May 6, 1982
THURSDAY MORNING, MATH CLASS
I know that it is so wrong to be writing about this now. But I’m a bit depressed and I haven’t been all week. I had a nightmare last night about Miss Lee accusing me of smoking pot at a sleepover party the juniors and seniors had a Vail-Deane. I was unfairly accused and worried about it. When I walked into my homeroom, everyone started on me. When Mrs. Chasan was there, she was in a bad mood because (I hear) Dan T. spread butter on her desk. She doesn’t know that Dan did it, if he did. I took the tray of food left over from what is printed on the back of this notebook. It’s been a week. I met Miss MacWhinney on the way down and told her what someone did to Mrs. Chasan’s desk. She said, “You don’t know who did it?” I said, “I know.” She said, “I guess its better I don’t know.” I should have told her Mrs. Chasan was upset about it, but she may have been able to infer that from the look on my face. I was upset myself. Miss MacWhinney said, “You know that belongs to a 5 yr. old.” She was talking about the butter. When I came to math, I was still upset. Camile said, “And she feels well.” She meant that I acted and looked like shit for someone who wasn’t as sick as her. She has her period and she gets really sick when she has it. I feel sorry for her. But how does she know how I feel? I feel terrible because everyone greets me with criticism first thing in the morning! I can’t feel good about that. And I swear I wish I were high! Last night, Lynn and I smoked some of a joint in the black hole of the girl’s locker room. Later that night, Mish, Lynn, Rob and I smoked two joints in the little field during rehearsal. It was great! Lynn said she was getting paranoid. Now I can say I got high on campus twice in one night! Not that that is something to be proud of, but I did it. And I wish I were high now. I will get high tomorrow before school. I need it. I know I seem to be saying much about pot now. But I just feel like it. I don’t know why. Last year at this time it was food. Now it’s pot. I don’t care. So far I’m not that bad, and this summer I’ll never have a chance. And next year when I drive I won’t because I don’t want to be irresponsible with the car and my life. I would NEVER drive under any negative influence. Right now, I don’t feel so well. I’m in Spanish. I’m upset and my stomach is killing me. I think I’ll never eat any bad foods for me, not even milk, just water as a beverage. I’ve just got to lose weight! I’m going to be beautiful if I do. I do hope the boys let me fool around with them next year. I just want to walk around, so thin, so tall, with long hair, so beautiful! Oh, if I could do that for myself! I swear, dear notebook, you are my only friend! I can only talk (write) to you. You’re not even a person! But you are consistent. You are always around, but that’s because I bring you everywhere. What you are is paper. It doesn’t matter what you look like or from whose hand I got the paper. All paper is the same, and when I set my pen to its surface, it becomes my friend. So, I was saying yesterday about my little talk with the psychiatrist. We talked about math and science and I had no choice. I can now look at my responsibility to do well in those subjects objectively. It is just a matter of sitting down and doing the homework. I don’t have any discipline.
8:37 P.M.
I’ve got a million things to do before the concert. I went for a walk before to get some food and I took extra money with me. It was so beautiful outside, that I took a detour to the park. I was going to go over to where the “freaks” hang out and get some “smoke.” It was just a matter of getting my nerve up to do something like that. I walked around a bit, and then I looked at the clothes I was wearing: peace sign, yin-yang t-shirt, and my moccasins, not bad at all. I saw a kid in a black t-shirt walking. I yelled to him, “Do you know Frank Reilly?” an old neighbor of mine who hangs around with that group in the park. He answered “yes.” I asked if he’d be out, and the kid said he was at home. Then I asked the big questions, “Do you have some smoke?” He smiled and said, “a little.” I asked if I could buy some. He moved against a tree, took out a little plastic bag and didn’t have any rolling paper. I gave him a ripped piece of my bag. He put some in and I gave him $2.00. So I went off to buy some rolling paper. That was hard. No place in South Orange had any. I felt bad.
I know that it is so wrong to be writing about this now. But I’m a bit depressed and I haven’t been all week. I had a nightmare last night about Miss Lee accusing me of smoking pot at a sleepover party the juniors and seniors had a Vail-Deane. I was unfairly accused and worried about it. When I walked into my homeroom, everyone started on me. When Mrs. Chasan was there, she was in a bad mood because (I hear) Dan T. spread butter on her desk. She doesn’t know that Dan did it, if he did. I took the tray of food left over from what is printed on the back of this notebook. It’s been a week. I met Miss MacWhinney on the way down and told her what someone did to Mrs. Chasan’s desk. She said, “You don’t know who did it?” I said, “I know.” She said, “I guess its better I don’t know.” I should have told her Mrs. Chasan was upset about it, but she may have been able to infer that from the look on my face. I was upset myself. Miss MacWhinney said, “You know that belongs to a 5 yr. old.” She was talking about the butter. When I came to math, I was still upset. Camile said, “And she feels well.” She meant that I acted and looked like shit for someone who wasn’t as sick as her. She has her period and she gets really sick when she has it. I feel sorry for her. But how does she know how I feel? I feel terrible because everyone greets me with criticism first thing in the morning! I can’t feel good about that. And I swear I wish I were high! Last night, Lynn and I smoked some of a joint in the black hole of the girl’s locker room. Later that night, Mish, Lynn, Rob and I smoked two joints in the little field during rehearsal. It was great! Lynn said she was getting paranoid. Now I can say I got high on campus twice in one night! Not that that is something to be proud of, but I did it. And I wish I were high now. I will get high tomorrow before school. I need it. I know I seem to be saying much about pot now. But I just feel like it. I don’t know why. Last year at this time it was food. Now it’s pot. I don’t care. So far I’m not that bad, and this summer I’ll never have a chance. And next year when I drive I won’t because I don’t want to be irresponsible with the car and my life. I would NEVER drive under any negative influence. Right now, I don’t feel so well. I’m in Spanish. I’m upset and my stomach is killing me. I think I’ll never eat any bad foods for me, not even milk, just water as a beverage. I’ve just got to lose weight! I’m going to be beautiful if I do. I do hope the boys let me fool around with them next year. I just want to walk around, so thin, so tall, with long hair, so beautiful! Oh, if I could do that for myself! I swear, dear notebook, you are my only friend! I can only talk (write) to you. You’re not even a person! But you are consistent. You are always around, but that’s because I bring you everywhere. What you are is paper. It doesn’t matter what you look like or from whose hand I got the paper. All paper is the same, and when I set my pen to its surface, it becomes my friend. So, I was saying yesterday about my little talk with the psychiatrist. We talked about math and science and I had no choice. I can now look at my responsibility to do well in those subjects objectively. It is just a matter of sitting down and doing the homework. I don’t have any discipline.
8:37 P.M.
I’ve got a million things to do before the concert. I went for a walk before to get some food and I took extra money with me. It was so beautiful outside, that I took a detour to the park. I was going to go over to where the “freaks” hang out and get some “smoke.” It was just a matter of getting my nerve up to do something like that. I walked around a bit, and then I looked at the clothes I was wearing: peace sign, yin-yang t-shirt, and my moccasins, not bad at all. I saw a kid in a black t-shirt walking. I yelled to him, “Do you know Frank Reilly?” an old neighbor of mine who hangs around with that group in the park. He answered “yes.” I asked if he’d be out, and the kid said he was at home. Then I asked the big questions, “Do you have some smoke?” He smiled and said, “a little.” I asked if I could buy some. He moved against a tree, took out a little plastic bag and didn’t have any rolling paper. I gave him a ripped piece of my bag. He put some in and I gave him $2.00. So I went off to buy some rolling paper. That was hard. No place in South Orange had any. I felt bad.
posted by Grand Inquisitor at 6:41 AM
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