monday, december 13th (2004)

7:59 a.m.

Two pieces of Jack Daniel's chocolate chip pecan pie for breakfast. I'm trying to make myself sick. Sicker.

Last night I found myself hiding away from all the people at the party. If I could find something to busy myself with - setting up, washing up - I was okay, even if someone came up to talk to me. Well, that's if I was washing dishes; when I was moving about, putting things out, picking things up, I would interrupt a conversation and say, "Oh, I've got to go..." and I would either say, "do this or that" or I would just let the sentence fall away.

When I ran out of set-up things to do, I stood on the 4x4 board in the back yard looking over the fence, watching who was coming in. The bulk of people came between 6:30 and 7. I knew CBGB was coming, and E (who recently said, "He's just crazy.") was already there, and G called while I was outside to ask what time it started, and I wasn't sure which of the faeries CBGB didn't want to be around but I didn't really wanna be around him myself because he and S hit it off and (I assume) had sex the night before.

Sunday morning, S said, "I feel like I need to talk to you, but I don't know what to say." I didn't know what to say either; S had asked if I wanted him to stay away from CBGB because I was interested in him, but how could I say yes to that? CBGB was interested in S, not me. And then later when S asked if I was upset about him and CBGB, how could I say yes to that? I wasn't upset that CBGB was attracted to S, I was upset that he wasn't attract to me. Or maybe he is/was, but not since S's been in town. I just didn't know how to say any of that without sounding like a baby.

I just wanted to be away from all those people. I hung out in the back yard till LB came and told me how different things are since he's not smoking pot every day, how much clarity he has, how nice it is to not be hanging with that crowd. And then he said, "Hey, JDJB, you got any smoke?!"

I did, and I could've used some myself, but it was in the house. I knew but didn't think about it at the moment that I would have to say hi to all those people I spied coming into the house from the back fence. I didn't get back to LB till after the party.

I said some quick hellos, then started picking up plates and bottles and washing dishes. That kept me busy for a good while. But by the time I was done, I had to get out of the house, away from all the small talk and cackling and rave reviews on the food and party - and CBGB constantly touching S.

I hid in the shadows of the front yard this time. When people started leaving, I hid behind the big hackberry tree. And I stayed there for close to an hour. And I tried to figure out what the fuck was wrong with me. Right then and there, there wasn't a soul I could lean on, nobody I could talk to. My thoughts went from S and CBGB to my mom and family, to JG {in Florida}, to Ro {in Vermont}, to all the other elemets of my past that seemed to be damming up in my head behind that tree.

Poisoned by my past. That's the thought that came to mind. I can't seem to be in the present moment because the present moment is clouded with pains of the past, and every moment becomes the past in a brief moment, and it stays there, too. And I cried and I cried. And I hid behind the tree when people pushed open the storm door, laughing, singing back their praises and appreciation and good whishes.

And then S came out, looking for me, no doubt. And I hid behind the tree. But while he was still out there, I stepped into the beam of the streetlight. But he didn't see me. He went inside and caused a stir (I imagine) by asking everybody remaining if they'd seen me. So then I knew everybody was "concerned" about me. LW told S to call me, and he did.

I answered. He came out, feeling guilty, worried, trying to support me, but I was unsupportable. I'd already crumbled into 1,000 jigsaw puzzle pieces, and I can't put those fucking things together, and I didn't fancy anybody else digging through the pile either, trying to find a couple of matching pieces.

I outlasted S in the cold, windy night. He finally left me alone, and since CBGB was gone (even though his car was still there) I decided to go in and help pack up the party. Those remaining (Ca, LB, LW, CBGB's roommate Khrysso, R) looked at me like I'd just come off of suicide watch.

Charming R came up to me, "Where ya been? What're ya doin'? Crying? What's up? What's wrong? What's right?"

I just walked away from him.

Later - much later - when we were home and I was further downed by the fact that R wasn't even there - I told S what R had said, and S said, "It sounds like he was trying."

I don't feel supported by S when he explains away everybody else's fuck-ups! I want comiseration not explanation! I was in bed; I had told S he could come up and sit with me as I went to sleep if he was so inclined. I didn't say much, but after that response from S, the last thing I said was, "It's too much work for me to know how to take what everybody else is saying and doing. I feel like giving up."
Steven said, "You give up?"
I said, "I feel like it."
He said, "What stops you?"
I said, "I don't know. I think it's animal instinct. The instinct to live. Like those footless and deformed pigeons in New York City in the middle of winter. Why don't they give up? Instinct."

ghostest with the mostest

I should be working, transcribing, paying the bills. But I'm too excited. I couldn't sleep last night, and I think I was visited by a ghost. That's not the reason for the excitement - just another of the "side effects" of it, I guess, so I'll write about it first.

Just as I was falling asleep, I was dreaming of two necklaces, beads - like prayer beads - hanging from under a staircase. I was reaching and at the same time a woman was coming up from the other side of the stairs reaching for the necklaces. Our hands reached them at the same time; they fell to the ground. I was awakened by the distinct sound of something falling in the far corner of my room, maybe my earbuds, I thought. I had been trying to go to sleep for awhile, but had lots of thoughts in my head, thoughts about my performance earlier that evening, thoughts about chapter 29, which I'm slowly but surely piecing together; I turned on the bedside lamp several times to write things down; I thought perhaps the earbuds plugged into my laptop might have been bumped.

I'm not often spooked (although that picture gave me a chill when I first found it!). I didn't turn on the light to check or anything. I just continued my journey toward sleep. It wasn't coming easy, but the time before when I had fallen asleep (before the falling beads woke me), I was going through the six sections of chapter 29 in my head:

1. The Black Man rises from the ashes.
2. August & Lorax on a plane to Houston.
3. Paul meets the Black Man.
4. August & Lorax decide to drive directly to his boyhood home.
5. Dar arrives home late from work; dinner is burned; Paul says the Black Man is upstairs with the children; she ignores him because he is drunk as always.
6. August & Lorax arrive at the smoldering remains of the house.

And then there was the tapping of the cat door in the window on the other side of my bed. I'm gonna fix that right now... (Done.) The cat door is unused now, since Timmy's passing. I have a curtain pulled in front of it, but it has a little tab to keep unwanted guests from entering. When the wind blows, it taps. I didn't think it was a ghost, actually, but it woke me up. But now it's fixed, I think - I stuck an eraser between the door and the tab - if it taps when I go to bed tonight, I will think it's a ghost!

I started working on going back to sleep again, then there was a distinct, single knock on my bedroom door. That's when I decided a ghost was in the house. I didn't feel afraid. I was just a tad annoyed that I was being kept awake, as much by the ghost as by the pot I'd smoked when I got home from the performance, and by chapter 29, which seemed to be unfolding because of the pot.

But anyway, I was excited and unable to sleep mostly because of the improv performance I did. C+T are out of town on tour, as are several of the students who were invited to perform, and it ended up being just me, L and K. It was at the Hideout, the scene of the crime, as it were, the place where I did my first, dismal improv show, that 2 a.m. embarrassment a month or so ago.

Well, I don't have words to describe the show without a boring play-by-play (as best as I can recall) description of it. But we were well connected. It was impressive. S and P1 were there, and they loved it. It was really great fun. And I keep thinking back on the few moments when P1, S and I were leaving, walking down the sidewalk toward her car behind a foursome, one of whom (a cute young man who was obviously in the audience) kept looking back at me and grinning real big. I guess that's what it's really all about!

The other bit of excitement is that, except for chapter 29 and a little bit of tidying up, I am done with august chagrin! I have begun posting the chapters on the august chagrin blog in order. I had previously been posting them in chronological order, but took everything off and put chapter one up. Chapter two will appear on Friday, and chapter three the following Monday. That's the plan. I've already got several of them scheduled to appear on the upcoming Mondays and Fridays. There's a link to the novel blog on the upper righthand corner of this blog.

Okay, I really should do some work now.

sunday, december 12th (2004)

8:58 a.m.
It's not like he didn't ask what my feelings were, and it's not like he really stole anything from me because it wasn't mine to steal, but I still feel a little damaged by the whole episode.

S came to town and I was excited about that, and excited for him to meet "CBGB," but I didn't think that would happen last night.

LW & I came back on Thursday, got back at about 6:40. At 6:05, CBGB called to ask if I could cash a $20 check for him. I didn't know at the time that I couldn't, but I said yes, if he didn't mind waiting until we got to town and I got to him. His phone battery died as he was telling me he should go so I could call him when I got to town. I got to town and got to Kroger's on Franklin at about 6:50 and he was nowhere to be seen.

I drove around the parking lot (in Blue, which is very hard to miss, particularly since I've put the fake Christmas tree branches all over the top of her) and he didn't come out of the woodwork. Then I went into the store and walked across the back, looking down every aisle. I called him a couple of times and left messages - "I'm here!" "I'm in the store..." - and then I had to leave to pick up S at the airport, and I left him one more messeage: "It's 7:05, I have to go; I hope you got what you needed..."

After that, I put it out of my mind. I got S, we went home, I changed clothes and he settled in, then we went with R to Sitar for dinner. While we were there, my phone rang. I don't usually take it in places, but I thought maybe if CBGB called... And I had also just forgotten it was in my pocket. The display said it was JV. I asked S if he wanted to talk to him; he said no, I turned the phone ringer off.

After we were done eating and headed to the car, I listened to my message. It was CBGB calling from JV's apartment! He said he'd waited at Kroger's till 7:20, then went to the airport for a while, then went to R's house, then to JV's, and he said he was then gonna go back to R's.

I called JV back; he said CBGB had just left, that he was apparently having a bad day.

We got home; he wasn't here. R and S and I were sitting in the living room chatting for about an hour when there was a knock on the door. It was CBGB. I hugged him, introduced him to S, they hugged, then the four of us talked for a whle, me touching CBGB a bit - affectionately. A while later, CBGB moved over to the arm rest by S and slowly made his way to petting him and kissing him on the top of the head and they ended up sleeping in the same bed that night. (E just called - I'm going to the dog park.)

thursday, december 9th (2004)

6:10ish a.m.

A woman with the "Southern Touch Tours" group said to me, "Is that a Belgian waffle?"
I said, "Yes, ma'am, you make it yourself!"
She threw up her hands and wrinkled her face in mock horror. "I don't wanna make anything!"

I put way too much syrup on my waffle. What a waste! There's 1/4" sitting in the bottom of my plate.

Yesterday morning and this morning I've been surprised by the rough-and-tumble manly men in the breakfast room in their construction working-looking clothes and speaking French. They're a lot less manly looking (and more appealing) speaking French!

One old lady said, "Are you enjoying it so far?"
The other said, "It hasn't started yet...!"

I guess I'm gonna see how much flour I can stuff into my stomach. I've already had a waffle and now I'm having a biscuit with flour gravy. The biscuit isn't quite cooked enough, so it's like eating a plateful of runny dough!

The women who work the breakfast shift crack me up. They wear chef's hats and coats and put out pre-made pastries and fruits and yogurt and little containers of waffle mix for the do-it-yourself waffles. I'm sure they didn't choose these outfits for themselves, but it still cracks me up.

One old lady's voice sounds like it is coming through a busted speaker. It's all brassy and airy and makes me want to clear my throat.

Lunch at Co didn't come until 4:15 yesterday! Breakfast held me okay until about then (and a few cookies in the office), and I had to run to the bathroom many times throughout the day; that was very frustrating.

I decided not to go to M&R's {with LW} last night after work. I stayed in the hotel room and watched TV. I got my three free drink coupons from the front desk and had three of the brightest green margaritas I've ever seen. Then I had some chex mix, and later the complimentary popcorn that was waiting in the in-room microwave to be popped, and one of the two complimentary sodas (a Pepsi and a diet Pepsi) in the mini-fridge.

The Life and Death of Peter Sellers was coming on, so I watched that (Geoffrey Rush is so good), then I made some long distance phone calls (60 minutes of free long distance in the hotel every day!). While I was talking to A, LW got in and we went to sleep by 10 and I was up at 6:00 and it's 6:45 now and I think LW's still asleep...

wednesday, december 8th (2004)

7:17 a.m.

I'm in Memphis. Wonder of wonders! LW asked me to come with her to do some organizational work. Works for me. Meals are included.

I've been doing pretty well on food of late (since I've been bone dry at the bank). Thursday, AL bought me lunch and the faerie formerly known as Brieze bought me dinner; Saturday, I snacked at S&G's soiree; Sunday, we had dinner with the bridge group; Tuesday was Co's holiday lunch in Nashville; last night, we got to Memphis and I got a meal at Saigon Le; and we'll be having the Memphis Co holiday lunch today, Mexican food tonight, and who knows what tomorrow holds!

Another bit of excitement in my life (also thanks to LW) is that S will be arriving in town from S.F. tomorrow night and he'll be here until Monday afternoon. Also, I asked LW if I could borrow $800 to pay back R before he goes on his trip to Galapagos, and on the way here yesterday, she asked if I would clean her house every two weeks for the next 10 months to pay her back. Wow!

I didn't realize I was coming to Memphis to lift boxes. I thought I was coming to file. What they need me to do is get the boxes of archive files labled and out of the hallway to the offsite storage. I have a stiff neck and a sore lower back, and diarrhea (still). But I'm not complaining; I'm happy for the work.

I've been feeling very down lately, mostly because of my money situation. I haven't seen a lot of R lately and I miss him. Just in the last day (not even) I've spent with LW, I remember why I don't want to live with her. Her sense of humor gets on my nerves sometimes. I guess because I don't really know how to respond.

For example, this morning, we were getting ready to come down to the hotel lobby for breakfast and I was putting on my jacket and hat, and she said, "Are you cold?!" and she said it in a condescending-sounding way. I know she doesn't mean to be condescending, but I don't know what to say that doesn't sound either dismissive or defensive. I said, "Well, I don't want to be cold," or something like that.

I guess I just can't be happy. Too much of my mother in me. I was thinking the other day about how she confessed recently that she never loved my father, even though she put on somewhat of a front for however many years it was. I got to thinking, Well, then, does she really love me? I guess this comes from the fact that we haven't talked in person since I sent her the LIAB tape.

S told me the other day he's going to rework the first part of LIAB. So many people have told him they're confused by the beginning, that they don't know what the movie is about until about 10 minutes into it. I'm staying out of it. I understand what he's going through. I love the film as it is now and I'm sure I'll love it in another form (because I'm such an egomaniac)!

A man with a toupee and lots of cologne just arrived at the table next to me and I have to get away.

december 2004 journal drawing

I don't wanna die but I don't wanna live like this

rockwell stockwell

I've been confusing Dean Stockwell and Sam Rockwell for a long time. Their names are similar enough that I convinced myself it was the same person. I think it happened around the time I started watching the TV show "Quantum Leap," which I didn't watch when it originally aired, but rather when it went into syndication. Whenever that was, I guess Sam Rockwell was in something that I liked, and then I saw another episode of the show and saw Dean Stockwell's name and convinced myself - even though Dean Stockwell is 32 years older than Sam Rockwell - that it was the same actor. I probably even muddled the names when I was talking about "him" to someone else, enough so that I didn't get questioned on it.

In the last week or so, S and I watched Long Day's Journey Into Night, with Katharine Hepburn, Ralph Richardson, Jason Robards, and Dean Stockwell. The play was written in 1942, was very autobiographical - Eugene O'Neill put it in a vault and said that it should not be published until 25 years after his death (but his third wife went against his wishes, and it was published in 1956, three years after his death). The film was made in 1962, but was filmed in black and white, which S tells me was the way they did things back then - dramas in B&W, comedies in color.

In the movie, Katharine Hepburn plays a woman going mad essentially (helped along by morphine and some bad memories), and the actress was just starting to get the shaky head which she said she inherited from her grandfather, not from Parkinson's disease. So, it was a little confusing to see an aging Hepburn in a B&W film. And there was young Sam Rockwell-- er, Dean Stockwell, playing her young son.

And now Moon just came out, starring Sam Rockwell. I went to see it last night with M&J. It's a very good movie, but I'm not here to issue spoilers. When we were getting into the car after the movie, I made a comment about the fact that Sam Rockwell was in Long Day's Journey (which J watched a few minutes of with S and me when it was playing at the house), and J was like, "No way! That couldn't have been him, that movie was from like the '40s or something!" And I was confident that I was right. "Strange as it may seem, it's true!"

But you can't get away with anything these days. We both pulled out our iPhones and started doing research, and before too long at all, I realized my mistake: "It was Dean Stockwell," I said. To which (in my defense) M said, "Oh, my god! It's his son!"

Very confusing. But anyway, Sam Rockwell is not Dean Stockwell, he's not even his son. The only thing they have in common is that they're both actors, and they have big eyebrows.

wednesday, december 1st (2004)

Worlds AIDS Day, 9:59 p.

I imagined what it would be like to find out I was Positive. I've been sick too long (diarrhea); maybe it's a sign of something more than just my emotional state. I traced back the steps to a possible, potential encounter with the A-monster. It's not very likely, but it's enough to feed the imagination...

Or am I trying to commit suicide subconsciously?

I feel like I'm bombing at personal interaction, but people keep telling me I'm well-liked. I'm thinking particularly of the bridge group and the faeries. More so the bridge group, because with the faeries I feel loved deeply some of the time (and then it fades).

I feel like I have so small a connection with the likes of Middle and BamBam, and even Ribbon and Crazy Bear to a certain extent.

10:14 p.m.
I've been freaking myself out a lot lately. I wonder if it's the time of the year - all the shit that was happening in Florida. Not to mention the holidays.

I was working so hard to gain R's attention a year ago. I wouldn't say it's been the hardest year of my life, but I certainly thought I'd be a lot happier than I am; a lot more content.

On a good note, I went to the Y today and hardly cruised at all. Or did I even at all? I just looked at penises and bodies. But not with any sort of intention; it was all very casual. I'm actually quite proud of myself.

A train passes by regularly that has a whistle like a boat horn. It's very comforting in a weird sort of way. Now the slow hum of the passing train cars sound like a barge pushing a huge raft of cargo. I guess I'm thinking about the waterway near MW's house in New Orleans. I'm kinda glad I never got to New Orleans with R and the SSs and all that crowd. I think I'm partial to the New Orleans that has MW in it, ,and my memories of discovering New Orleans with S, two different times in two completely different ways. MW - and M - were the New Orleans we came to know and love.

It's also where a lot of filming for the documnetary between Ro and me took places. That's where the early part of the videotaping took place, and already we were complaining! Ro and I were putting ourselves and each ther through a series of tests to judge and rate and score our openness with ourselves and each other. Dissecting everything, every conversation, every sex act (or lack thereof), any emotion, every-fucking-thing.

tuesday, november 30th (2004)

10:03 pm

I went to the post office today during a full day of work. Re was out sick. We had a birthday breakfast for Ca. I made a fantastic fruit salad. LW and Ra were in Memphis; it was a small crowd today (T was out sick, too, and L showed up late, andy {sic} Ci wasn't there).

I went to the post office under the Frist Center (the Center used to be the post office - our post office when S and I first arrived in Nashville). It's all modern now. But in an artsy retro way, so it's cool. It was on the way to the bank. It was a nasty, dark, coldish rainy day (it got less cold by this afternoon; it was odd). It had rained all through the night and I was feeling particularly down - I was gonna say "disenchanted" - starting yesterday sometime, and it was before S told me by email that LIAB had been turned down {by the Sundance Film Festival}.

I was also feeling the realization that I am broke: $1 in my wallet, just over $2 in the bank, and $59 in savings (after having to withdraw $140 to pay my BofN loan). What the hell!

I haven't gotten any work from NY since Thanksgiving (Ca pointed out that that was just last week, but then I realized that it must've been longer than that because I really had to struggle to pay that bill - and more are on the way, approximately $400 a week).

I've started working a full 20 hours at Co a week, but that just started a couple of weeks ago, and it was represented on the check I got today. Gulp! Thank goodness I made $150 from Ra & B for dog sitting Sophie last week.

ANYWAY!!! I didn't intend to get into all of that, but it was hard to avoid because I was thinking last night about what-the-fuck-is-next.

R & I watched a so-so movie last night called... I can't remember the name of the movie, which is okay since I don't have too much good to say about it. Two guys were set up by their straight friend. (It was All Over the Guy - and I feel okay naming it since the movie seemed to go out of its way to dis' that Kevin Kline movie In & Out.) One thing I liked about the movie - or that affected me deeply - was the fact that the two guys were clashing because they seemed to want different things. It made me feel a whole {sic} in my soul (to accompany the one in my heart caused by my little Crush I got on Thanksgiving at G&M's (that is a treat that needs to be written about)).

So, as I lay in bed last night, feeling sorrowful, I asked myself what I really want. Sometimes, I feel strongly that its love. I want the chance to have a significant relationship with someone unencumbered by all of the things that S and I had in our relationship except for the knowledge we gained. That's so sappy! But it's true...

And I keep going back to A. I know that he is interested in a relationship with me, and the sex we've had has been wonderful. So I was thinking about Denver.

11:00 p.m.
Upstairs in bed now. Jesse is lying next to me, her head buried between her back legs...

I got the idea last night to look at the Denver classifieds online. So I did this morning. There was an ad by the Unitarian Universalist Church looking for a youth and teen coordinator of some sort. Coordinate schedules for programs and replacement staff (I'm assuming volunteers from the congregation) for days the coordinator is not inhouse. They have Sunday, Wednesday night and Thursday night activities. The pay is only $10 an hour, just like Co, but it's 30 hours a week (guaranteed), unlike Co. It hit me as one of those meant-to-be things.

I told S I was thinking about it. He seemed disappointed. I just don't want to spend my whole life struggling financially. S said he couldn't imagine not being an artist, and I said I could because I can't live in this state much longer. He said he would kill himself if he couldn't be an artist; I said I've considered that. He said, "Don't do that." I said, "Most likely I won't." That seems like a weird thing to say...

I went to the post office and forgot to go to the bank and had to go back. I discovered while at the post office that I'd left my shaving kit at the Y the night before and went to get it. (I forgot it because I'm such a letch.)

S said I disappoint myself more than anybody else, and I agreed with him. I had said I feel like I'm spending my life disappointing people lately. S asked who and I told him, "You, R, Ro..." AND IT'S ALL ABOUT MONEY!!! Money is ruling my life.

I'm gonna start meditating; I set up a chair for it when I cleaned house last week (all week long {I haven't meditated} because I didn't feel good... a cold or something - and this blasted darrhea is still with me, since the Friday follow the election. That's a month now!).

I also saaw a cutie at the post office. He got there the same time I did, threw around hundred dollar bills - well, one anyway. He has a p.o. box there. He glanced my way a couple of times. That's all it takes lately. I putzed around in the p.o. and felt like he was too, both of us waiting for the other. This is my fantasy, my creative imagination (who needs to make money at it when it's so much more rewarding doing it in your head for your own and your closest friends' entertainment?).

I had to putz around a little longer in the car before he came out. He walked close by the Suburban and then just passed up his SUV and went to the Union Station Hotel. I contemplated it for more than a few minutes - we were both parked in the POST OFFICE 15 MINUTES parking spaces - but went ahead into the lobby. I convinced myself it was a good idea since I've never been in there.

And I was right. The building is beautiful - I've always thought that - but it's much more beautiful inside. The ceiling, three or four stories up, is made of stained glass. The faux sunlight behind them was bright and wonderful. A fountain trickled in the middle of the room not far from the baby grand piano, which I didn't realize was even being played at first. I heard the music, beautiful - gorgeous - music. But then in a one-two punch, I realized the piano was being played, and was being played by the guy I'd followed in there. The dark-skinned Greek or Italian man was playing the hell out of that baby grand. That was why I wrote all of this, I didn't want to forget that.

11:27 p.m.

friday, november 19th (2004)

7:52 p.m.

I'm cooking and cleaning. Well, cooking. I'm planning on cleaning. Right now, I'm having a fungi sandwich (Quorn pattie) and a Diet Coke. Not any tapes this week from O. It's a drag and a blessing.

R was off all week and we both did our best to enjoy ourselves and each other. Which actually wasn't all that much. I wake up so early and he goes to bed so late, and most nights lately he's slept on the couch. I don't think it's because he didn't wanna sleep with me (maybe I'm kidding myself), he told me so (maybe he's kidding me -- and myself). Whatever; it doesn't really matter to me at all.

I cleaned the house on Russell Street today. 5 hours. It always seems to take 5 hours. Unless I skip some things and really rush - last time it took 4-1/2 hours. But I felt like I rushed and skipped some things today, and it still took me 5 hours. They don't seem to mind; they must think I do a good enough job.

I came home after that, shaved and showered and hung around the house in case R wanted to hang out with me. That seems to be what I've become, his on-call companion. I don't mind. I've finally gotten comfortable with my role, I think. Plus I've been sickly for the past 3 weeks and haven't felt like doing much.

I went to the gym for the first time in over 2 weeks and was totally exhausted after 20 minutes on the treadmill thing.

more more more

Last night was the decider. After my experience a couple of Friday nights ago in the improv festival that had no clear leadership, no real focus, and lots of people I didn't know playing around me, I was starting to think that maybe I'm not cut out for improv, or performance of any type. I know, I know, I performed for 10 years and was almost always nervous but I never felt like I couldn't go on because of it. Something happened after we split up. I forgot a line in a play I was doing at a community theater and that scared the hell out of me. A while back when I performed as the musical accompaniment to M's one-woman show, I had stage fright feelings, and I've felt that when I've performed with G and with other people. Though never with S.

My new goal is to get S to take some improv classes with me, because he and I have chemistry and stage presence like nobody's business, and when we're sitting around smoking weed (or not), we make each other laugh. He tends to fear the stage as a starting point (not the same as when we were making music together, for some reason), so it'll take some work, but that's my goal and my dream. But that's not what I'm writing about right now.

Last night was the first official performance by TNM improv theater's house troupe - "the standout students," as they call us, and them, the two teachers (who were both absent from the horror show a couple of Fridays ago). It went very well. The format was a little weird, unfamiliar (guests told a story and were asked questions by the other half of our troupe and we had to improvise off of what was said) but my goal for the night was merely to get on the stage and not freeze up or end up in a corner, on the verge of vomiting or crying.

None of those things happened!

TNM has another show on Friday evening, and more in the coming months; I didn't commit to any of them, and said I wouldn't, until I found out how last night was gonna go. At the end of the night, I said to T, "Okay, I'm on for Friday." She said, "Oh! That makes me so happy; that's the thing I was most interested in happening tonight."

It wasn't a brilliant show - and in fact I was only onstage a handful of times (something I discovered: with six people on a team, there aren't a lot of opportunities to be in a scene; you really have to work to get out there before somebody else does) - but it went smoothly. I played a muppet, a stripper (as S pointed out, "a Bob Fosse-style stripper"), a karaoke machine, among other things. It was fun.

Phew!

wednesday, november 17th (2004)

10:28 p.m.

I just came home from L's gig at Radio Cafe and made myself a gorgonzola omelet, a peanut butter and "jelly" sandwich and a glass of cold, refreshing rice milk.

Today was the big day to buy the Xmas trees. Four Xmas trees, one for LW and two for her friend in Memphis who loves Xmas trees so much she had to have two of them. I didn't really want a whole Xmas tree to myself, so I cut mine in half and let RM take the other half. Saved me money, too. It was a weird experience, getting the trees from, {sic} I had to meet at a place -- since he's not even from this state. I {sic}

saturday, november 13th (2004)

I don't know -- O.K., it's 5:30 p.m.

I just went and got my phone because I just left a message for A -- I said, "Call me!" and then I came ouside and didn't bring my phone.

I'm bundled up like I'm on the North Pole or something. It's cold but not that cold. It's hard to write and smoke with gloves on, and I don't even know where any gloves are. Maybe it'll feel warmer now when I go back inside. R keeps the thermostat at 66º and it's a pretty drafty house; I'm almost always cold. My extremities are, anyway.

I'm feeling unsettled. I guess that's why I'm smoking. I haven't smoked in a long time, and I didn't have a craving for a cigarette, but I thought it might do something about my unsettled feeling. Or maybe I'm sick. I still have diarrhea. For 15 days now. I took the medicine and ate bland foods for a couple of days and then I went to the doctor and my symptoms had cleared up, so I left and ate Indian food and they came back. But I've been--

The phone just rang and I lost my train of thought.

I think I feel unsettled about my "relationship" with R, whatever this is. I'm feeling lonesome I guess. I have been spending some time with E and I enjoy that, but I have to keep my emotions in check around him.

I thought that was A on the phone but it was JV. I went over to his apt. last night and watched a bunch of shorts (including S.A.L.L.I. and the Y'all music video), a lot of stuff he did with his friends who are down from NYC. I called today in hopes of doing something with them tonight, but now I'm wondering if I shouldn't stay home and transcribe. I have six tapes to do by Monday. But I wonder if I'll really do them, or just find other things to occupy my unsettled mind.

I smoked the dregs from my pipe and I've got a little buzz now, but I also feel nauseous. I don't know what's up with me. And in the midst of all this, I wrote another song for the play today.

I'm all over the place. I think I'll listen to JV's message and see how that makes me feel.

news flash

There is movement outside my window. A couple of days ago, a teal Pontiac pulled up the driveway. The driver was H, a Mexican guy who's been working at the bar that J built. He cleans the entire bar every morning, and used to be the barback, but the bartender/manager said he really needs somebody who speaks English, so they found somebody and J put H to work on the container house - our house! Yay. He met with J that first day, and then yesterday he was back, trimming trees and moving a beam from near the current house (M&J's house where S and I currently reside) to the top of the two containers - essentially S's room and mine - that have been sitting over there since early this year, when the work was halted shortly after beginning because of a drying up of resources. S and I weren't too upset about it because we've had some financial woes of our own of late and aren't paying rent as long as we're in the house.

That's the big thing. After a while of waiting, and being able to see that nothing was happening outside my window on that side of the yard, I wasn't sure it was ever gonna happen. Well, that's not true, I knew it would happen eventually, but I didn't know when "eventually" would be, months or years...

Another thing is that I've been really doing a lot of writing on august chagrin. I feel really focused, and haven't been socializing much at all (which has its disadvantages and disappointments), but the more I spend focused time on the book, the more it comes, and that seems like the right thing to be doing. I've got a lot more chapters completed than are on the august chagrin blog, but I'm trying to put up a chapter a week at least.

But that's been a little more difficult lately because work has been picking up. Because of the financial crisis on Wall Street, I'm not allowed to work more than 40 hours a week (used to be we could work as much as we could), but there hadn't been enough work to do 40 hours until a couple of months ago, and now it's pretty steadily coming. I also got an email from the boss yesterday telling me where the company stands financially and that he can't give us back the 25% cut we got when the crisis hit hard, but I feel confident that he will do it as soon as possible - it's pretty impressive to me that he has become so open about the finances of the company; that feels honest. I figured out early on that I would have to work 40 hours to make the same amount of money as I was making in 30 hours a week - which had become my comfort zone. I'm hoping now that I've figured out a way to get to 40 on a regular basis, I'll be able to continue it after our 25% is reinstated, and therefore get out of debt sooner than later.

That's going well, the debt thing. It has a lot to do with having no social life, just spending my time working and writing. I've let down a couple of friends, but after what happened while I was Paris long distance with C here in Austin - the friendship that crumbled - I took stock of my friendships and of Friendship in general, and there just isn't enough of me to go around right now. That sounds harsh, but I feel like my primary friendships have to offer me something, not just take from me. And not to say that the friends who've recently gone by the wayside were taking from me physically - a little bit but not so much the actual physical time required to maintain the relationship - but I mean more on the emotional plane.

Besides work and writing, there is improv. Which is more like therapy than a social life. And it's been difficult of late. Last Friday night, I was in my first group show, but was on a strange stage with quite a number of people I had never met, we hadn't had one rehearsal as a group, there wasn't a strong leader in our group, and the performance was at TWO A.M.!!! I freaked out. It was something like stage fright, I guess. I spent the hour onstage standing and sitting on the sidelines hoping nobody would call me out onstage with them, and when they did (they did!) I felt like I had nothing to offer. It was awful. I felt like shit on my way home (at 3:15 a.m.); I didn't say anything to anybody, just left. The next day I cried a little. I think my biggest fear is that I'll have to come to terms with the fact that I'm not able to be onstage in front of people again, and since I really want that, it would be something I would have to let go of.

It's like aging.

But there were so many problem factors in that show so I'm cutting myself a lot of slack and gearing up for the next group show, which will be this coming Tuesday. We have one, maybe two rehearsals planned, T&C will be part of the show, and all the other people will be folks I've been taking classes with for quite a while.

thursday, november 11th (2004)

8:12 a.m.

I wish cock didn't taste bad in my dreams. I met a cutie last night, followed him around and finally got in his pants, and yep, it had that odd metallic unpleasant flavor. Quite a turnoff.

I also had a dream that I heard or read about an old lady and a man (don't know if he was old) who drove off a cliff next to a road, and then suddenly I was there, could see the red car dangling right-side up next to a tall rocky wall. I was on foot and traveling with someone - perhaps R because it seemed like we were maybe in Angel Canyon, Utah. We came upon a cluster of houses that belonged to an odd family of portly men and scrawny women. They had built the houses themselves and they all had ventilation just under the metal rooves {sic} and spiders had webs all over the ceilings like canopies over the beds and what not. I talked to the people there and they saw the accident happen. One of them had caught the car or something and attached it to a vine or cable there and there it waited for the emergency vehicles.

I thought this might just be a tall tale. Then I noticed that all of the men had their shirts off and they all had big scars in the middle of their chests. Heart surgery, I imagined. My uncle just had heart surgery, so maybe that's where that came from.

Last night I was feeling puny. I was exhausted but had had a cup of tea when I got home so I could stay up and transcribe, but I realized I was too worn out to transcribe and too hopped up to sleep. I tried to watch TV. No good. Then I lay down on the bed downstairs for a while. I think I slept a little while. R was making something that smelled very good but I knew I couldn't eat. I'd only had white rice, bananas, applesauce and toast (or crackers) for two days and my diarrhea was gone.

I went to the doctor yesterday, told him my diarrhea was gone, he said, "Oh, well, then what do you want from me?" He was 70-something, old and puffy, charming but hard of hearing. He told me to take off my shirt so he could get paid, and thumped on me a bit, then sent me away with a bill of clean health - or a "clean bill of health." No charge (to me or TennCare).

I met E at an Indian buffet restaurant for lunch, pigged out, then regretted it the rest of the day. On my way home, I almost shit my pants, and had diarrhea for the rest of the evening. R asked me how I felt and when I said, "Exhausted and anxious," he said, "Exhausted and anxious?" And that was that.

I got up from my nap and decided to go to the store for some Gatorade but couldn't find my wallet. I still haven't. So I paced around awhile then went to bed at 9:00. I said goodnight to R and he said, "You're going to bed?"