June 3, 1981

Well Notebook my dear, just 2 1/2 more days but they are all exams. English and Math tomorrow, shouldn't be too hard to study for. It's just studying that's a pain.

You and I have been through a lot together. Starting from the first day after spring vacation until the very last week of my sophomore year at Vail-Deane. It's been really rough.

I just met Frank R., my neighbor at Ivy Hill. He sure does look bad. His hair is so long. But he is the same, and was pretty nice to me. I think he's okay. He's not a bad person at all.

I can't wait 'til next week. Everything will be totally over. I just can't wait. So much pressure, getting yearbooks, signed, studying for exams, going to graduation.

I just saw this good show about this little girl whose mother is getting married and she's really upset. It was good. Me, Barbara, Thomas (for a bit), Ellen, Ray, and Pat (for a bit) watched it. I all of a sudden don't feel like going to college.

I found Mama Cat.

Notebook dear, you're finished. I'm starting a new one in a few days. It's for Mrs. Chasan. My mother had a surprise Bridal Shower sunday. Barbara, Margaret and Susan did it. It was okay.

Mary Tyler Moore is my favorite actress.

I had macaroni and cheese for dinner and I talked to Michelle. I hope we can work together this summer.

I'll never find a husband.

Nothing is a big deal. Don't ever make a big deal out of anuything . Good advice. I don't want to take Bio achievement.

2. Psychoanalysis, n. a reproduction of emotions relating to repressed experiences, esp. of childhood, and the substitution of another person, esp. the psychoanalyst, for the object of the repressed imnpulses

1. a transferring or being transferred

I'm sad. Ever feel like crying and laughing at the very same time? I do.

I'm weird. I always knew that.

I don't care about exams.

Mr. Scozzafava hates me.

I don't know when to stop.

I've got much to think about.

I'm alive and can't do a damn thing about that.

(Author's note: This was the last entry in this little red, 70 sheet, notebook. I did not write 70 pages in her, but I became quite attached to this notebook. So much so, that I named her "Notebook," and had a very difficult time warming up to the next one. It was in this notebook that I poured so much of my soul and energy for the very first time, out onto paper. Being able to, or learning how to do that, became a turning point in my life. It is where I first realized I was a writer and actually called myself one. The very fact that I could be brave enough to put down my truest, darkest, most private feelings onto paper, actually stunned me. I also became so attached to this book that I considered her a friend. I couldn't just start pouring my heart out in my new book. I had to get to know it first. My notebooks became the best friends that I carried around with me all the time.

Also what I note is interesting, is that I do not mention anything about the cat running away and me going out and finding the cat. I should have taken more credit for that, for my heroic rescue of her. I found the cat in somebody's open garage on the block and I grabbed her. My mother really should have given me lots of praise for that as Mama Cat, of our 3 cats that Kevin was forced to live with, became Kevin's very favorite cat of all, so I did a good deed for him as well).