Suspended in -----
Carefully put together journal entries. I think they're a thing of the past. I don't have the time to fuss so, I just barely have the time to spew. And cut and paste. Jenny sent an eloquent email of the "Update Yer Page" genre, which reminded me, oh yes, I haven't written anything in a while. So here is a hodge podge of stuff I have. You don't need to read all of this, it's just in bits and pieces, so you can read it that way too.
A letter I sent my old therapist, edited extensively:
Hi,
A lot has happened lately. I've been too busy to sit down and write about it.
Fall break was okay. I was bored out of my mind, and realized that I over eat tremendously at home. My parents were fun to be with for the first couple hours, but I quickly soured (I came home from driving the car for the first time - raving about how good it was, how nice it ran, how wonderful it looked, and my father Could Not Be Happy, all he did was say curmudgeonly "It cost a lot of money," after every single thing I said. I KNOW it cost a lot of money, why couldn't he be happy despite that?)
I slept, which was unbelievably good and important. And I came back to the dorm, and felt so wonderful. But I don't feel like I have any home anymore, and I'm plotting ways not to come home for summer break. Taking summer courses may be an option, but I don't know.
I went to the Halloween party last night, which is pretty much as wild as the campus ever gets. I was a pirate wench. And more wench than pirate. I was thoroughly tipsy and I don't think I've ever had such a good time. Maybe that's not true - I've had good times, but this was a completely different experience. I didn't get sick. Also, this really nice guy with whom I had previously (like, a month ago) hit it off with was with me. It was a little weird, he was really sober and was very keen on not doing anything with me that I might regret. I don't regret anything, and I bet I wouldn't have regretted anything. I hadn't seen him for a month before this, so I had figured I never would see him again. I figure that I would be cool if I never saw him again, since I accepted it last time.
Sometimes it's very strange that I've only had conversations with four or five guys since I've been here.
I'm picking out classes for next semester, and I am very keen on taking an education course. I told my father this, and he couldn't hide the... I don't know. A few shades more genuinely sad than disappointment in his voice. He said something like "Well, if you want to be a grade school Teeeeacher...." like he was saying "Well, if you want to contract the Bubonic Plague. I mean, if that's what you REALLY WANT, go ahead!" I mean, his tone might not have been that bad, and later my mother was like "education departments are notoriously weak," but how am I supposed to know if this is true or if they just would be too ashamed to have a highschool teacher amongst their midst? And christ, it's just one course. Taking education courses has been something that was sitting on my back burner for ages, and I was really excited that my current professor teaches this course.
My brother (he and my mother were just here for parents weekend) and I commiserate about our parents. The way my brother talked about Dad being lonely, watching his old Westerns with too many martinis and incoherently refusing to give up his command over the remote control, made me really sad but I was laughing at the same time because it was so familiar. I feel bad for my father sometimes.
I'm fine when my family is not around. I think I'm just a little bitter right now.
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A few things: I notice that I have such insanely different voices sometimes. I have a low, quiet, solid voice. It's the lower register - reserved for the most solemn of emotional turmoil. It seems that I've lost this voice, left it by the wayside. I'm sad about that. Then there's what this letter is - the jaunty, jack-ass, sorta funny, annoyed voice. I tend to write letters like this to old teachers from school, and I always feel that it's a mistake. There's the silly, sweet, self mocking, muddle-headed voice. Sometimes I feel that online, I feel like I'm a stand up comic, doing all the coaxing of laughter in the conversation. Trying out lines and jokes and Funny Things that I said or did.
It reminds me of the beginning of the Beatles at the BBC album, where John goes "Hullo, I'm John and I play the guitar. Sometimes I play the fool." I think I've been playing the fool a bit too often.
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I am a silly drunk. I wrinkle my nose and grin at strangers, giggle uncontrollably, and smile. I go very ruddy. These are all things that I do fairly regularly when sober, though, but I guess they are just less warranted and to greater degrees when I imbibe.
The girls cooed and shrieked a little when I told them I'd never drunk before (well, not shots, and not substantive quantities), and handed me the shot glass almost solemnly. I gagged and teared and coughed, but took three before we headed out. I was warmed and a little loose and, in the warm room, everyone moved with a trail.
This was nice. And it was what I wanted. Since I've arrived here, I've been filled with all sorts of curiosities. It comes with that increased feeling of being alive - I want to try everything, I want to take every class offerend, I try dance classes, I go to lectures I wouldn't expect to like, and I wouldn't mind drinking and dancing and cavorting either. It's not something I'd do on a regular basis. It was a lot of fun, and it was nice to have alcohol a little demystified.
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My home, my joy. I'm barred and bolted and I won't let you in.
When I was home for break, I had waking dreams of running away. During a late afternoon, I left the house and curled into the back of my small car's backseat. Curled up in the fetal position, I imagined every of my possession in the trunk, in the car, stashed away for a journey. I realized that I'm not half as portable as I'd like - I've got a regular library, and what would I do with the computer? - but I sat in the car nevertheless. An hour passed. I watched the wind buffet the trees outside, and snuggled further into the car, into my hazy daydream. How would I do it? Would my parents notice? I don't own the car. Would they call the police if I just left? Is this illegal? I have no income. I couldn't fit all my stuff in here. What would I eat? I could sleep in here. It won't happen.
Sitting here in my dorm, I belong, I'm comfortable, I have everything I need. None of these things are true at my parent's house, but that is where I'm going to spend four months of the year. This dorm is the closest thing I've ever had to a home, but I know it isn't. A home is all mine. All year. Arranged just so.
2000-10-31, Suspended in...
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