1980 - February 1980
I be reading this sad little notebook sometime in the future and
smiling, because I know that everything turned out OK eventually?"
night 9:20 p.m.
Continued from last
(Scott's) kids are
still up, but they're playing quietly on the floor behind me so I'm
just ignoring them. I am just fried.
Sitting on the sofa, cautiously sipping a beer, half-watching "Love
Boat," unable to concentrate on anything longer than a minute or two.
Scott swore up & down, right & left that he'll be home
by 10 p.m., but the signs all point the other way ... he left the
apartment with tequila, drugs and Bruce. I'll be
lucky if I even see him before morning. Sigh.
How do I feel
tonight? Physically, right at the bottom of the heap ... tired but
artificially buzzed, shaky, foggy, flushed, nervous. The toot that
Scott left me is either
really crappy or else I'm developing a tolerance. I've wailed through a
half of it & haven't really gotten what I wanted out of
Just put the kids
to bed - amazingly, they went willingly and without complaints. (I
expected at least 30 minutes' worth of tantrum.)
Aside from feeling
horrible physically, underneath it all I'm in a fairly
tolerable mood. No real "big" problems at the moment ... a few minor
but nothing that requires stewing. (Those minor concerns include my
weight; breaking the
news to Grandma & Grandpa about moving to Oregon; my reluctance
to leave Redmond,
especially this apartment with all its memories; my job at Ridgway; our
job-hunting in a strange city. Etc. Nothing all THAT serious, really.)
The most difficult
parts of moving, for the most part, are over - giving my notice at work
and telling my
family about it. With the exception of Grandma & Grandpa.
In the next week or
so we begin the process of packing all of our belongings into
cardboard boxes and preparing for the actual move itself. That's still
familiar experience for me ... five moves in eight years, or something
Looking around this
apartment ... trying to "memorize" it. What a place of
love, transition and change this apartment has been. I already know
that for the rest of
my life, I'm going to look back on these 15 months in this apartment as
one of the
happiest & most important periods of my life. I grasp at these
last days and try to
make them stand still ... trying to commit everything about this place,
my office at work,
the streets and the neighborhoods to memory, so I can take it all with
How do I feel about
Scott tonight? Well ... I have to admit that I'm a little peeved at
him, for suddenly deciding to go to this party & sticking me
with his kids and a lot of shitty cocaine ... but I can't really
blame him. It's 11
p.m. already and he's not home yet, so I would imagine that he's
moderately-to-heavily crazy, in spite of the way he felt when he left
(just as burned out
as I've been all day), and I'm purposely not going to allow myself to
hot about it. It's not that big a deal.
I do love him, more
sincerely and deeply than any man ever before in my life. I'm certain
of that. The thing that first made me love him - our ability to talk to
each other - is still the most important thing to me. If we ever lost
that ability, it
would be the beginning of the end ... I have no doubt about that. The
communicate is what any good relationship depends on.
The other qualities
that I love about this man of mine, in no particular order:
... His scrupulous
honesty, where the important things are concerned. His amazing
ability to talk to ANYBODY about ANYTHING; the way he knows a little
bit about a lot of
things. His infectious sociability. His innate intelligence. The
conscience that he
struggles to disguise. The compassion that he sometimes claims he
doesn't feel, but
which becomes evident when the people he loves need him most. His
amazing tolerance of my
indiscretions. His ability to forgive me my faults (usually!) His total
bashfulness. His inquisitiveness. His aggression. His neat, tidy,
organized way of looking
at things. His sense of humor. His ego. His appreciation of my talents,
understanding of those things I have no aptitude for. His understanding
and absence of
judgment toward those things in my past that were not beautiful.
He snores, and he
snores LOUD. He drives too fast and too recklessly for my comfort
sometimes. He's almost fanatically neat, tidy and clean ... Felix Unger
to my Oscar
Madison. He nags. He expects me to be more outgoing & sociable,
in certain situations,
than I am capable of being. He worries too much. He talks about
aluminum every chance he
gets. In the heat of an argument, he refuses to stay and scream it out
the way I would -
he leaves. He isn't as tolerant of my strange, sudden shifts in mood as
I wish he
could be. He refuses to show any jealousy, outwardly at least.
But who am I to
number his faults? Or to point a finger at what's "good"
about him and what's "bad"? He is what he is. I've made some changes
in him, and in his lifestyle, but the basic Scott will never change,
the changes himself. And I'm glad! If he changed, he wouldn't be the
know and love.
"The Scott I know
& love" left the apartment last night at 7:30 with Bruce
(again) and hasn't called or been home since. I'm angered and worried
and annoyed beyond measure. Besides that, our stereo and speakers are
gone, and I
haven't the slightest idea whether Scott took them sometime this
morning while I was
at work, or if they were stolen .. or what.
-- just like that -- everything
Oh ........ my god.
Right now I'm about
as cool and rational as I could be, and I'm going to
attempt to be very calm about this ...
Scott just called
from Kirkland to tell me that he isn't taking me to Oregon with
him ... that he doesn't love me ... and that it's irrevocably over
between us. I
am probably feeling the most destroyed, stunned, hurt and terrified of
my whole life.
I can't even write
about it. Frankly, I'm amazed that I've managed to remain this
controlled this long. Right now I'm going to clean up the apartment -
I'm not going back to work - but beyond that, I haven't the faintest
I'll do with the rest of my day ... or with the rest of my life
, for that matter.
I have never felt
so utterly devastated.
I am utterly
I can't even
function ... I'm just wandering around the apartment in circles, unable
to focus on anything. My whole world has just come to a screeching
halt, and I'm sick and empty and full of hate for myself.
Scott is coming by
at 5:30 to pick up some clean clothes. I want so desperately to be
in control while he's here - to be strong and not break down in front
of him - but
Journal, I ache inside so terribly that I know I'm going to just fall
into a million
Leaving for work.
Outwardly calm; inwardly haggard and defeated. Not sure if I can bear
to spend another night alone in this horrid apartment ... I am so
sad and alone. I don't think I slept at all last night in that big,
His visit last
night broke my heart. He kissed me and held me and said that he still
loves me, "but
I'm trying to be
practical and not cling to the one tiny shred of hope he tossed
to me like an old bone, but frankly it's the only thing that is keeping
me from going
completely out of my mind.
Surviving, more or
less. Everyone at work has been unbelievably kind and supportive this
morning, and I have very purposely buried myself in paperwork so I
don't begin to think about Scott and break down.
Life is so hard
right now, Journal.
I stopped at 7-11
and picked up a few things for the refrigerator. I haven't eaten
anything in a couple of days, but that's due more to inertia than
self-denial. Pearle came in this morning and cleaned the apartment ...
that helps a bit. There is still no joy in my heart, and no life in the
apartment that used to be so dear to me. I wonder when it will all
begin to come back. When will I be happy again? Right now
optimism is an unreachable goal. This pain in my heart is the most
debilitating thing I've ever experienced in 22 years of ups &
downs. I can't seem to
think of one single positive thing in all of this.
Home. ("Home" ...
?) Funny how it used to be - I couldn't wait for 5:00
to roll around so I could get out of the office and hurry home. Now -
today - 5:00 was the
worst moment of the whole day. I've talked to Dad, Mr. I., Phil, Bobbi,
Toby on the phone. I've read magazines. I ate something (yes! I ate!),
a piece of
bread and peanut butter. Just now I took a shower, and wrapped in the
brown velour sweater
I gave to Scott for Christmas '78, I am preparing to slip into the
sweet oblivion and
nothingness of sleep ... at 7:30 p.m. There is nothing for me to do in
this apartment but
give in to nothingness.
Scott ... where are
you right now?
Not much better ...
if anything, worse. Overcome by an uncontrollable case of the
"weepies" while I was sitting at my desk ... I've still got them. I
Slept all right
last night. I started out on the sofa because I couldn't bear the
thought of our bed, but I got up at 1 a.m. and went in there anyway.
The sheets still
smell like Scott. He left his toothbrush in our shower ... his
hairbrush is in the
Scott called me
once yesterday afternoon, once late last night and once this morning,
but each time he was just checking to see if Randy had called yet. Last
night I told him that I love him, and all he said was "I know." This
morning he sounded hungover and unhappy, and I wonder if he's feeling
even a measure of this horrendous pain and suffering that I'm going
Journal ... I don't know how much longer I can tolerate this before
I crack completely. I've managed to put on a very good front for my
family, simply out of pride, but inside I am ripped apart. Hollow and
bleeding and filled
with an ache I've never known before. Everything that was good, and
positive about my life one week ago has been pulled right out from
under my feet. I feel:
betrayed. And hopeless. And completely without optimism, or goals, or
joy. All my joy is
Every once in a
while, when the pain leaves me for a minute or two, I start to think
about life options, trying to map out a vague strategy as far as my
immediate future is
concerned. I must
survive this, one way or another.
I can't even count
the number of well-meaning friends, relatives and co-workers who have
tried to comfort me with the old adage about "time healing all wounds."
Even Scott had the nerve to say, "Everything must pass." All very well
and fine for them. Just pat Terri on the head and pacify her
with vague, trite old clichés, and she'll immediately spring
back to life, right? Nothing doing. This is the best they can
do for me?? What about gut honesty? How about a few REAL,
practical, realistic observations? Suggestions? Comments? Why doesn't
someone tell me why the fuck
my relationship with Scott has blown up in my face less than a week
before our move to
Oregon?? Why can't someone tell me how the hell I'm going to find an
and BEARABLE place to live? How am I supposed to just "get over" Scott?
from work 5:30 p.m.
Newly "home" from
work ... and the feeling of the moment, Scott-wise, is anger.
I am so incredibly, goddamned pissed off at him right now. Over the
past couple of hours
I've been taking a mental inventory of the things Scott has
recklessly stripped me of. The interminable sorrow has been replaced,
however briefly, by
burning anger. It will probably only last until he calls me this
evening, or until I wake
up in the morning ... but regardless of how temporary the anger is,
it's certainly a
more energizing emotion than defeat.
Someday, when all
of this has passed, I'll probably look back and think about all
the wonderful things that I "gained" by being dropped on my heart at
in my life. Right now, though, when all of life is January 25, 1980,
all that matters is
the barrage of excruciatingly negative emotions I'm feeling RIGHT NOW.
These things, among
others, are those which I believed were "mine" one short
1. A loving,
honest, two-way relationship that had been the rock of all my security
past year and a half. The man I loved. The friend I valued most.
Someone to scratch my
back, tell my secrets to, make popcorn with, write poems for, take
showers with. Someone
to share the best of times with. Someone to depend on in the worse of
times. My soul-mate,
my confidante. The dearest and most important person in my life.
2. A future,
lovingly planned for and anticipated, in Oregon.
3. A nice home.
This Redmond apartment is "mine" for a few days more ... than
I have to find any dumpy little hole-in-the-wall that my pitiful salary
will afford me.
4. My beloved cat.
I can't keep him. He'll only be a handicap when I try to
find a new apartment. Toot has been a part of my little "family" and I
very much. Now I am forced to give him up.
5. A host of
friends and acquaintances who have known us as "Scott and
Terri." No longer part of the magic couple, I am too proud and ashamed
and sad to
reach out to any of them.
6. A huge measure
of self-esteem. What is so wrong with me that a man who ASKED me to
share his life with him would suddenly change his mind with barely a
Right now I despise myself.
7. Any kind of sex
life! (He left me the vibrator ... oh boy. But where are the loving
arms, the eyes, the words ...?)
8. THE STEREO! I
can't even play sad music on the stereo because he fucking took the
I called Bruce's
house, hoping to talk to Chris, but Scott answered the phone.
We're over, forever. All the brave resolve and bravado I felt an hour
evaporated. Now I'm going to die.
The next morning.
There is glass all over the kitchen floor, where I smashed our
special champagne glasses - the two little ones that I gave him for
Christmas '78, to
use for private toasts. I think I've also destroyed the sailboat
repair - I'm not sure how he'll be able to fix it, the way I ripped it
Thank God I passed out before I had a chance to destroy anything else.
I never went to
meet Gerry at the Woodgate Inn, and I never drove down to Dad's for the
night, as I
promised I would do. Last night was the most horrible night of my life.
Scott was cold,
abrupt, terse and completely immovable ... it was like talking to a
stranger. This morning
the sun is shining and the pond is frozen over. I am cold, hungover,
sick and totally
numb. No tears. No sighs. No real feelings at all ... just frozen solid
inside, like the
11:30 a.m. and
still immobile. I sit on the sofa and look out the window and chain
smoke. I look in the mirror and see a Terri I hardly recognize: I look
ten years older.
Restless nights, shock, no food, smoking and drinking and crying too
I picked up the apartment a little; folded Scott's clothes,
which I had swept to the floor during my violent rage on Friday night;
then I showered,
washed and set my hair, put on makeup and got dressed. By 6:00 I
actually looked like a
human being again.
I was hungry -
starving, even - and I sat on the sofa watching TV, wondering whether I
should take myself out to dinner, or drive to Dad's, or go to 7-11 and
pick up some
food and beer. In the end, I covered myself with an afghan and feel
asleep in front of the
TV at 9:00.
I slept a straight
12 hours. Now I've got "Rex Humbard" on the TV;
I'm perched on the kitchen counter with a cup of tea and another
cigarette. I feel
awful. I didn't talk to Scott at all on the phone yesterday, which is
just as well. I
imagine he probably went to Al & Patty Greenwood's wedding (to
which we were both
invited), and he probably spent the evening surrounded by our friends,
drinking and laughing. I wonder if he ever thinks of me at all. I
wonder if he misses me
at all. What does he do when he wakes up in the middle of the night and
reaches for me and
I'm not there? Or does he reach for me at all?
This journal is
only one week old, and in that short week everything in my life has
been changed without warning. This has been the worst week of my life.
I don't even
care about waking up in the morning ... if I could, I would just sleep
through the next
three or four months and hope that when I woke up, it would either be
next to Scott or
else in a situation a lot less painful and sad as my situation is now.
Don't know what I'm
going to do today.
Engrossed in reading the journals I wrote when I was 16, during that
painful sophomore year in high school
when Clarence and I broke up. The parallels between the things I felt
& the things I feel now are amazing. I was going through my
first genuine heartbreak,
and everything looked bleak. All my joy vanished, just as it has now. I
desperately wanting him back & desperately wanting to find ways
to forget him, just as
I'm doing now. I didn't eat, I didn't sleep, didn't care much about
the way I looked. I looked at every boy I encountered at school or at
church as a
"possibility" - a way to fill the awful vacuum in my heart. I spent my
and weekends holed up in the house, watching TV and scribbling morosely
in my journal
every hour or so.
Sound at all
Right now, Journal,
you are the only friend I have ... the only "person" I
can talk to. Will I be reading this sad little notebook sometime in the
smiling, because I know that everything turned out OK eventually? Am I
ever going to stop
loving Scott? Is this pain going to subside, with time? Will I ever be
again? Does life end in January 1980, or do I find reasons to laugh and
trust and care
Above all else I
feel betrayed. How could I have been so stupid?
damned trusting and naive??
I've taken all the
pictures down from the walls and piled them in a corner of the living
room. I've dressed and fixed my face and hair, but I know that I'm not
going anywhere. There's no place to go.
Shaking like a
leaf. Scott just walked in, to pick up some papers for work. I remained
amazingly controlled, but sweet Jesus I want to die right
Better, a little. I
went to Safeway and bought a few things ... beer and cat food (of
course). Also some brown rice, a container of cottage cheese, a can of
peas, a bag of
kitty litter, a paperback book ("By Myself," Lauren Bacall; sounds
right?) I look OK, feel kinda mean, and if I can scrape up the nerve I
might drive to
Waldo's or The Somewhere Else and have a beer. Anything to get out from
four walls and maybe find someone kind to talk to.
Scott looked fine
... a little haggard and drawn, but otherwise achingly normal. Thank
God I'd had the presence of mind to dress this morning and make myself
look alive. I had no idea he'd come by, of course, but still I'm glad I
wasn't looking rumpled and frazzled. We talked very little. He asked me
if I'd made any decisions yet, and I said "no." He said that he was
thinking about not buying the condo in Oregon; he might just rent for
awhile. "I'd rather not pay rent on this apartment for
another month if I can help it," he
said. (TOUGH SHIT. In the face of all this sudden
uncertainty, I plan to stay here through
February, period. I need the time, more than anything.) He
left just as suddenly as
he'd arrived, and I watched him go without crying, without begging him
to "hold" me.
I'm proud of myself for that. I've been so disgusted with myself this
week, and it felt
good to feel good for a minute.
Scott said he
didn't leave because of me, but because of him.
So I shouldn't deride myself and sit around feeling angry with Terri. I
need to start
bolstering myself a little, counting my strengths instead of my flaws.
another, this piteously screwed-up life of mine must go on. I'm not
quite ready to pack it
in yet. Somewhere, out in this temporarily scary and lonely world,
there is a man who will
love me someday with more depth and sincerity than Scott W ever did.
S. Or Steve, or Phil, or Clarence, or any of the other failed loves
I've known.) Out there somewhere, someone is breathing and thinking and
around who will someday cherish me honestly. Maybe I've met him
already. Maybe I
haven't. The important thing is to make myself believe in my own
self-worth, and in
all the things worth loving in me.
In the coming
hours, days, weeks, months, I'm going to go up and down. There will
be times, like now, when I feel a little stronger ... a little more at
peace with Scott
and (more importantly) with Terri ... and there will also be times when
I succumb to
despair, and longing for Scott, and self-hate. I'm probably going to
talk myself into
"falling in love" half a dozen times until I find the man who will be
I'm going to be lonely, broke, frustrated, hungry, drunk, elated,
despairing. Six months from now I'll think about Scott and I'll still
years from now I'll read these journals, written during "the Redmond
and I'll ache for the Terri who got in over her head and ended up
dropped on her
heart. I'll never forget, and I suppose the pain will never completely
go away. (Even
today, when I think back on that first heartbreak in 1973, I know that
pain like that
never goes away completely. It's easier to be objective about it, of
you're looking back ... you know what happened afterwards, for one
thing ... just as
you reading this journal, months or years from now, know the immediate
consequences of Scott and I breaking up now ... but I really doubt
whether you ever really
"get over" it, 100%.)
So much for
strength and resolve. I picked up a Lusk Metals razor knife tonight and
opened a vein in my wrist.
Scott has moved
back in with Patty and the girls.
I wish I would have
gone through with it and died.
I hate Scott, I
hate myself, and I despise the thought of waking up in the morning. The
apartment is a shambles of blood and belongings and hate. I've taken
two Darvon and
expect to sleep soon. A merciful God would make sure I don't wake up in
attempt." I went to work today, of course - and I guess it's
obvious to everybody what I did, by the lumpy bandage around my wrist.
walking on figurative tip-toe around me. Scott just called to check on
me, and instead of
the cold, disgusted tone I expected, he sounded worried and caring. He
even called me
"Babe" - I just let it pass, but it was still a little wrenching. He
"I still like you and care about you a whole lot." God, that helps. I
he still loved me, of course, but at least he doesn't hate me for being
My wrist hurts like
hell. I have about 12 stitches, I think. I did a fairly decent job
of gouging myself. I can barely move the fingers on that hand. More
... that's about all I can say, because that's all I can do.
Scott and Bruce
came by the apartment last night about 6:00, and although Scott was
incredibly kind and concerned, it's finally beginning to sink in that
really & truly finished. It took me a week to realize it, but
it's the truth. I
asked him if he thought there could ever be a chance of our being
together again. He
looked very sad and said "I doubt it."
I have an
appointment tonight at 7:00 at the Eastside Community Mental Health
with someone named Gary S. I was supposed to go to the hospital at noon
today and have
my stitches looked at, but something came up & I had to come
There's a problem with me staying in the apartment an extra month: the
already promised the place to someone else. I explained the
circumstances to her, and she
promised to call me back sometime this morning. (She hasn't yet, so
more thing to worry about. Great.)
Of all possible
options, I would prefer to find a tiny apartment - even a studio
apartment - here in Redmond, some place I could afford to live in
alone. I don't
really have the stomach to live with somebody else. I want to just be
by myself, some place that's mine alone, and start learning about life
all over again.
There is so much I don't know ... and there's a lot that I THOUGHT I
which I'm going to have to learn all over again. I'm going to be very
very lonely for a long time, but maybe there are resources inside of me
that can only come
to light when I've been forced to fend for myself awhile.
My piteous attempt
at suicide two nights ago was a jolt, not only to the people who
care about me, but to myself, as well. I never knew there were any
in me; now I realize that anyone is capable of it, given the
provocation. My blood is
still all over the kitchen ... I haven't bothered to clean it yet. It's
of grisly reminder of how low I'm capable of sinking.
Bruce met me at the
hospital after I'd been stitched up, and he took away all the
knives and blades he could find in the apartment. A preventive measure,
I suppose. I
couldn't promise him (or Scott) that I wouldn't try it again, but I
think I will. Now that Scott is irrevocably gone, the hope that is
sweetest in my heart is
that someday there'll be that other man who cherishes me. He is the
promise that I
find worth staying alive for.
feeling particularly good physically - still not eating or
sleeping much - but I AM feeling an inch or two stronger, emotionally.
Not a lot, but any
progress is better than none at all. Last night I kept my appointment
at the Mental Health
Clinic, and I found Gary to be very helpful to talk to. I'll be seeing
once a week, approx. $7 per visit, which I hope I'll be able to afford.
The apartment manager called me at work today and said that I can stay
for another month -
IF I get Toot out of the apartment by tomorrow. Jesus, that hurts. That
funny little black
cat is mine,
and he's been the only company I've had around here
since Scott left. I'm getting so tired of watching all the things that
I love being
stripped away from me, one by one. Any permanence I ever felt is gone.
But I really have
no other choice. I desperately need those extra 2-3 weeks. Someday,
though, I plan to get
Toot back, and when I do nothing will ever take him away from me again.
This morning I
placed an ad in The Seattle Times in the "Wanted To Rent"
Respectable, employed 22 yr. old female desperately seeks
Eastside apartment and roommate to share. Approx. $200/month.
Have some furniture, utensils.
Must have place to live March 1 or sooner.
Also, I put a
notice in the Student Union office at Bellevue C.C., with a few more
details but the same basic plea. If neither of these ads work, then
I'll try putting
something in the Bellevue paper, but hopefully I'll start getting some
soon. I would still FAR prefer to live alone, but Gary pretty much
explained to me last
night how difficult that would be, on my salary. Oh well. Toss out your
pride, Terri, and
take what you can get. Hopefully I might find somebody who will become
a dear, important
friend. I could really use one. Or, at the very least, a tolerable,
decent roommate who
will let me get back on my feet and back into the world of the
Surviving Wounded ...
Sigh. Back to work.
More tonight, if I can find the time to write in the midst of my
incredibly busy schedule. Hardy har har.
This is by far the
worst part ... coming back to the apartment after work each evening.
here to look forward to at all.
Just sitting here
on the old "perch," wearing the jeans (still splashed with
blood) I was wearing on Sunday night ... writing things (letters, bare
snatches of poetry,
lists, objectives) ... making random phone calls to whoever is home to
listen to me ...
getting a little silly on beer ... trying to hold it together. I miss
the stereo, and the
comfort of loud music. I miss the comfort of waiting for Scott to come
home. I don't
want to miss him, but I'm missing him anyway.
Tomorrow would have
been my last day at Ridgway; now I'll probably be working
there until I'm gray. Tomorrow, also, is the day that Scott plans to
come and move
the last of his things out of the apartment, I think. If so, I don't
want to be here.
shattered. Scott was here today and moved out all his things ...
the TV and the PHONE! Holy Christ. What am I going to do
without a phone??? I never
imagined for a moment that he would take that, too, and I'm coming
unglued. Being able to talk to supportive friends and family on the
phone was my only
protection against total isolation. Now I'm cut off from the world and
shitless. No music. No TV. No phone. Just a lot of bare walls, empty
closets, and Terri
feeling the worst she's ever felt in her whole life.
A few days later.
After I came home from work and found the phone was gone that night,
I drove over to The Sea Galley and met Leslie (a woman from my office)
for a few drinks. I
ended up smashed, of course, but it was good to get out. Dave, my next
door neighbor, had
a spare phone and he's letting me borrow it for the time being. During
work on Friday
I got several phone calls in response to my ad - which I'll talk about
a little more,
in a minute.
Friday after work I
met Randy F. (a guy who works at Creative Color, and who I talk to
frequently when he comes to Ridgway for Art Department meetings) at The
Saratoga Trunk for a couple of drinks. He's really a nice guy and
pretty cute, and I might date him some more in the future, maybe. Right
now it's impossible to find any men
appealing, and that's going to take a while to change. I might have
stayed out with
him later on Friday, but I'd already made a date to meet Leslie and
Leslie's cousin Dan) at 8:00 at The Somewhere Else. The four of us
drove downtown and
partied at a place called The Bahamas until the early hours. Leslie
necessarily trying to "fix me up" with Dan, but it was pretty obvious
likes me and wants to see me again. We were supposed to go out last
night, in fact -
I'd also arranged to call to Randy around 6:00 and maybe set something
up - but as it
turned out I was so completely and horribly hungover all day yesterday
that I unplugged
the phone at 5:00, and soon after I fell asleep, fully clothed, and
didn't so much as
twitch until 9 this a.m.
Toot is still here,
and I live in constant terror that the manager is going to walk in
any minute, see my cat, and kick me out on the spot. I have to find a
home for him today,
but haven't the faintest idea how or where to begin looking. I love
that cat ... God,
how I'm going to miss him. He's been so confused since Scott left - he
me absolutely everywhere around the apartment, obviously afraid I'll
leave him next.
The horrible part is that's exactly what's going to happen. I only hope
find someone kind and decent, someone who will show him love and
But now for the Big
News. I think I've found a roommate and a nice place to live, and if
everything works out I may be moving sometime after next weekend. My
fingers are crossed ... also my toes, my legs and anything else
crossable. Her name is Rachel, she's 20, and she's living in a two
bedroom fourplex in Bellevue, not far from Ridgway Packaging. She was
the first person to answer my ad, and I drove over to meet her
yesterday afternoon. Her apartment struck me as warm and comfortable
... and so did she. I sensed a certain guardedness in her as we sat on
the sofa and talked, but that's understandable, I guess, given the
awkwardness of the situation. She reminded me a lot of Rhonda. Maybe
that will help us avoid some of the pitfalls that Rhonda and I fell
into ... just being able to anticipate them, I mean. At any rate, I
very much hope this situation is going to work out. Rachel struck me,
on the whole, as being that person who could be a friend
as well as a roommate. I'd like that.
I've set my hair,
changed into clean clothes, put on makeup. The apartment
is still in utter chaos, but I've no plans and no motivation to pick up
until I move.
I moved my old record player our here to the living room, in an effort
to break some of
the aching silence. When he moved his stuff out on Thursday, Scott left
behind a few
scattered things, here and there ... I keep stumbling across them. (The
Maui license plates ..
a couple of pairs of boxer shorts in the laundry basket .. his
toothbrush, still in
the shower.) The sooner I get out of this apartment, the better it will
be, all the
way around. I'm certainly a lot better and a lot stronger today than I
was a week ago
- the day of the razor knife - but the walls of this apartment,
stripped as they are
of most material signs of Scott - still practically scream
It's not good for me to be here any longer than I absolutely must be.
Just went to the
grocery store and picked up a new cat box for Toot, as well as some
litter, some food, a new flea collar, etc. Dave's girlfriend
next door offered to
keep him overnight, and I'll probably take her up on her offer. I'm not
for short-term solutions, though, and I'll obviously have to come up
more permanent, FAST.
Almost happy right
now, in spite of the problems with my cat. I talked to Randy on the
phone for about half an hour - also talked to Dan - and fortunately
neither one of
them was angry about my not showing up or calling last night. In fact,
they both want to
take me out again - a fact I find tremendously flattering. I'm in no
shape or mood to
get involved with any man right now, and they both know that, but I
still find their
kindness and attention to be terrific for my self-esteem. I hope to
reach a point, in
fact, where I can date a lot of interesting men without fear of
complications ... and
without was has always come naturally to me - getting too involved too
quickly. It would
be pathetically easy for me to talk myself into falling in love with
scarcely a thought.
(Even now, in fact, I find myself thinking about Randy and dissecting
him, point by point,
looking for something in him to fall in love with.) That's certainly
not fair to the
men involved, and even less so to me. I've got to learn to quit
equating happiness in
terms of men. The logical part of me knows that. The emotional part of
me still needs to
In the past two
hours I've gotten five phone calls regarding my ad ... Dan called
again ... Dave came by to "check" on me ... and I talked to Dad, Mom
Only time for a
quick word. The sun is shining bright today; I'm wearing new clothes
and a bright yellow jacket, and, incredibly, I am
actually feeling good today. Almost two weeks since
that awful Tuesday lunch hour when Scott called to tell me he was
leaving. I'm still in pain, of course, but for the most part what I
feel today is a bona fide good mood. One by one, my problems seem to be
finding solutions. Bobbi
F. called me at the office today to say she'd be "happy" to give Toot
a home. I couldn't believe it! Also, Dad told me yesterday that I'm
take my old dresser and bed, which solves yet another major worry. I'm
the arrangement with Rachel will work out, I have my visits with Gary
S. to count on,
my social vistas are opening up a little, and I feel & look
Taking a breather.
I've been sorting through drawers and cupboards tonight, trying
to weed out all the stuff which is either too painful or too junky to
tried to make a phone call and discovered that the phone is - once
again - dead. This
time for real. That fucking asshole had the service disconnected.
Jesus Christ. So
much for my good mood. I went across the hall to borrow the telephone
and locked myself out of my apartment. Fortunately a guy from
Administration came over and
let me in, but FUCK ... just when I start to feel human again, Scott
finds some subtle,
unexpected way to make me feel dead all over again.
Well. My cat is
gone. (As well as the TV, the stereo, all of Scott's stuff and the
phone.) Dan came over to pick up Toot, and I feel so hollow. This
apartment is stripped and
bare. The ghosts remain, but none of the love. It's only me
Tuesday, early evening
managed to come to terms with my temporary loss of phone privileges
... I called GTE first thing this morning and, sure enough, Scott had
cancelled. The shmuck. At first I was completely irate and wanted
nothing more than to put
a bullet through that pea-sized heart of his, but a day spent busy with
work and friendly
interchange with my co-workers managed to mellow me somewhat. I'm still
amazed by the
depths of insensitivity in this man I praised so lavishly at the
beginning of this
journal. I left a message for him at Lusk Metals, but of course he
never called. So much
for remaining "friends." I still love him, but I'm discovering the
of other feelings as well ... surprise, to name one. I think I really
and that's a
Maybe I'll be more
objective next time ... whenever "next time" turns out to be.
discovered an amazingly fervent desire to STOP LOVING HIM ... as
to the way I felt a few days ago, when I wanted to prolong my feelings
of love in hopes he
might eventually come to his senses and beg me to come back. Now I just
want to rid myself
of every last clinging shred of love and longing. I'm fucking tired of
pain is too exhausting. I don't want to waste the energy anymore.
water and cigarettes
fairly good. I've gotten used to seeing the apartment in its present
(bare) condition, and now I sit here on my "perch" and look at the
trying to recall what it looked like before Scott hauled everything
away. What memories.
I'm not dwelling ... simply remembering. Memories too good to throw
I've got a date
with Randy tonight. At this point I'm not completely sure
whether I want to go or not.
Amazing how easy
it's becoming to come back to the apartment each evening, without
feeling that wrenching hurt when I look at the empty walls. If I can
get used to this, I
guess I can get used to anything! Starting to rev up a little over the
prospect of my date
with Randy ... I plan to make myself look beautiful in a minute or so,
but first a
relaxing, quiet moment with a cold beer and my journal.
Good day, workwise.
I've never been more inundated with paperwork, but the timing
is perfect ... I'd rather keep busy.
Got a beautiful
letter from Randy (W.) in the mail today; also, a surprise call from
offering condolences and more pat maxims about ‘other fish in
the sea' ("Put me on
your list of admirers," he said). Still no call from Scott, of course,
from Dan, Bobbi, Jean Nelson (Chris's wife), Kim Anderson, Rod Mason
that were "emotionally
bolstering." People really care, after all. Gary S. from the MH
Clinic called also, concerned and gently reproachful over my failure to
show up for my
mental health appointment last night.
Just home from my
date with Randy - feel compelled to make a few disjointed
observations. Yes, he "tried" to kiss me, and yes, I "let" him. In
fact a lot MORE could have happened, there in the dark quiet of his
room, and God knows I
was susceptible enough ... but I called a halt to it (tomorrow is a
work day!) and I feel
strangely happy/sad. What a strange feeling to have absolutely
restrictions. No parental
authority, no anxious roommates, no curfew, NO ONE watching the clock
for my return.
Totally, completely, 100% in charge of my time and my life for the very
first time. Odd!
buoyant and miraculously alive.
Partly because of the good time I had with Randy last night, but also
because I feel so in control of what I do, where I go, who I associated
with, how I structure my life. It's new and surprisingly nice feeling
at all the hopeless panicky feeling I expected when Scott handed me the
reins to my
life last month ...
A little about last
night. I ended up getting lost while trying to find Randy's house in
Bellevue; I had to call him from a phone booth & have him come
"rescue" me. We swung by his house and I briefly met his roommates;
then Randy took me to dinner at a nice Mexican restaurant in Seattle.
After dinner we walked across the street for a drink at Jake
O'Shaughnessy's, but it was packed to the rafters so we decided to skip
it. We sat on a bench outside of Jake's for a minute, and that was
where he kissed me. Nice. We ended up back at his house, laying on his
bed in the dark (Willie Nelson on the turntable) and doing everything
but. We were both
really excited but I just wasn't prepared to make love yet. It's going
some time. It was nice, though, being kissed and held, and doing the
same for someone
7 p.m. ... home,
briefly, and on my way out again. Met with Gary S.
(finally) at the MH Clinic after work. Just time now to change my
clothes, patch up my
makeup and scribble a quick word before I go meet Leslie at
Gatsby's. Gary was
obviously pleased with the progress I've made, but he thinks I may be
trying too hard
to bury the pain beneath a whirl of optimism, plans, change and social
probably right, to a point, but for the most part I can't HELP but feel
Ready To Go Out (Again)
Date with Randy
tonight ... I'm meeting him at Gatsby's at 7:30. Newly showered and
shampooed, I am damp, clean & pink, preparing to do my face.
burned out from last night (which I'll HAVE to tell you about in a
second) ... and I
know that this is going to be a very early evening for me. Randy will
be disappointed, but
my body is shot. I don't even feel like drinking, much less making love
out all night.
February 9, 1980
Just out of bed. I
slept twelve straight hours, and I feel human once again ... even
energetic, a bit. Sitting on the sofa with the morning paper and a cup
of tea, dressed and
ready to begin an afternoon of cleaning and packing.
Last night I had a
couple of drinks at Gatsby's with Randy, and then we had a nice
steak dinner at Clinkerdagger's. After that, he came up to my apartment
for a beer
and some conversation, but I was real upfront with him and told him
that I didn't
feel good and that I just wanted to be alone and get some sleep. (I
said it slightly more
tactfully than that.) He was very sweet and understanding, and he left
at midnight. He
wants to go out tonight - I'm supposed to call him - but I've decided
I'm not as interested in him as I thought I was, and I don't especially
date him again. Maybe I'm being too picky. I think the good qualities
relationship with Scott have spoiled me. When I listen to Randy, I feel
as though he can
talk for fifteen minutes and say nothing at all.
Thursday night, a
very strange, wonderful and unexpected thing happened.
I'll put it briefly. I met Leslie and her girlfriend Cathy for drinks
at 7:00. We talked for a while, and then Leslie suggested we drive out
U-District, where her boyfriend Danny's band was rehearsing. When we
got to the house where
they were playing, BRUCE WAS THERE ! It was an unbelievable shock to
see him!! He and I
talked for a long, long time, about Scott and about my life and about
life in general. He
invited me to drive to Marysville with him to see Toby and Jean, and I
said OK. (It was
great seeing Toby again ... even better seeing Jean. They're both
pleased to see me
recovering.) Then Bruce drove me all the way back to Gatsby's so I
could pick up my
car. It was 1 a.m. by then, but he wanted to have a drink so we went
into the bar until it
closed. Then he came home with me - a mutual decision between friends.
We made love and
fell asleep together in the waterbed, and in the morning we each went
to our respective
jobs. It was a strange, nice, one-time encounter pity fuck that I'll never
forget, and I feel
very good about it.
few hours later:
Looks as though
I'll be staying home tonight. I don't want to go out with
Randy, or Dan, and there are no other prospects. Probably just as well
anyway. I did a lot
of packing this afternoon, but I have at least another three days'
I'm beginning to
dread the thought of moving ... the actual physical process, that
is. Very hungry. I plan to clean up and put on a little makeup, and
then maybe go out and
find some dinner ... maybe I'll even cook something here at home.
Wishing like hell
that I had a TV, but maybe I'll pick up some new magazines and spend a
reading, eating and relaxing. I'm not at all unhappy. I'm a little
granted, and somewhat at loose ends, but I'm no longer grimly convinced
without Scott is impossible ... or without any man, for that matter.
A TV ... again! At
last! Drove down to see Dad this afternoon and picked up my old TV.
Geez, it really makes a difference around this barren, disheveled
Monday after work
Harried and grumpy
today. Too much paperwork, too many phones ringing, too
many "little" problems floating around in my head. (Getting Toot back
and down to Bobbi's house ... moving ... avoiding Randy ...
money ... etc. etc.)
Scott called me
from Portland this morning. Quite a surprise. We discussed financing
the car - $114 a month, whew! - and the state of each others' lives,
impersonal and outwardly friendly. There was an undercurrent of tension
but for the most
part we were amazingly adult.
I don't seem to be
reaching for your every fifteen minutes anymore ... a healthy
sign? A big part of that awful, initial pain is gone. I still think
about Scott, and I
miss him at odd hours of the day and night, but at least I've found
some relief from
the crushing, 24-hour-a-day hurting.
Rachel and her
boyfriend Clayton are supposed to come by tonight to look at the
waterbed, which Clayton is thinking of buying from me. Last night Randy
came over for a few hours, in spite of my decision that he's "all wrong
for me" ... I still don't think I could ever be serious about him, but
he's a nice guy and he provides diversion and reassurance that I'm
still worthy of attention. (This isn't completely fair to him, I
realize.) I'm going out with him again tomorrow,
Valentines Day. I couldn't bear sitting in this naked apartment on
Don't know what we're going to do yet, but at least ONE thing is for
don't want to sleep with him. Sleeping with Bruce the other night was
one thing; that
was more a mutual expression of caring between two old friends.
Sleeping with Randy,
however, is out of the question. Temporarily, anyway. In the meantime,
very hard to look beyond his faults and make him into a friend
& companion, without
holding him up against Scott's memory in unfair, scrutinous comparison.
Quiet ... relaxed.
A little sad, but nothing serious ... I watch it come and go.
The apartment is neat, warm and peaceful, an old "Voyage To The Bottom
Sea" episode on TV. I'm clean and curled and dressed, but don't really
do anything this evening. I've seen Randy a few more times this week,
had tentatively planned to go out tonight, but I'm honestly not in the
mood. A little
bit of Randy goes a long way.
On Thursday night -
Valentines Day - he took me to dinner at Domani, an Italian restaurant
in Bellevue. The whole time we were there I kept flashing back in
memory to the time Scott and I had dinner there, and I very
deliberately chose against ordering
the chicken parmagiana again!
Last night we just
sat here in my apartment and watched TV ... nothing overly exciting.
He's a nice man, and I certainly appreciate
Randy dropped by, unexpectedly - speak of the devil? Fortunately he
sensed I wasn't in the best of spirits and left after a short while. He
wants to do
something tomorrow night & I said OK.
emanating from the kitchen. I'm baking some chicken breasts in
teriyaki sauce - my own concoction - as well as a pot of Japanese mixed
vegetables and the
world's largest baked potato. I drove to the grocery store and bought
all the stuff
for dinner, as well as a few other odds & ends - breakfast
materials, a couple of
paperback books ("Kramer Vs. Kramer," "Birdy"*). I figured I really
deserve to cook myself a nice, ample dinner, and the actual physical
preparation of it has
lifted my spirits. At the moment I feel domestic, self-supporting and
Just woke up after
a long, restless night filled with dreams about Scott ... now I feel
vaguely sad and lonely as I sit here, sipping my mint tea and enjoying
the morning's first cigarette. I guess that the truth of it is that
I've got to get out of this damned apartment before I completely lose
In The Clowns
Time to bring this
feverish, unhappy little journal to a close. Less than a month ...
geez. That must be a record for me. In three weeks everything
about my life has changed - and nothing has. I'm completely different -
and completely the same. Scott is gone, and with him most of the plans
and expectations I had for us, as a couple; on the other hand, his
unexpected leavetaking has gifted me with a whole new set of life
plans. Newly plunged into my current circumstances as I am, who am I
to decide which life would have been "better"? For all I know I may be
entering the most
wondrous, joyous, fulfilling part of my life. How do I know?
I will never forget
the Redmond days, and the life and love I shared with Scott W. I
will never forget the beautiful things that happened in this little
Right now I'm on my
old "perch" on the kitchen counter - probably for
the last time ever. Toot is outside on the balcony, watching the ducks
in the pond below.
It is raining and cold ... Judy Collins is singing "Send In The
This is one of the
most poignantly sad and beautiful moments I've ever known.
The song is over
... so is the mood. "Reality" is my life, sitting cardboard-boxed in
front of me. The memories will always remain, even when someone else
lives between these four walls ... echoes, ghosts, remembrances ...
long after I've followed Scott out the door into a new life on my own.
God, how I loved the man. What an influence he had on my life. Every
man that I choose, from this time forward, will doubtless have some
Scott W. in him. I'll never be able to forget him completely. Other
loves - perhaps greater, more genuine loves - will occupy my heart in
time. But there will never be a time when I look back on my days with
Scott without sadness over the girl I was, and over the way it ended.
I wish him luck. I
wish him love, and concentration, and sensitivity, and tolerance of
those things he can't dismiss as easily as he dismissed me. The man is
a sad man,
torn between obligations and his desire to be obligation-free. I wish
him, above all else,
As for me, these
are the things I wish for myself: inner strength. Resolve. Motivation.
Friendships. Laughter. Creativity, and effective use of such. And love.
I wish for myself,
more than anything else, the special joy that only love can bring. I
can't know how
or when or in what form love will come into my life again, but it is
the anticipation that
sustains me now. Perhaps it's weak of me to live for love, but at least
goal ... and at least I'm alive.
LISTENED TO DURING THIS SAD LITTLE JOURNAL:
Little Thing Called Love - Queen
Refugee - Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers
In The Heat of The Night, Heartbreaker, No You Don't - Pat Benatar
Jane - Jefferson Starship
Longer - Dan Fogelberg
Baby Don't Go - Karla Bonoff
Walkin In The Sand - Aerosmith
She's A Lot Like You - The Cars
IF YOU THINK YOU KNOW HOW TO LOVE ME - Pat Benatar
that hour from this;
Yet men live and die in lesser liftetimes.
see a wrist, scarred.
Glass on the kitchen floor
Garbage bags stuffed to overflowing
with those things that remind me too much of you -
A tie, a magazine, a bottle of cologne.
a fit of agony I swept these four walls clean
of all reminders of you.
was a week ago.
I am better now
but the blood and the glass remain
and the garbage bags remain untouched
As if waiting for me to reconsider
and save them.
to throw a rock?