were last summer, but I certainly wouldn't want
to lose her friendship permanently.
Fun & Exciting Things To Do Tonight!
2. Wash underwear and pantyhose!
4. Look for Tammy's address!
6. Finish writing letters!
8. Poetry stuff? (bring home stapler and envelopes)
February 24, 1979
Geez, this is a feeling
I haven't had in a long time ... the old "Saturday" feeling I used to
enjoy when I was still living at home and Dad was at work and I had the
house to myself for the whole day. That's the way I feel right now.
Scott is in the office for Inventory, and I'm alone in the apartment.
What a pleasant feeling. In a few minutes I've got to hop the elevator
and go downstairs to put the laundry into dryers, and then I probably
should run the dishwasher and dry my hair and get things together
before he gets back. We might be going to a movie tonight ("Superman"?
"Heaven Can Wait"?) but for now I'm just savoring this warm, pleasant
Well, this day has
certainly gone by in a flash. I got all hopped up on beans before noon,
then had a couple of beers to "knock the edge off," and then I fell
asleep on the sofa for four hours. Now it's 5:00 already and I'm
starting all over again. Scott still isn't home - dammit. He called
right before I fell asleep and said that this is the worst Inventory
they've ever had and that it'll probably drag on a lot longer than
anyone expected. All day, and now it looks like all evening, too.
Drizzly, gray outside;
the apartment is warm and well lighted. I washed the bedding so there
will be clean sheets tonight ... Scott likes that feeling. (Geez. How domestic
February 25, 1979
Sitting in the waterbed
with the man I love, watching TV, sharing a joint, listening to the
wind and rain outside our bedroom window, arguing over covers ... life
tonight is tranquil, and slow, and easy. Work and Monday morning are a
million miles away: all that matters at this moment is Scott and I.
We've had a lovely
Sunday. We slept late, then went to Wendell's for a late
breakfast ... went and looked at a house in Redmond that Scott's
thinking about renting ... then drove to Kirkland and walked around the
waterfront, had a couple drinks at The Flame. Tonight we took a shower
and now we're in bed with a million pillows and the smell of cocoa
butter and baby powder everywhere, watching TV. Our relationship is so
good these days, it's frightening ... he is the calm, quiet place in my
life. When things are crazy all around me, or in me, he's the stable
thing I can always come back to. Every woman should have a couple of
men just like him.
February 26, 1979
Quickly. Scott left me a
note on the counter - actually, it's a caricature of himself that he
must have drawn this morning - red bulging eyes, blue mustache and a
twisted coathanger to represent his glasses, with "HI" scribbled in the
corner. What a nut.
Work today is HECTIC.
February 27, 1979
Randomly. Today is
Dick's 20th birthday, wherever he is. Scott is on his way out to pick
up a pizza and a few odds and ends from the store; I'm about to take my
nightly shower and slip back into bed. Buzzed and tired, but definitely
on the upswing.
Got a letter from Karen
in California ... she's coming up for a visit March 12-19. Scott's Dad,
and possibly his stepmom Marie, are coming from Erie to spend a week
with us next week. Scott is so excited about having his dad
here. (We've gotta buy a BED for the spare room!)
March 2, 1979
Oh, THANK GOD it's
Friday! And the weekend is ahead again. Tomorrow we'll have both
Brittany and Mindy for the day and night, so it won't be an entirely
peaceful weekend, but just so long as I can get away from Ridgway
Packaging for two days, I'm happy. I'm on my diet again, thanks to
massive amounts of Benzedrine, and little things have become BIG
irritations this week. My nerves are shot. The incessant ringing of
phones is driving me right out of my mind ... Garry Brewster and his
Express Mail every day are enough to make me scream ... and so on
& so on. Two days away from that is going to be heavenly. We're
going to do our "spring cleaning" this weekend, in preparation for
Scott's dad coming to visit ... I've got the itch. I want to get rid of
a lot of the useless junk I've accumulated over the years. I feel
bogged down by possessions, and now's the time to toss it all out.
Gotta get back to work.
March 4, 1979
End of the weekend, and
nothing really turned out the way we planned. Scott's father had to
cancel his trip because of a new job, so our big weekend of
apartment-cleaning sort of fell through ... Mindy and Brittany didn't
stay with us, either. Friday night we went out drinking with Bruce and
his new girlfriend Karen, and last night we just spent a quiet evening
Good news, though: today
we went out apartment hunting and we found a totally gorgeous, two
bedroom, two bathroom apartment at the Lochmoor Shores (not too far
from here, and closer to my office than I am now). I think we're going
to get it - we'll know tomorrow. I really like it a lot.
Before dinner (barbecued
chicken, herb & butter rice, now cooking): Very happy. Woke up
in a terrible, grumpy mood, snapping at Scott for no reason, but this
day has been pleasant & successful enough to snap me out of it.
March 10, 1979
Perched on the kitchen
counter, my usual spot, while Scott and Pam are seated on the couch a
few feet away, doing their taxes. Brittany and Mindy are staying with
us this weekend, so it's Mommy and Daddy and Brittany and Mindy. And
me. And the tax man. What a lovely family group.
Writing through a blur
of tears: I can hardly see this page in front of me. When things are
down, they're really
down. It's like my very last bastion of security has been cannonballed
into nothing. I found out tonight that when Scott was in Las Vegas for
the weekend a couple of months ago, Pam was with him. (She followed him
down when she found out he was there & I wasn't.) I can't
believe how fucking naive I am - how willing to put all my hopes and
trust in one person. The whole time I was sitting here in our apartment
feeling lonely for him and writing in this journal and hoping he was
fun, he was with her,
eating dinner and
gambling and God knows what else.
He's passing it off as
"no big deal," just a simple gesture of "friendliness" on Pam's part,
but there are a lot of things that just don't make sense to me. Flying
to Las Vegas is a "simple gesture of friendliness"?? And why didn't he
tell me about it if it was really "no big deal"?
Pam has called here in
tears three times today, begging Scott to get back together with her
and threatening to commit suicide if he doesn't. What makes her think
she's got a chance now, six or seven months after their marriage broke
must have happened in Las Vegas to raise her hopes ...
I can't stop crying. I
can't even stand to look at Scott. I'm furious and crushed and
desperately scared of losing him, all at once. It's difficult enough
for me, dealing with the fact that he's been married & his
divorce & Pam's sudden renewed interest in him, without
suddenly finding out that they went to L.V. together, as "friends" or
anything else. I feel betrayed and stupid and all alone.
The next morning, and I
am still as hurt and upset as I was last night. I thought a good
night's sleep might ease it somewhat, but if anything I feel worse. I
keep picturing the two of them in Las Vegas together, and me not
knowing the whole time, and I feel like the prize fool.
March 13, 1979
Brilliantly sunny day.
Spring has sprung in Redmond, however temporary it may be. The inside
of my car is like an oven and it's too warm for a coat.
I left Scott a five page
letter on the counter yesterday afternoon, explaining how I feel about
him and about our relationship and why this Las Vegas thing upset me so
much. At the end of the letter I asked him to meet me at Idylwood Park,
on Lake Sammamish, at 5:00 so we could "talk." He was already there
when I arrived, and once again we've managed to patch things up.
Actually, we never really talked about the thing with Pam, but
sometimes words aren't necessary. I know he cares about her and always
will, but he loves me.
I trust him, and I trust his love. I feel sorry for Pam. I'll never
really like her, and I'll never be entirely comfortable when she's
around, but I feel bad for the pain she's making for herself.
March 14, 1979
Another spring day, but
cloudier. Cooler. Buzzing from the beans I took this morning. Sitting
on the kitchen counter, small glass of beer, waiting for Scott.
Thinking about: No
cigarettes in the whole apartment! Ducks on the pond outside. Moving -
to the apartment? Or to a house? Wanting to divest myself of all the
junk I've accumulated over the years ... no more "pack rat" ... start
out clean in our brand new home. My possessions are weighing me down.
Feeling FAT. Wanting to hear the McGuinn-Clark-Hillman song, "Don't You
Write Her Off Like That," which has been running through my mind for
days. Scattered, random thoughts. Nothing cohesive. Feels like Friday
and it's only WEDNESDAY ...
March 15, 1979
Vaguely depressed and I
don't really know why. Raining today ... spring has temporarily been
cancelled, I guess. Scott and I are meeting Karen at Southcenter for
dinner tonight - she's here until the 19th. I haven't seen her since
graduation, almost three years ago. It will be interesting to see how
we've both changed since then.
March 21, 1979
I'm "back," after a
temporary leave of absence. Dinner with Karen was very nice. Scott and
I took her to a nice Mexican restaurant and we had a good time, talking
and laughing over old times. Neither one of us has changed as much as I
Coming home that night I
got sick in Scott's car and stayed home from work the next day with a
violent case of stomach flu. Back to normal by Saturday.
Scott and I had another
serious blow-up on Sunday. I'm not sure if I want to write about it,
but BASICALLY it was over the fact that Scott doesn't want to ever have
any more kids. He's thinking about a vasectomy, in fact. I'm all torn
up about it. The idea of never having a child is terrifying to me, but
even more painful at this point is the idea of never having a child
At the beginning of our relationship he said that someday it would be
nice to have a family with me; now that's changed, and I don't know
why. I always assumed that in five or six years we'd be married and
start thinking about a baby of our own ... a vasectomy pretty much
rules that out.
Feel like writing today.
Things on my mind ... nothing in particular and everything, all at
once. Another gorgeous day. Today is officially the first day of spring
The things that are
1. The rift between
Grandma, Grandpa, Dad and I
2. Scott getting a
The things I feel good
1. The sunshine
2. The way I look today
3. Jethro Tull, "One
4. My new rag doll (?)
March 22, 1979
Yesterday I mailed a
letter to Grandma V., in an effort to somehow close this gap between
us, and as a strange coincidence she chose last night to call me after
two months of noncommunication. Grandpa is very sick and has been in
the hospital for ten days. He's home now, but she says he'll never be
the same. What does that mean? Is he going to die?
God, I've got to find a
way to get down there and see them both. Life is just too fucking short
to let petty quarrels divide people who love each other.
started to write you this letter a hundred times in the past two
months, but I always give up because the words don't sound the way I
want them to. This time, though, I'm simply going to write
what's in my heart - quickly, without second thoughts - and then just
as quickly toss it into an envelope and mail it before I have time to
change my mind.
want you to know, first and most importantly, that I love you and
Grandpa like my own parents, and I always will. Nothing could ever
change that. There is no way in the world that I could begin to repay
you back for all the things you've given both Dick and I - not only as
children, but in the past few years as well - and I want you to know
that it doesn't go unappreciated.
may be unthinking, but I'm not ungrateful.
I apologize with my whole heart for the things I've done and said to
create this rift between us. I've been rude at times, and unfeeling,
and I haven't been as close to you as I have in the past, and for these
things I'm sorry. I don't think, and I pay for it by hurting those I
accept my apology for the childish and rude way I acted on the phone,
and for missing Christmas with you, and anything else I've done that
has hurt you.
finally, as for my living with Scott - I know this is what has hurt you
most of all. You were tolerant of it at first, but I know that my
choosing to live with him has been like a slap in your face.
It wasn't intended that way, by any means. I didn't move in with him to
hurt or offend you or anyone else in the family; I didn't do it out of
rebellion, or anger, or desperation. I moved in with him because I love
him, and because it was the right thing for my life. It was right when
I made the decision and it's still right, half a year later. I haven't
once regretted it.
not going to try and convince you that "my way" is "better,"
because there's a difference between us in morals and beliefs that
can't be changed. I respect that. I won't ask for your approval because
I understand it would be impossible for you to give it. I won't
I want to convince you of is the fact that I'm still Terri Lynn, in
spite of my new address, in spite of the lifestyle, in spite of any of
the peripheral things that have changed. Inside, I'm still me.
Scott hasn't changed me. No one has. Any changes in my character, good
or bad, are my own doing, but deep inside I'm still the granddaughter
who loves you very much and who can't live with herself until this gap
between us is closed.
may be too late to make you as proud of me as you once were, but is it
too late to forgive and go on from there?
What a sense of relief
... the rift is mended. For months I've been sick with shame and worry
about the silence between Grandma and I, and now it's over. Maybe I'll
sleep the night tonight, without those dreams about her dying before
I've had a chance to apologize ...
Saturday night in bed
March 24, 1979
Totally buzzed from wine
and coke ... I can't seem to stop writing, so I thought I might as well
write something in my journal, since I'm running out of people to write
letters to, anyway.
Mindy is asleep in the
other bedroom, Brittany is snuggled up in a sleeping bag at the foot of
our bed. Scott and I are laying in bed with all the pillows in the
world, watching a TV movie ... wine, coke, weed, warmed-over chicken,
all the elements of an indecently decadent evening. The kids were
screaming all day and this is the first time the apartment has been
almost completely quiet.
Thinking about a hundred
different things at once. Dinner with my sixth grade teacher and his
wife on Tuesday. Mom's birthday. Not moving into the new apartment
after all - at the last minute Scott has gotten cold feet &
decided we can't afford it, so we're staying here at 6001 until
possibly this fall. Dick being in jail again, this time for car theft.
Teri Bement calling me long distance from Tempe, Arizona this
afternoon. Sparky asking me to send him money in the letter I got
today. Happy, mostly. Buzzed, definitely.
Wanting desperately to
write about something, but unable to choose a topic that's important
enough. Love? Sex? Scott? Drugs? The state of the world? Life in
Life in general is easy.
Compared to this time last year, I'm sitting in the lap of luxury ...
secure relationship, beautiful big apartment, steady (if not exactly
challenging) job, my car fully paid for, most of my needs taken care of
(financial & otherwise). Life one year ago was confining,
routine, dirty, noisy, depressing ... life today is clean, neat,
organized, relaxed, quiet ... and easy. My problems come and go, but
the center of my world is so easy that I almost feel guilty. Everything
changed so fast, and I feel like I should have had to work harder for
all of it, instead of everything just falling into my lap the way it
Most things considered,
my situation with Scott is nearly ideal. We have our problems, and we
have our differences, but we love each other and our relationship is a
good one. All past relationships pale in comparison. We're like two
pieces of a puzzle that interlock and fill in the missing places in
The only thing that
bothers me, at times, is wondering what would happen to me if the
relationship ended. Beyond just feeling bad that such a good thing was
over, I wonder where I would go ... how I would live ... what I would
do. Basically that worry isn't much different from the way I felt a
year ago, living with Dad. I don't want to call it being "trapped," but
it's still a feeling of having no alternatives. No game plan.
But I don't want to
think about that tonight. I want to spend my life with him. I hope
that's how it ends up. But for now I just want to watch Saturday Night
Live and think.
Scott has been out in
the kitchen with Ray M. for an hour
now. When he starts to talk, there's no shutting him up ... something
that I'm still not completely used to. Scott loves to talk, and he's
good at it, but he tends to monopolize the conversation a lot of the
Dick called me tonight -
he's in jail again, and this time it could be for a year to 18 months,
depending on how things turn out. This is his story: a few weeks ago a
friend of his sta friend of his stole a GMC pickup and ended up parking
it in front of Dick's house. Dick panicked, got into the truck and
drove it three or four blocks away, parked it and walked home. The
neighbors saw him with the truck, and that night both he and his friend
were picked up for auto theft. Dick was out the next day. Then last
weekend Dick was driving his car on Meyers Way when he ran out of gas.
He decided to smoke a joint before he walked to the gas station, and as
he was sitting in his car a police car came by and stopped, checked
Dick out, informed him that he was wanted for auto theft and hauled him
in. So now he's back in jail again, and that's all I'm going to say
about it because it's all been said before. If he's determined to
self-destruct, there's nothing I can say or do to change him.
What a pair of wonderful
kids we are ... he's in jail most of the time, and I'm living in sin in
Redmond, Washington. Who would have ever thought that the two neat,
well-behaved V. kids would turn out like this? No wonder Grandma is
sick all the time. We must be a huge disappointment to her.
It's been 90 minutes now
since Ray knocked on the door. I wish they would hurry up.
March 27, 1979
Mom's birthday. I sent
her a card and called her at work to wish her a happy birthday.
Tonight Scott and I were
supposed to go out to dinner with Mr. Iverson and his wife, but he
called about an hour ago and canceled. He felt really bad about it, and
so do I ... I was looking forward to it very much. But at least that
means a quiet evening tonight. It's "snowing" tonight, but quietly.
April 2, 1979
Temporarily out of
sorts. Scott was supposed to be home at 7:00, so when he called at 9:15
with the customary bar noises in the background, something inside me
snapped and I hung the phone up in his ear. I didn't even bother to
listen to his explanation. I'm disgusted with him for having so little
regard for my feelings, and I'm disgusted with myself for coming off
like a nagging housewife. I'm not trying to put chains on him, but I
can't stand sitting here alone in this apartment waiting for him.
April 7, 1979
I just realized how few
pages there are left in this journal, and it made me feel sort of funny
and hollow ... so many wonderful things have happened in the nearly
half-year since I started writing in it - so many startlingly important
changes - that it's going to be tough to write "The End" and buy a new
notebook and start all over again. As though the notebook itself were
charmed & was the cause of all the changes. I know how silly
that sounds, but I get very attached to my journals, particularly if
they accompany me through an especially eventful or happy period of my
life. At times like that, when everything is happening at once and
writing about it is joy, the notebook becomes less an inanimate object
and more a friend. A confidante, maybe. I reach for it in good times
and bad times, and when the pages are filled I feel the loss of a
This is my 24th journal,
I believe - I'm not exactly sure - technically they're all one journal
("The Continuing Saga of Terri V., Twentieth Century American Girl").
But in spite of their relative continuity, they seem separate entities
to me. Individual chunks of my life. Each one is unique and different
and individual, the way the varying stages of my life have been.
I will be sad when I've
finished this journal because these six months have been very special
and important to me, but I'll go out and buy a new one right away and
keep writing. It will never end.
I started my first real
journal when I was thirteen years old. That was only eight years ago,
and in the face of all time it's a mere drop in the bucket. (When I was
starting my first journal, Scott was marrying Pam. Not so long ago at
all.) It seems like a lifetime. Considering how much I've changed
between 13 and 21, though, it HAS been a lifetime. I can clearly
remember the way I thought and felt at age 13, but I feel disassociated
from that Terri now. Reading that journal is like intruding into the
journal of another person. Everything about me has changed, as it must,
I suppose - physically, mentally, spiritually, mentally, morally. You
give up some things, while other things remain constant. The child
becomes a woman. All of those years of evolving - of becoming a woman -
are painstakingly recorded in the 24 volumes of this journal, where I
can always go back and re-live them. Even when my memories aren't as
clear as they are now, I'll be able to go back and read about them
again and again. That's not dwelling in the past so much as using the
past to build the future, I think, and I'll never again feel neurotic
or ashamed of keeping a journal. I'll treasure them and love them until
the day I die, and there's nothing wrong with that.
I regret some things,
though. I regret skipping over parts of my life without writing about
them. I regret my overzealous censoring a couple of years ago, when I
went back and ripped out pages and crossed things out and wrote phony
entries to fill in the blanks. I regret censoring myself while I was
writing, too ... being purposely inaccurate, afraid that someone would
read & be shocked. I wish I could go back and put all my
journals back the way they were - tape the torn pages back together,
fill in the missing words. It's too bad that I can't. I feel like I've
cheated myself somehow.
But back to the present
... or at least, the more recent past. These past six months in
particular. What has this journal witnessed? The tail end of Summer
1978 ... living at Grandma St. John's, breaking up with Scott S., the
brief and blind fling with Bruce that ultimately led to better things.
Moving into my first apartment with Rhonda and then moving out again in
two weeks. Getting fired from Lusk Metals and spending four months in
unemployed limbo. The trip to Maui ... my 21st birthday ... Christmas
1978 (sort of). Getting the new job at Ridgway Packaging. Conflicts
with the family that had always been so dear to me, and the resolution
of some of those conflicts. Dick in jail again, Grandpa V. in the
hospital, seeing Karen again after three years. And more than anything
else - meeting Scott W., falling in love on our first date, moving in
with him a week later, and building a new and different life with him.
The most important change of all, in many ways, because it has changed
the way I feel about myself, and about love, and about sex, and about
so many other things. I've already written pages about how I feel about
him, how much I love him, how much he's helped change me ... I don't
want to repeat myself. I don't want to sound like I'm in a rut. For a
while I worried that too much of me was centered around him, that it
was an unhealthy attachment. I've done that before in relationships and
it dehumanizes you. You feel less half a couple than an extension of
someone else, and your own identity gets trampled. But that's not the
way it is with us. I've realized that. It was just that moving to
Redmond completely transplanted me from the area I grew up in - it
"uprooted" me - and I felt the loss of family and friends and depended
on Scott to help ease the loss. I never blamed him for the loss of
friends and relatives I had known all my life, because the separating
started a long time before I even met him. My own gradual desire to
separate helped it grow, and moving to Redmond only finalized the
separating process. The loneliness, the clinging to Scott, was only the
pain felt when you finally leave the nest for good and make your own
way out into the world. I have happy memories of the friends I have
known, and I look forward to a life of meeting new friends, and I don't
regret leaving part of the past behind. That's what growing up is, I
These six months with
Scott have been good things because they've changed me. He has helped
to change me, and it's the kind of change that makes you stronger. I
like myself more than I did a year ago. I certainly feel more
accomplished. Life is going forward at a more regular pace, instead of
standing still and going nowhere. I can see the progression. Sometimes
that makes me sad because it means I'm not a teenager anymore &
I never will be again. But I think that all things considered, I would
rather progress than stagnate.
Before I end this
journal, one last word portrait of myself ... where I am and who I am
and what I'm thinking about, right this minute. Saturday afternoon,
growing late, early April 1979. I'm sitting on the sofa, notebook
balanced on my lap, feet propped up on the coffee table. My hair is
dirty and I feel like I need a shower and some baby powder and some
clean clothes - but that will wait. It was sunny this morning, but as
it approaches evening it is growing cloud and cloudy. The sliding door
is cracked open a little and I feel cold on my bare arms. The stereo is
on behind me, and old Eagles song - I don't know the name of it but
I've always liked it. Brittany, wearing a long flowered dress and a
leather bracelet, is drawing pictures on a piece of paper on the floor
in front of me, chattering and singing to herself. She made a scene at
Pam's this morning and almost didn't come with us when we came to pick
her up, but Scott and I coaxed her into a tolerable mood and she's
cheerful now after her nap. Mindy is still asleep in the spare bedroom
but will probably be awake shortly. Scott is sitting at his desk,
hunched over paperwork, hair rumpled, feet bare, sniffling. We're both
buzzing from the coke he picked up today, but later tonight when the
girls are in bed we plan to turn it in the other direction with some
mesc & weed. I'm not taking beans anymore because I've been
intolerably nauseous all the time lately and beans make it worse. On
Monday night I have an appointment at Planned Parenthood for a
pregnancy test. I honestly don't think I am pregnant, but I want to
know why I've been so fucking sick lately. I also want to go back on
the pill. Scott isn't talking vasectomy anymore, thank God, so I feel
somehow obligated to take the responsibility for birth control into my
own hands. I very much want to have a baby someday. The maternal urges
in me rise up every once in a while, reassuring me that I'm normal. But
it WILL be someday. Hopefully when I'm prepared in every way. Scott
knows that now. We had a gut-level talk about it the other day, and he
is now reassured that I'm going to drop a baby on him until we both
want it. The thought of having a baby someday with Scott - Peter Lee? -
is very special to me. I look forward to it wholeheartedly ... but
there's too much I have to do first. I feel at peace about the whole
We talked about
marriage, too, and came to an understanding we both can live with.
That's all I'll say about it, because the remaining pages are precious
and there are other things to say.
Basically I'm quite
happy. My life with Scott is good, and my life with myself is good.
I've worked at Ridgway for three months and I feel more established (in
a job) than ever before. I enjoy my job, and I enjoy the people I work
with (the only exception at present - redneck Jerry F.). I like
answering the phones. Some of the other office duties are a drag
sometimes, but at least I know what I'm doing now. There's nothing
confusing about it. I can't imagine being a receptionist for the rest
of my life, but it's a start and I could be doing a lot worse. I could
be waiting tables at Sambo's or taking tickets at a movie theater or
The novelty of the first
car has worn off and the reality has set in ... the cost of gasoline,
the broken driver's seat, the scratches on the windshield, the
screwed-up transmission ... and I wonder how in the world I could
afford to fix it or replace it. I worry because I have no insurance,
and because I never had the registration transferred, and because I
don't even know how to change the oil.
I worry a LOT about the
way I look. I weigh more right now than I ever have, and my clothes
don't look good on me. I want to lose weight but I can't seem to do it
without beans, and I can't take beans because they make me throw up. I
know I'm not fat, but I hate being too chunky to comfortably button the
top button of my pants, and summer is right around the corner and I
wouldn't be caught dead in a bathing suit, looking the way I do now.
I worry because I don't
have a bank account and my money disappears through my fingers like
sand, usually with nothing to show for it. I got three new pairs of
shoes last week, which I desperately needed, but my wardrobe is a mess
and I worry about it. Patti and Max and Leslie at work are always so
well-dressed, so polished, and I come off looking like a model for
Value Village. I wear the same things over & over and I'm sick
of my clothes.
I worry about my family.
I haven't seen Grandma & Grandpa since November, Dad since
December, and I know they've probably long since written me off. For
the first time in my life I don't feel any strong family ties, and
while it's a relief in some ways, it's a pain in other ways. I feel
like The Prodigal Daughter/Granddaughter, and I'm fighting the guilt
all the time.
I suppose I shouldn't
worry so much. So many things are going well, but I overlook that and
concentrate on the problems and feel awful about it. I work myself into
guilt and despair, when I should be looking at all the good things, and
thanking God I am where I am. It could be so much worse.
Scott is now in the
kitchen, surrounded by his daughters while he fixes their hot dogs and
Tater Tots. I'm sitting on the couch in the near-dark, watching him,
listening to the verbal exchanges between he & Brittany,
thinking how much love I have for the man. And how much love he has for
the people in his life ... his daughters, me, his brother, his father.
Often terse, often insensitive to fragile moods and delicate egos, he
still loves, and he loves honestly.
to throw a rock?