Diary entry, January 9, 1983

Dear Diary,

Today we went to church.  Yuck!  We bought some rolls and French bread after church.  Mom got a pass today.  She came down and took Steve and me out for ice cream.  She said she might have to stay one more week after this.  I hope not.

Letter to Ryan, December 12, 1989

I talked to my grandma on Sunday (or should I say shouted?  She’s incredibly deaf).  I told her Steve, Erica, and I might come on the 24^th instead of the 25^th, and she said she’d prefer the 25^th because Christmas Eve means nothing to her.  But Joan wants us to go on the 24^th  (not to mention the fact that Erica, Steve, and I don’t want to go on the 25^th) because then it’d be more fun for everyone.  Anyway, we’ll see what happens.  I talked to my dad, too, and he said, “You are spending some time with us during your break, aren’t you?”  I guess I’ll spend a weekend there and make everyone happy.  

The Garden Path

1992

I bumped into the memory man

the other day—

(we’ve been crossing paths often

lately)—

and I listened to small things

which gave me small reactions.

But when he arched his eyebrows

as if asking was I ready?

I decided I wasn’t in about

one second,

and I left memory man

where I found him and

conveniently forgot where

that place happened to be.

The only thing is that

he knows how to find me.

He finds me every day.

And every day he asks the question

and every day I say, “No thanks.”

One of these days, I guess.

It will be one of these days.

Tomorrow

"and they all want the same thing
Not to lie under the earth
but to walk upon it
without crutches"

― Peter Weiss, The Persecution and Assassination of Jean-Paul Marat as Performed by the Inmates of the Asylum of Charenton Under the Direction of the Marquis de Sade

Diary entry, April 17, 2004

I had a dream last night that I was visiting Joan.  It was night and I was in the bedroom, dialling Ryan’s number on my cell phone—I only had one digit to go when a strange man appeared in the doorway.  I tried to dial the last digit, but the guy took my phone.  Then and there I decided he wasn’t going to hurt me. 

So I started fighting him, shouting for Joan at the same time.  Somehow I got him into the kitchen.  As I struggled with him, I told Joan, who had shown up by now, “Hit him with something!”  And what does she pick up?  A short stack of Tupperware bowls.  “No, hit him with a pot,” I yelled.  I then grabbed a saucepan, and conked him on the head with it just hard enough to knock him out. 

Thus, we ended up being fine, but I couldn’t believe that in “helping” me Joan handed me some Tupperware.  She was offended by my annoyance, so afterwards I was trying to be nice about it, telling her, “Well, some Tupperware could a hurt a person."  But it still seemed incredibly stupid.  Especially since she’d just been standing there, doing nothing.

Shackled