March 25, 1983

10:15 A.M.

I had a beautiful night sleep. I’m so happy! It’s when I can’t sleep that I want not to be here and to just be in my own bed. What I always should have done was just stay up all night and read which I think I will do on Saturday night since I have to be at the airport at six in the morning. This is my second to last day and I am going to enjoy it. I’m going to the pool.

9:30 P.M.

I have a few things on my mind. This evening Arturo asked me I would like to go out for parrillada, and Argentinean meal, at Che’s. I said yes but figured I didn’t have to have it if I didn’t want to. It’s a plate full of meat and sausage – food I don’t like. Anyway we got there and when I found out I had to eat it, I was confused but consented. It was fine and I talked to Arturo, asking him questions. I can’t stand Idalia I decided. She asked him when he started working. He said 15. She asked him if he paid for all his studies. I don’t know what his answer was but I butted in and said that I paid for my education. I really don’t know if that’s even true. I can’t wait to see my mother. I want to talk to her! Idalia had the stupidity to say to me that maybe I can save enough money to go to Argentina and visit my grandmother! My grandmother! Hah! My one and only grandmother is dead! Dear! I told her I wouldn’t even know the woman if I passed her on the street! She’s Arturo’s mother and I’ve never met her! How stupid and obnoxious of her to say that! Then she said, “She’s old and maybe you can take care of her” and I looked at her funny and replied “Why? I don’t even know her, she doesn’t know me and she doesn’t care who I am either.” Then she said, “Do you think we don’t love you either?” And again I looked at her weird and could not on Earth figure out where she was coming from! I couldn’t answer such a stupid question. I don’t know! I told Idalia that I have only known her for a few days in my entire life. Dear God, this is all so stupid. She had the gall, the asininity to say, to say! My God to say to me that when she first met Arturo, he told her the whole story and she loved him from that minute! Puh! Bullshit sweetheart! Who cares?! I DON’T EVEN KNOW THE WHOLE FUCKING STORY! So what does your crap mean to me?! Are you stupid Idalia? I can’t wait to tell my mother! She said also that to be loved I must love also. God. Oh God. I know these people don’t know me because I don’t let them. You know how I love people. I told her that I have a mother that loves me, loves me. And I love her. She is what is important to me. How could Idalia say to me that maybe I can save my money to go visit an old woman and take care of her, a woman I’ve never ever known in my life and who is supposed to be my grandmother. I just can’t believe it all. It was such a stupid conversation and I’m stupid. Arturo is stupid and I don’t have much to say for his choice in women. Idalia is stupid. I am too because I know my mother would kill me if I ever did anything for Rose Pottier – Arturo’s mother. She would just think it to be a stupid thing, but I have never ever thought of doing that, going to see my father’s mother with my own money and I have little respect for Idalia for saying that. Bullshit she knows the story. Bullshit! She can’t know much or she wouldn’t have said that and I cannot imagine our cultures being that entirely different. She has just been a pain in my ass tonight but I won’t be mad or angry forever. I just can’t believe it. When I think about all the people I do love, I really do love, Woody, Robert, Tanya, Abuelo, Mrs. Hoffman, Barbara, my teachers, my mother of course, I just can’t think about people who pop into my life and say they love me. Very few people love me and I return their love. I don’t doubt that Kevin and his family would share in my mother’s grief if anything ever happened to me, but I don’t think they could have any of their own. And it works in my direction too, I would be truly upset if anything ever happened to Kevin or his family because, simply these are people I know. Unfortunately I do not love them. Its fine my mother got married but for me it was the end of my world, that’s why I loved Hamlet. A situation that happened to me which I could not accept or understand and tried to find some help and truth by reading as closely as I could, Hamlet. Hamlet’s world fell apart and so did my world. When my mother got married I had nothing to hold on to. I hardly had anything to hold on to beforehand and nothing anymore after she told me she was getting married. I’ve been trying to figure out what it was that caused such difficulties for me but maybe this is it, maybe it isn’t. I might also swear that all this flow of words is so true. Truer than anything else ever written. I am angry with what Idalia dared to say to me. It just shows her stupidity and Kevin too for his bullshit about “I took your mother away from you.” Fuck you. You don’t know anything either. You don’t know what has happened to me. I have nothing to hold on to anymore. My poor mother was all I had. I was deserted by half my roots – I have a right then don’t I? My mother and her parents took total responsibility for me! That’s all I knew! God damn it all. All I knew was half my roots. My mother invested double energy into me! Into me! One little me! She gets married after 16 years and I am lost and confused. It’s like she’s given up on me. And mother, you don’t even understand me! It’s not important for anybody to know this about me. Everyone has got their stories. But my father is fucked up and so is everyone who knows him. I can’t understand Annie or Idalia or Inez. Was she his girlfriend? His girlfriend while Idalia was away, his girlfriend with 2 kids?! I don’t know. And my mother with Mike! Ugh! That was an awful experience. I’ve had it with these people. Nothing is true. Woody is my one true person. Our relationship is fine. I would like to emulate her. I love Tanya. I love Tanya very much. I want to see her grow up. I want to always be a close member of the family. I love Robert too and I hate what happened to their whole family. I know Robert loves Tanya and I know Woody loves Tanya more than anything and I am sorry that they are not together. But Tanya won’t be like me. Tanya has a better father – I think. I don’t know Arturo. But I do love Robert. I would like to marry a man like him. I’ve been thinking lately that we are intellectual and sexual. I am only as of late becoming aware of my sexual being and it is going to be a very important thing about me, but the rest of me has always been there and always will be even after I decide to become celibate if I ever do. If after I decide I’ve had a few bad experiences with men and decide to hate them. I was just thinking about people with hearts of gold like Jean Valjean and wondering if one could ever imagine someone just not liking Jean Valjean. I will ask Ms. Fetters. I am angry, angry, angry. And now I’m sad as I just listened to a story on the news about a man, a 60 year old professor, who has taught under several aliases. There were reports that he took the extra jobs to pay for surgery for a crippled daughter. You see, my being isn’t important at all. I wish my father would commit suicide. My mother tried to twice. I told Idalia she has no idea what my life has been like because she never had the experiences I’ve had. What a ball buster. Everything about her makes me angry – her makeup, her shoes, her clothes. And Kevin, his clothes, his eating habits. I want to write a novel about all of this, including all the fights I had with my mother. All the intense, intense fights. Bad fights. Could I dedicate it to my mother? I have to. She’s the one who got me started writing two years ago when my world fell apart. Only to my mother could I simply say all this and she would know where I’m coming from. Anyone else I would have to explain to. I want to talk to Mrs. Chasan and Woody. I am pissed! I probably have a tremendous chip on my shoulder. A tremendous one. That makes me mad too, because I didn’t put it there and I worked for years trying to mature and relinquish it. That process may be something we all go through. How can people hurt one another? It’s because they’ve been hurt themselves. I truly believe that. “If you haven’t seen what I’ve seen, been where I’ve been, then you can only try to understand me, but do try.” I can immerse myself in myself too but I don’t want to just do that. I have a big crush on Mr. Ambrose but does it at all matter? What matters? I have a toothache. Does that matter? Id I do well in school. Who cares? That only means I was able to concentrate on my studies and little else was on my mind. Everybody is different. People are such a phenomenon. What’s the point?

March 24, 1983

11.25. A.M.

Last night I went to a dinner party with Arturo and Idalia of course. It was given by Willy and Blanca Hubbell who live in a duplex penthouse apartment and it was just fabulous. It was so big I could hardly believe it, and it had a terrace that went around the top 270 degrees so the ocean, city and mountains call all be seen. It also had a private elevator leading up to it. There were eleven of us at the party: a couple from Argentina, the husband is an actor who’s now directing a play in New York, Roxanna and Frances Allen McSherry whose St. Patrick’s Day party I went to last week, Blanca and her husband and Florence, a friend of the McSherry’s, Jim who lives with the Hubbells and me, Arturo and Idalia, eleven of us. We had an Argentine meal consisting of meat and vegetables with all kinds of wines and helado de coco con rum for dessert. I drank a lot because my wisdom tooth hurts and because more importantly, I am in a great great deal of pain with my sunburn. This apartment was just so so enormous; it was bigger than Mona’s old house in Livingston. It had 7 bathrooms, 2 kitchens, a sauna, 7 bedrooms (I’m sure) and tons of living space. The way they set it up they had at least 6 living rooms and no dining rooms. The terrace was enormous and they had furniture for it of course. There was a staircase inside too, so they could get from the first floor to the second floor of their apartment. All the floors were marble. I will never forget this place. The Hubbells have a son named Willy who is 19 and goes to Boston University. All the guests left together and Frances was saying that Willy said he was down to his last 5 million. I guess he’s rich. After dinner I sat and talked with the men. Idalia told me to come with her for a woman’s dessert and I obviously wasn’t at all interested. Allen asked me what I was interested in studying and when I said writing, literature and languages, he said I wasn’t going to make any money to support myself. Everybody is telling me that and I think I know that but I am not interested in doing anything to make money. Or should I? I figure that I’ll study what I want to study and become a teacher of English, or a waitress or an actress – something. I could even be a secretary and support myself that way but I would get too too bored. This has been a good vacation. I have seen two beautiful homes and went to another party and am going out tonight. I hope I get another movie like last Friday and I hope I get a dinner at a restaurant Saturday night. Then I can tolerate my stay until Sunday morning. Last night I was having terrible nightmares about my skin turning purple from sun poisoning. I was up and could not sleep at all. First I was hot and itchy from bug bites and then I was too cold. Thank God I finally fell asleep and slept until 10:00 A.M. I wanted to change my flight for tomorrow afternoon because I am so damned uncomfortable but I guess I will manage. Saturday is my last day. Monday I’ll be back in school and I can’t wait. Hopefully I will call Mrs. Chasan because I want to and hopefully she’ll let me visit her either Sunday or after school some day. Then on Saturday next, I’m getting my hair cut short and I can’t wait. I hate the way it is now. It’s long and scraggly and uneven and dry and dead. It’s getting so so blond in the sun! I can hardly believe it! I can’t really go out in the sun but I only want to so my hair will get lighter. Last night I also had a dream that I was meeting my new roommate at Sarah Lawrence. It was a nice dream. When I was sitting on the terrace last night with that cool, cool breeze hitting me all over, I was feeling so good. I was also drunk. It’s too bad I haven’t been writing too much while I’m here. I go to bed sort of early. I was sorry I missed Part Two of Gone with the Wind which I want to read, but that’s okay. That movie makes me so sad anyway. It really does. I feel sorry for Scarlet. I’m reading A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and I’m liking it but I have to read Heart of Darkness so I’m reading that now. I really want to write a novel and I’m thinking about it. I feel like I have some faith in myself. It’s still about the woman I met on Monday. Hopefully I will write again soon.

10:30 P.M.

This afternoon we went to Gary Williams house to see a videotape documentary on the Beatles. We brought pizza and I drank two beers. I don’t even like beer but I am in such pain. Gary gave me some medication for my burn and I hope it helps me. I really enjoyed the film. I just love John, Paul, George and Ringo. I think I want to name my sons after them. There is something that is just totally phenomenal about them and their music and I should love to be able to place my finger on it. Gary put on the Double Fantasy album and it made me sad. Watching the film makes me want to cry also, just like all those girls who faint and scream over the Beatles. I really do love them and I wish I were John or Yoko or one of his children but I’m not. I also wish I could be married to the future Kind of England but I’m not. I would like to live in England for a few years. We also saw Fritz the Cat. It is an animated film set in the 1960’s in New York. It was x-rated and the first to be made out of a big studio. It was filled with sex and drugs and trips but it said a few interesting things. It was from the 60’s so I did enjoy it. Oh, I finally found love beads but didn’t buy them. They were ugly and I think I could find better. I’m trying to get tired and keep my mind off my pain.

March 21, 1983

8:00 P.M.

Oh, did I have a marvelous day! I went shopping in Viejo San Juan. I shopped for about 3 hours in and out of the little stores. It was such a hot sunny beautiful day. At about one in the afternoon I made the long, tiring walk to my father’s office. We shared a salad lunch with Annie. Then Arturo and I went to pick up a dummy from a commercial artist for his magazine proposal. Then we came back to Old San Juan and went for drinks. We played Pac-man and afterwards called on a friend who unfortunately wasn’t home. Her name is Amanda and I wanted to meet her because Arturo says she belongs to the Bohemian class in Old San Juan. On the way back, we met another friend of my father’s named Gloria de Duncan who teaches painting at Liga de Arte. She invited us inside her home and I suddenly became alive. She lives in one of the old, old homes in Old San Juan. Her house was enormous. Well, the rooms were. It had its own indoor patio, a wine cellar, an upstairs library, a roof terrace and all sorts of nooks and crannies and it was decorated absolutely marvelously! Just, just gorgeous! Oh, I am so thankful to have met this woman. She is an artist, a painter. She was born in Bogota, Colombia and became an anthropologist and then married one from the Midwest in the United States. She has an eleven year old daughter named Vanessa who is totally bilingual. Vanessa is a musician and last summer went to China, Japan, Boston, Alaska and Hawaii with the San Juan choir of which she is a member. I learned all this from talking to Gloria. I asked her everything I could think about her art. In the living room which we were sitting in, she had two paintings of hers on the wall. I asked her about them and what they mean and how she did her unique technique which was “lines.” She uses fan brushes. She showed us her notebooks of beginning sketches for her paintings and I thought that was so so neat. Now I want to be a painter! I asked her about where she got her ideas from and she said that its intuition and said that with her paintings she becomes part of the world in which her landscapes belong. She also said that as she’s painting, she develops a dialogue between herself and her medium. She was so fascinating to talk to! We went into her studio which she was regretful about it being so small for herself and she stretches her canvas on a wall. She has had her paintings transformed into tapestries and they too are beautiful. She showed us a piece of one. She supervises the manufacturing of the tapestries. I feel so fortunate to have been able to meet Gloria. She is an artist! And she was so interesting! I will never forget this experience nor her gorgeous home. I want to write a book one day call The Artist’s House of La Casa de la Artista and dedicate it to her who I may never see again. But I will always know her paintings and always be glad that I got to talk to an artist about her art. She also mentioned that she wants the work’s beholders to feel a certain mood and she uses her colors brilliantly. I felt a connection with colors and words for writers which I am. My father asked her if her paintings were abstract or were real landscapes. I think she said they were both but she doesn’t like using definite lines for her landscapes. Her work is not realistic, maybe what is known as surrealistic. I just love her work! One painting on the wall she call The Fugue. It entailed horses running to an orange stream of water but one was running away. I asked her why but she didn’t know. She was so wonderful. A real artist, sitting on her antique couch, under her own creations, surrounded by a little black dog, her daughter’s piano and all sorts of arty objects thrown about. Things which I treasure and have so few of. What a sheer delight it was for me. Now I know how I want to live.

March 19, 1983

10:45 P.M.

I did nothing today but read. Tomorrow I’m going to the Palace Hotel with Grace, my father’s aunt. I’m very very hot. It’s constantly in the 90’s here. I think I am tolerating my stay here very well. Today the weirdest thing happened to my toe. While I was getting dressed, putting my left leg through a pant leg, the toe next to my big toe on my left foot, suddenly became stiff and cramped up and then started to swell. I couldn’t imagine what I had done to my poor toe. I rubbed it and got scared and thought I would have to go to the hospital to get my toe normal again. It became numb and I couldn’t move it. It was so weird. I’m double-jointed and figured that maybe that happened on its own and then I thought what marvelous powers I possess to have done that. But I was scared and the energy in my toe finally disappeared. I’ll have to try that again soon. I’m almost done with Sylvia Plath’s biography. I only have seven more days to be here. Yeah! And my writing is getting worthless so I think I’ll stop and write tomorrow when I’m not so tired.

March 18, 1983

2:10 A.M.

Yes, I’m still up. I just finished a letter to Elaine and I spoke to my mother about coming home early and she was a bitch and I hate her. Now I absolutely refuse to miss her. She makes me sick with her noncompassion. I wish I knew what the deal is between me and her. We went to a St. Patrick’s Day party at somebody’s beautiful apartment and it was pleasant. I had green beer which is something I’ve always wanted to try. I have sun poisoning and didn’t go out in the sun today and I don’t know if I will tomorrow either because I plan to spend everyday out in the sun next week. I just don’t understand why I’m not naturally dark and I really think I’m ugly. Tomorrow I want to write a letter to Woody because I’m upset with my mother.

10:00 P.M.

I’m taking care of myself pretty much. It’s not like the last time when I was so lonely. I changed my flight for my mother’s sake so I’ll be leaving on Sunday the 27th. I think tomorrow I will do laundry – doesn’t that sound exciting?! I want to go to the beach but I’, still burnt. I’m halfway done with a Sylvia Plath biography and I have some definite feelings about this artist that I’m learning about. I really want to study her to see if I like her or not. I can’t wait to finish the book. I’m getting some of my own insights into myself by reading about her. I want to read either Women in Love by D.H. Lawrence of Portrait of the Artist…by Joyce or Heart of Darkness by Conrad. We’ll see. I wish I had brought Sylvia Plath’s journals and poems with me. When I get home I want to really get to work on my studies and creative endeavors. I like keeping a journal while I’m here is P.R. I’ve hardly written in a long time and there is still more I want to say about my life. I thought I would continue writing in here everyday when I returned home last September but I didn’t and maybe I will this time.

March 16, 1983

10:15 P.M.

After just finishing reading this all, it is perfect to begin by saying that I’m back here again. Yes I’m still alive and have hardly written for a long time. I meant to write in her the night I came home because my things never did go as I had planned they would with my mother. But if I wrote down any of that it just would have been sloppy sentiment. I was even debating in my mind whether or not I really wanted to write again while I’m here. I’m trying not to think too much about it. Yesterday when I arrived I wanted to go home again. When I called my mother I told her I wanted to come home next Thursday instead of Sunday and she said I was crazy. That’s true. I’m sure I can manage the full 12 days, and only 10 more to go but I promised myself I wouldn’t count them this time. It’s a ridiculous thing to do especially since I brought myself here. This, I promise will be my very last time in Puerto Rico – my fifth and final visit to the island. I’ve spent one day in the sun and already I am bright red. That’s pretty bad and it hurts. I’m here also to starve myself as I am very very fat and I hate it, and I am also here for the obvious reason, getting away from things and people at home. I called my father up on the phone on Saturday February 5, the day after something upsetting happened between me and a boy I had been dating. He was my first real boyfriend and for me it became a very emotional attachment. I fell in love with him or that is at least the label I put on what I was feeling and going through over him. When things went wrong I decided that I definitely needed to get away and beautify myself by clearing up my skin, letting my hair grow longer and blonder, getting a tan and losing weight. I wanted to get James back but what I’m now trying to do is get another boyfriend. I never told my mother about most of this and I know it upset her. I wanted to discuss it with Woody and Ms. Fetters but I spoke to Mrs. Chasan about it and also Elaine of course. I talked myself out and have done enough talking. I want to shut-up for a while. School isn’t going great either and I’m still waiting to here from colleges. Of course I can’t wait to get home but I truly am a very busy person. The play is finally over which is good and so is yearbook which I never did much for anyway and tried to make up for all in the end because I wanted to help the book’s advisor. When I go back, I have a job to worry about and grades to keep up and at. Like the last time, I should just enjoy the relaxation that I will inevitably get. But I feel guilty about being here because I paid for it myself. That’s why I want to come home early so I can get back to work and do things around the house. I love my job. I am a waitress at Grunings and I love it. It’s very tiring though. Elaine works there too. I know you are dying to hear how discussions of Les Miserables went. They were okay. We only spent two or three days discussing it but I guess that’s understandable since it was a summer reading and Ms. Fetters – the wonderful and brilliant new English teacher – read it in the beginning of the summer. It wasn’t like Hamlet which we discussed for almost a month. I think it was a month. I’ll never forget it because it was practically the whole time I was seeing James. And him, I don’t ever care to see again. I just don’t like him and I don’t want to be reminded of all the kissing and other things we did with each other. It just makes me feel rotten and not guilty but impure and I bet I sound really stupid but I learned so so much from having a boyfriend and expressing “feelings of tenderness” for each other. And now I know some new things about male female relationships that I still wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for this recent episode in my life but I feel so less naïve and more harshly experienced than I ever wanted to be. Because now I know what lust is and what physical attraction is. For James, I had both a physical and an emotional attachment to him but I never want to feel that way again for him, ever. That is why I want absolutely nothing to do with him. Yuck, I don’t know why but when I think of him and me being physical with him I get totally grossed out with myself. Maybe it’s because to think of my next encounter whenever that may be. How I could possibly be attracted to more than one man! I just am afraid of being a part of the dating game. I want one man. James wasn’t he but I only found that out after I kissed him and YUCK! I know I never would have let anything happen if it weren’t truly felt but it was truly felt, for me at least and I thought for him too. But not for him. I got taken in and I feel like a whore. Yuck! Maybe we all have lust but men are just too much not in control of their feelings to put it nicely and that makes me sick sometimes. I just hope everything will be okay for me even though I am no longer naïve. One day I will laugh at all of this and it may be a reason for suicide at how little I have raison d’etre, and knowledge. I get depressed, I’m tired, I don’t know what’s going to happen in my life after high school. I will never make something of myself. What’s left? To be kind to everyone and just to be happy. What about friends? I don’t know. Family? Well, will I ever get married and have children? I’ve given up on my father. I must only worry about my mother. She’s far more important although I still really believe that me having been born on this Earth was a total screw-up. I am an intellectual and sexual creature. If I do not find a man to marry and raise children with then I must get an education, study languages and teach abroad. I want an exciting life – one devoted to attempts at discovering TRUTH AND GOODNESS, the seemingly nonentities which lie in all men’s hearts. I would love to work in New York City and be the woman who was responsible for housing all the street urchins, preventing more shopping bag ladies and bums and taking care of the ones already there. That is one of my ambitions. I still would like to be Jean Valjean and marry Jesus Christ but I really don’t feel special like I used to anymore. I feel so unimportant lately and I just have a hunch that something is responsible for that. I think it’s my school. I felt so hated and expendable when I was suspended for smoking cigarettes on campus. I’ll try not to let it happen again but I feel lonesome and worthless. College is coming and things will be far worse if I don’t get my mind cleared before I go away. I hope I can talk to Ms. Fetters before I go to college. I hope she’s around. She probably won’t be. I think that she would be an excellent mother and I think she has such a clear-thinking mind – a gift which I hope to get one day. I know her thinking has influenced me and I want to soak up more of it. I don’t always agree with her and I am definitely not one of her most articulate students but she fascinates me. She will only have been my English teacher for one year but I learned so much from her. I hope I can tell her that. I will write it in her yearbook. During Christmas vacation she wrote me a letter which I enjoyed immensely, immensely! I just know she won’t be writing me this time but I want to write to her. I know she likes me a lot. She helped me so much on the day that I found out I got suspended from school. She really made me feel so much better and helped me put things in perspective. I don’t know if she would agree, but I couldn’t do it for myself and I was really lucky she cared. Lately though, something not so great happened between us that I learned a lesson from and leaves me only feeling that friendship does cause pain and maybe I shouldn’t be so ready and willing to give of myself just so I can hope that somebody may just turn around and tell me that I am loved also but I changed my mind on that just a little while ago. I thought that maybe I should no longer be so loving and just keep my relationships surfaced but I am not like that and I will continue to probably do things the wrong way. Right now I am not feeling sorry for myself but I do often get hurt and I do hurt people. When I wrote Ms. Fetters a note that she thought was disrespectful, she told me and I was speechless. I wish I could have just apologized then but I was shocked and then very very upset. I couldn’t think well on the matter at all. I was totally confused but then decided to apologize for being disrespectful to her. But I never did. I still can though. Ever since she came to Vail-Deane I felt some sort of bond with her but I wanted to be meticulously consciously aware of not letting her know too much about me, my family life or my feelings. I wanted to discuss English with her which we did and next a few small things after class – slowly becoming a friendly student of hers who was more than willing to welcome her here and become a more than good acquaintance but only on an external level. Why I didn’t want her to realize any of my underlying problems I don’t know. I think it might have been because I wanted her to later help me and I did not want to scare her off. But did I think she could help me? I might have very well have been right because she has given me great advice. The one awful day she was not so nice to me and then she called me and apologized. I was so crushed at first but was elated that she called me. We discussed Paul Banner over the telephone and we subsequently had more little discussions and I enjoyed every minute thinking how lucky I was that I found a new friend. I gave her a present for Christmas because I really wanted to and she wrote me over vacation and I thought she must really like me. Then one day we had a conversation about something dealing with sex and then another about the problem I was having with my peers. That was the first time I spoke to her on a deeper level. It went well enough and I really did feel a lot better. And everything was back to normal as far as a level was concerned. That was in the midst of my James crisis and that is what I really wanted Ms. Fetters advice on but I couldn’t. By the next week I was truly miserable and Mrs. Chasan noticed. A few weeks later I wanted again to tell Ms. Fetters about the problem I was having with me being suspended but she got to me first and I felt very very good. But one day two weeks later she got upset and I happened to be observing and I got upset too because I wanted to do something for this person what was becoming someone important to me even if only on a professional level. I wrote her a note telling her how I felt and it didn’t go over well. Then I felt I made a big mistake but it was only because I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t even want Ms. Fetters to know how upset I was at the time that she was upset. So there was a misunderstanding and I’m really sorry. We’ve talked since and she’s been really nice to me but now I feel tension and I don’t want to because I don’t want to get attached to her like I do with everybody. I want to grow up and look at all situations perceptively – the way I think Ms. Fetters does. I hope things will continue as they were for us because I do enjoy the intellectual talks she has shared with me. I say not me with her because she is much smarter than I am. And I enjoy when things run a little deeper too. She is an interesting and good person and I hope her life turns out okay for her. I also think she’s pretty. And I yet have not asked her if she has a religion and how her father is. That is something I’ve been thinking about all year. Her father had a major heart attack in late September and I never heard about him since. She’s spoken about her mother though. I think I’ll ask Mrs. C. or Mr. A. Anyway, Ms. Fetters is a complex person and I think I can deal with that. I am too and I can’t deal with me but I think I will learn something from Ms. Fetters.

February 3, 1983

February 1, 1983

October 30, 1982

Saturday 1:45 A.M. really Friday night

You know I haven’t written anything significant in over a month and man that’s just gotta go. (I’m talkin’ like the way us guys fool around). I couldn’t even find my precious little writing book. I’m so tired now. Last year at this time I was writing and writing. David Letterman is on the tube, Channel 4, let that go down with annals of American History, this is good, he’s interviewing a man who works on the show in the back making sure no unauthorized people come in and he’s going to sing now, this is the amateur hour (SAT word). Let me get now to the heart of myself though. This is not a Mrs. Chasan notebook although I’ve thought about her a lot. That’s something else I have to write about. Oh boy I’m tired! I’ve gotta write tomorrow. It’s just 2, I got home 15 minutes ago and I’m beat.

Its Saturday morning now at SAT class. I must look like I’ve been some bum partying all night who just left to come here. I’m wearing the same clothes and I smell of cigaires. Last night at the yearbook meeting Melissa lost her baby picture and she was a bit upset. The kind of upset I would be if I lost mine. You know. I searched through the yearbook box twice thinking maybe someone put it in there and then went outside with Melissa and Sheila to look. We couldn’t find it out there and came in. I walked through the halls then Sheila went out to look for it by herself. Melissa and I went after her and Melissa told her not to. I walked off on my own and Melissa and Sheila went to the front of the school. I shuffled through the leaves in the dark (Melissa was getting over it herself but I couldn’t, neither did Sheila and I understand Melissa getting over it although it was important). As I walked I asked God if he could help me because I would get the greatest pleasure out of doing something for Melissa. I said please, please God, it would make me so happy! And I found it 30 seconds later! I jumped and screamed I found it, I found it! And it echoed and I was embarrassed but I didn’t care. Camile heard me from inside and ran out to hug me. Melissa and Sheila came back and I just couldn’t believe this all was happening to me. It was like winning a prize or having a baby! It was something so wonderful because it was something that I did which was important to someone else. And I swear that I do thank God for letting me do that. I experienced one of the happiest moments in my life last night and I will never forget it. Melissa hugged me and I reminded her of the time I found her $50.00 bill lying in Mary’s parking lot. Thank you God because Melissa said “maybe I should keep you around.”

September 23, 1982

Thursday At home

It’s been a real long time since I’ve written in here. I had wanted to begin again but it was only today that I truly felt to do so. There is some serious catching up to do. First of all, I hate all the shit I wrote in here last year. It’s all so embarrassing. I really am growing up. I would not say I’m so mature but I can feel that I have definitely matured. My interests seem different and changed now. I still worry about Mrs. Chasan but I realize that more so I am very busy and I can’t let her get to me. I’ve minimally talked to her these past two weeks of school. I hope it’s just not because she doesn’t care. The first day of school was wonderful. She was really, really happy to see me, and she’s asked me if I would ever drive her to school if her car is in the shop. Of course I’d love that. We’re going to meet on Tuesday to go over my Spanish work and that’s it. I think I’d rather be into myself than have friends. I’ve been hurt a lot and I hate when people are cruel. I just hate it. I think now I’m hitting a slump which always happens to me in the beginning of the school year. I better get all of my homework out of the way, lose weight and start with applications. That way when the term paper comes and yearbook has to be done, I can handle it. I would like to help out the lower school, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do that. I’m taking French also but I’m on the hockey team, plus I do extra work for Spanish. So I’m full. This weekend I go to the World’s Fair and I hope to get my homework done. I’m afraid of the person that I am. I don’t know if I’m supremely intelligent or just average. I want to know where my thoughts come from and why I am what I am. I notice that there are so many people who seem to get in the way of my search and it really is frustrating. I’ve got to protect myself, can’t let that happen. There are adults who and I hate to say it, but are just jerks. Their actions sometimes have no purpose but that is who they are and I must accept it. You know, I try to do that. I think I’d like to be a nun. I’m going to continue to lose weight. I even want to be sick for awhile or even die. Sheila doesn’t want to go to college and I don’t want a career. I want an education and I want children. If I could have a wonderful husband and wonderful friends that would be good, but I see no end to the cruelty I feel from all kind of people. My own headmaster thinks I’m the scum of the earth. My peers treat me that way too. My mother and her husband think I’m shit and I disagree with everyone. There is nothing I’m truly after because I believe there will be nowhere to take it anyway. I couldn’t connive a person or I couldn’t put on a false act because what I may possibly receive in return wouldn’t be important to me. Today Mr. Ambrose gave a wonderful lecture on W.E.B. Dubois. There’s a man Patricia S. can identify with. Mr. Ambrose was explaining how supremely intelligent he was but I wonder how Mr. Ambrose can say that without himself being supremely intelligent. Later I told Mr. A. that I liked the guy and he said that he was a disturbed individual. How rotten! Then I am disturbed. No matter how intelligent or dumb I am, I know I am a disturbed individual because I feel it within me. I know not one person I can identify with. Plus I’ve reached a point now where I am very down on Ellen. I feel sorry for her but I know that she’s been a damned shitty friend and I hate her for it. I have always been a kind friend to her and her family, receiving nothing in return. Yes, they’ve let me stay at their house but no more. I don’t need it and Ellen can go to hell until she learns to treat me like a person. She’s always been after something better and I’ve just been convenient. It makes me sick that a person can treat another so cruelly but God made people do that just to drive Patricia crazy and I’ll swear by that. Anybody who disagrees with me is unsympathetic, unthinking and has more to learn. But I just know it’s me who’s got the problems, yet still no one can accept me. I really want to die. I haven’t a friend in the world. My only problem is being alert and doing applications. I was so depressed the day before the first day of school because of my mother. She was a bitch the night I came home but the next day I was happy because Mrs. Chasan saved my day. She hugged me really hard twice, said she missed me, talked to me and said she got all my letters. Now I hardly see her and God why do you allow that? I really don’t think I was meant to have a friend. I hate Ellen because she’s an enemy who pretended to be a friend. There’s no need in feeling sorry for me because I have a low self image if that’s what this is because I certainly haven’t been given ego boosters all my life. Besides I have no knowledge in how to take compliments well. Anyway my problems aren’t anyone else’s problems. I think I’ll just die with my problems. Ali was supposed to come back but he’s not here yet. I would truly cry if I couldn’t have him because I’m in love with him. I love Ali. If only God could give Ali to me then maybe I would have something to live for. I realize how ridiculous that sounds but I hate certain things. I used to say I hated myself but I know that that was really because everyone treated me badly and I couldn’t handle it. Steppenwolf says that self-hate really means large ego. I believe in the ultimate perfection of the individual yet I sometimes hardly ever strive for that. I think I’m depressing myself now. I still haven’t found anything to live for.

September 7, 1982

8:00 P.M.

Can you believe I’m going home tomorrow! I’m so happy! Wouldn’t it be something if I were to die in a plane crash after all this? If this is found please give it to Pat S. 5 Cottage Street, So. Orange, NJ 07079 Apt. 5. She’ll be in tears, a real mess, but if this is not burnt up too bad, she’ll recognize it. She gave it to me right before I left and I’ve written thus far. Anyway, I’m on page 998. I got up at 5:30 this morning and read 40 pages. It was too hot to read today so I did not get that far. My suitcase is all packed. It’s going to be so damn heavy. The flower pressed here was given me by a kind old gentleman today. I was also treated to 2 pina coladas by these men who saw me in the water my very first day here. Ah, I’m going home!

September 6, 1982

9:30 P.M.

Went out to dinner with my father tonight and had a wonderful time! We had a most inspiring talk about our names. Then I got into talking about my book, Les Miserables, oh what a great book! Currently I’m only on page 864 but I am so hyper now that I just want to keep reading and reading! Victor Hugo is wonderful and I thank him wholeheartedly for writing that book just so Patricia A.Y.P.D.S. should read it! I use those four names because they are the ones which I am made of. Three of them may all be French and one safardic. Safardic is Spanish Jewish. Anyway, I am so grateful that fate allowed a great book such as that to fall into my hands! I want only to learn more and more form the world full richly of life, literature, languages and experience, people, places and things! I’m watching Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner now and Spencer Tracy with his white hair would have been perfect to play Jean Valjean. I’d like to write to Katharine Hepburn and tell her that. Oh, if only I could touch the man who wrote Les Miserables! Oh boy would that be something. Hugo seems immortal to me! I want to write to Mr. Maher, my old Spanish teach and tell him how I’m doing with my Spanish and tell him that I want very much to learn French and French history all because I read Les Miserables! I know I’m going on and on now. I will probably slow down and change my tune two weeks after reading Les Miserables but now I feel that the book will change me. I can’t explain the feeling that reading that provokes in me. I just can’t but its exciting me so! I’ve got to develop my powers of expression – its really hindering me otherwise. I just cannot wait to talk about Les Miserables in school! I hope we have a long discussion. I would like to go to a lecture on it and listen for hours and even do a term paper on the symbolism in it. I feel that Hugo does employ symbolism but understandably. He suggests things but leaves it for the reader’s imaginations although like Hawthorne things turn out only the way Hugo wants it to. Maybe for example Valjean’s white hair which turned white in less than an hour one eventful day. This can imply his purity of heart. The “Lark” Cosette may also be a symbol. I can’t wait to tell my mother that I read the book in one week and I want bother her and Kevin to read it also. There is just so much to learn from it!!!!!

September 5, 1982

2:30 P.M.

We went on a boat trip to some of the islands around Fajardo. It was an overnight. It was okay. I really like the owner of the boat. His name is Rafa. But I didn’t appreciate having to sleep over, being dirty all night. I sure did get sun burnt on the boat yesterday. I’m out of the sun today and then I have three more days in the sun. Then I guess I shall lose my tan for a few months. My left hand palm got impaled by a nail sticking out on the boat. That hurt like hell. I’m just so glad to be home now. I’m only on page 627 in Les Miserables. It’s getting quite boring. Sometimes Hugo gets me angry with his tediously long digressions. Nevertheless, I know it gets better and I’m going to finish it. Maybe that’s all for now.

September 3, 1982

11:00 P.M.

I wasn’t even going to write tonight. I haven’t been in the mood. I saw two cockroaches in my room and it’s really upset me. I got a postcard from Melissa and a letter from my mother. I guess that will be the last of it. Tomorrow we go on an overnight boat trip. Can’t wait to get home.

September 2, 1982

5:30 P.M.

Got a lot of sun today and only read 70 pages of my book. Mean and women stare at me. I don't understand why. I can't wai to get off this island. Still no mail.

September 1, 1982

8:30 P.M.

I'm in a shitty mood today. I've continued to eat so poorly, like a pig. I did read 150 pages of Les Miserables. I love it! But anyway I didn't get any letters today! Got a tan today and feel nauseous.

August 31, 1982

8:00 P.M.

I feel so badly that I really have nothing really good to say again except that I get happier everyday because I’m going home soon. After all this time and the first two weeks when I was miserable and these past two weeks have picked up. I just hope I still get letters. It’s too bad only Melissa and Maria wrote to me. That’s disappointing. Anyway though I can’t wait to be at school again. This year will be my last to act like a kid. The feelings I’ve had lately about my father are those of feeling really sorry for him to have to put up with me. I also feel sorry for Kevin and my grandfather. I really think women are stronger than men. I’m now going to say something that I mean sincerely but will sound ridiculous and crazy. I want to be as good as the Bishop of Digne in Les Miserables. I also should read about Jesus and study him and learn about his good ways because I want to pick up on them. Also, I haven’t lost any weight. I continue to eat like a pig and I don’t care although I don’t want to hear it from my mother. People say I’m a beautiful girl and I really don’t know what to believe. Well, I guess I’ve had a lot on my mind with this mish mash of a passage today.

August 30, 1982

8:50 P.M.

I’m very tired right now. I’m watching Mr. Roberts, a Henry Fonda movie. Ingrid Bergman died yesterday on her 67^th birthday. I met a 15-year-old girl from Alabama at the beach. Her grandfather and I were talking as I do with many people in the water. She’s from Alabama. We talked for hours and she’s also staying in the Los Pinos condominium. Too bad she’s leaving tomorrow. My arms are really getting dark and my face got burned badly again today. Les Miserables is excellent! It’s becoming my favorite book. I can tell that Hugo has a distinct style and I really like it. I can’t wait to finish it – only eleven hundred more pages to go!

August 29, 1982

9:10 P.M.

The Ponce trip was today. I love car rides and Puerto Rico is full of beauty but once we got there it was awful, not what any of us expected so we left. We went to “Church,” Church’s fried chicken (a joke of my father’s). Then we bought what I call Pac-Man fruit, that is canepas. They reminded me most of grapes. They’re delicious. I’ve never had them before. To eat them, puncture at midway with teeth, open and pop the pulp into the mouth. The skin is shaped like a pac-man head (my observation). I’m going to take them home with me. Arturo bought us movi juice which is made from a root and is extremely sweet. We took a ride through Ponce, the town and Pepe and I visited the famous fire station. It is pretty nice – has an interesting paint job. I asked Arturo to buy me bocolaito which is a fried cod-fish cake. It was greasy but good. That was my day.

August 28, 1982

9:30 P.M.

I didn’t write again last night. Instead I watched a modeling competition and fell asleep. My guys didn’t show but ah well. I did want to see them again but maybe one day. We had so much in common, they were so nice and fun! Anyway, I went to the beach or rather waded in the water for four hours. It got cloudy and I came home. Today, Arturo and I were invited on a friend’s boat. It was a great day. The police or coast guard stopped us three times! It was funny. I smoked part of a cigar today. The owner let me drive his boat and I had a beer in my hand! Drinking and driving again! That’s nothing but I love being young and stupid! Arturo took me snorkeling and that was wonderful and beautiful!! It’s true about the sea being a whole other world. Those fish have nothing to do with us. I could practically almost touch the colors on the fish. What an experience! I think it would be a good idea for everyone to snorkel at least once in their life! Unfortunately, I got bit by a sea urchin, or stung in three places on my right foot. After that we had homemade bologna and cheese sandwiches by the owner and soup in a cup also by him. I had rum, scotch and beer today. Later we went back to the ocean, went for a swim, lost my gold earring for which I am terribly disappointed and then a 12 inch diameter jelly fish stung me all over my body. It was so gross! And it hurt! We finally got home. Even though I had such a wonderful day, I couldn’t wait to get cooled off in the shower and to wash my hair. When I got home, I received a letter from Maria as I predicted and one from my mother. I told them both already, since I wrote them back earlier, more in detail about my day, so as you can see, I’m all written out. (That’s a joke). Mother says she is angry about my returning later and Maria may not be returning to Vail-Deane. Not good news from either. But I still love letters I guess. Tomorrow we go to Ponce. I am really looking forward to it. The time is flying. Love, Patricia.

August 27, 1982

7:00 A.M.

I didn’t write last night because I had such a bad headache. I was extremely happy yesterday. I met two young men from Westchester County in New York. We have a lot in common. I invited them up to my father’s apartment. It seemed to impress them. We talked and had a really good time. We’re supposed to meet at the beach again today. And more news to make yesterday a good day was that I received Les Miserables in the mail from my mother along with a letter from Angelica. I wrote back to the both of them until 1:00 P.M. and then headed to the beach. After Jay and Derron left, I had a headache which grew worse. Arturo called to say he’d be late getting home and by dinner I was nauseous. So I did the dishes and went to bed. I awoke from a dream sometime this morning, still with my headache and I think it was because of my dream. It was rather depressing. I was fighting with my mother in it. I remember saying how sorry I was to ever come home from Puerto Rico to her and her shit but now I just hope start off on the right foot when I get back. It is very important to me. I hate, abhor fighting with my mother. Anyway, then the dream led into the first day of school and these two new girls came to our class. They were best friends and different to the max than us, but I liked them. I can’t believe this is Friday already and those dreaded weekends come, but this will be a good weekend and then a beautiful week, my last full week! Yeah!

August 25, 1982

8:05 P.M.

I can’t believe how fast the time is going. Now I am not so anxious to go home. Today I planned to stay in due to my sunpoisoning, but instead something within me drove me to hit that beach and its luscious water so I went! I’m glad too because I enjoyed myself. Last night was terrible. I had a terrible nightmare. I was extremely hot and could not at all get to sleep. Plus my sunburnt face was hurting so badly, and there was no breeze at all! Oh, I was so uncomfortable. I just wanted to be home in my own bed but I made it. I think that maybe I went to bed too early. I guess I wasn’t tired enough and it kept me up. Anyway, I plan to stay up as long as possible and then hit the sack. Arturo gave me $25.00. I’m happy about that. He is not feeling well tonight. I hope he gets better soon. Tomorrow morning we go to the post office to picku up my package from my mother. I bet anything she has dandruff shampoo in there.

August 24, 1982

7:00 P.M.

I’m sorry I forgot all about writing yesterday. Father and I went to see You El Jurado. I hated it, but it was nice of him to take me out. He made a very good dinner last night and then I watched Barefoot in the Park with Robert Redford and Jane Fonda. This morning I awoke to discover I had sun poisoning again so I couldn’t go out in the sun today. I was in such a good mood also today. To think just two weeks tomorrow I will be leaving elates me! I really should stop this though before I get overly anxious with the thought of leaving and spoil something. I don’t mind it here now at all. Yesterday at the beach I felt really good about being in Puerto Rico, and how lucky I actually am to be able to spend glorious time in the marvelous water. I hate the sand but the water far succeeds compensation. Anyway, I’m happy. If I keep remembering why I left than I really should be glad that I’m still away from all my problems at home and still have another two weeks to forget about them, take a vacation from them, and just to enjoy relaxing! I don’t know when I will be able to return to the outdoors though, because of my sun poisoning – probably not until next Monday. A nice young maintenance man from the building here gave me a whole bunch of books. There’s one on mantra that I want to get into. I’ve decided that the people from this island are really very nice people. There are old men picketing outside the Hotel El San Juan and as I walk by, they say I am very pretty, that I look like a queen, and they ask me how I am. It makes me uncomfortable though but it’s nice. (I hope it’s true). I have a confession to make: I’ve been eating like an absolute pig and I better stop! I am so ashamed! Anyway, another is that I don’t miss my mother anymore. Oh yes I still love her very much. In fact, when Arturo and I had our little discussion on Saturday, all I wanted to do was go home immediately. I was ever so confused! I wanted to cry. He was saying things that I had never heard or understood before, things my mother said but now I don’t know who to believe. Arturo wants to “have it all out” between the three of us but I don’t have anything to do with their business. And I want to be spared most entirely, all the emotion. I can’t wait to ask my mother everything. I don’t want to hear it from Arturo because how can I believe him? Our relationship, I think, has improved though. I’m smiling now and being a bit more nice to him. He is out at his class now. He teaches cartooning at the university. I think I’m proud of that.

August 22, 1982

12:00 P.M.

Hello friend! Today is half over! Can you believe it will be two weeks tomorrow! I keep telling myself that I will be going home. I’m getting used to it here. I just hate the weekends. Next weekend should be fun though. I will definitely tell you about it. I plan to spend this entire week by the pool, swimming laps and the rest of the time at the beach. Then I go home, home, home! Father now is playing soccer. He invited me to go, but I declined the offer. I’d rather be home here, reading and writing on the balcony with its cool breeze and view of that tremendous body of water out there that stretches all the way to the New Jersey shoreline and further up to Maine.

August 21, 1982

2:45 P.M.

Now I really feel like shit. Father and I had a long conversation at lunch about many things. He tells me things that I have heard oppositely and I am really confused. I don’t enjoy being confused and I can’t wait to go home and not be confused. Last night my father took me to a party. I had a good time and made a friend.

August 20, 1982

10:20 A.M.

My grandfather would be 73 today. It’s his birthday. This date also tells me that I would be in Maine this week if we had kept up the tradition with the Torrances. I received a letter from Melissa yesterday. I needn’t say that it made me very happy. I sent her a nice little package which I entrusted with the mailman. I plan to spend my day indoors. I have nothing more to say but that as everyday, I look forward to going home.

August 19, 1982

7:25 A.M.

Today would have been the day that Elaine and I arrived in Puerto Rico – together. So I’ve been here all these days by myself. I woke up this morning with the feeling that I don’t care about people anyway and I’ve also decided to tell my father to change my ticket. I will stay until Wednesday, the eighth. I am sick of being fat and I want more time to lose weight.

3:00 P.M.

Again today I couldn’t stand the sun so I came in. I don’t think I’ll go in the sun until Monday. It’s getting tiring. I took out more of my father’s cartoons and perused them. I’m watching television now. I thought of calling Melissa but decided it was too expensive, well, my father was very happy at my decision to stay until the eighth. Only three more weeks! Next week I’ll swim laps at the pool here, and the flowing ten days I will spend at the beach. I won’t get out in the sun until Monday, giving my skin and self a break. I want to lose weight so I will exercise next week and then fast the following week. Father won’t be home until late again tonight. He gave me money for food and I bought it earlier this afternoon. I am so bored! I’m glad I’ll be arriving at 9:30 P.M. the night before school. I will probably stay up all night and I like a lot of excitement all at once. Oh, and I just can’t wait to be home!

August 18, 1982

2:30 P.M.

Today I just couldn’t take the sun any longer and came home at 12:30 with hunger pains also. Tomorrow I am not going to put on any sun protection. I should be much much darker than I am by now. I only read 30 pages of Steppenwolf and I did want to finish it. Last night, when I was fast asleep, father rings the doorbell, expecting me to wake up for him. Well, that’s just what I did, and with such a headache! He invited me to cake and milk though. But I couldn’t get to sleep at all afterwards. I woke up fine though. My dreams I am remembering and they are really nice. They are long and very involved. Last night I had a dream I was out with Mary and Melissa and we were having a lot of fun. It was nice. All my dreams have been sort of strange lately. They are dreams that I just know I wouldn’t have at home. Father also said last night, over cake, that maybe he could give me $25.00 spending money. I’ll believe it when it’s in my pocketbook. This afternoon I looked at cartoons of my father’s. Tomorrow, maybe I’ll look at the rest. He wants to go over them with me but I’m too terrible and impatient. I am getting so bored! I want to go home. Even there, I am not a habitual sunner. Here I’m forced to be, or sit in my bedroom, or on the balcony. It’s getting ridiculous. I can’t read in the sun because the glare gives me a headache. It’s a strain on the eyes. Oh, listen to me! I don’t know what my problem is. I really think I just want to go home. I’m not happy here!

10:15 P.M.

I received a letter from my mother tonight. I wanted to save it for when I was totally alone. This is the first letter that my mother has sent me while I’m here. I remember the first letter I received at camp from her. It was Saturday, July 5, 1975. When my favorite counselor Cathy handed me that letter, I choked my excited feelings and tears. I read it with so much enthusiasm and ran back to the cabin after lunch and cried so hard out of sheer and utter happiness. I remember some of the contents of that letter which I never saved. Mother mentioned how the cats were running all over the house, disturbing the furniture. I used that as my argument to justify my crying to a counselor, saying I feared my mother would rid our family of the pets altogether. At the age of ten I couldn’t express the fact that my tears were happy and excited tears. Anyway, tonight I informed father of my early plans to leave. He made a move to hug me but I immediately backed off from him. I hope he’s not hurt by that honest and pitying action of mine. You know I can’t help being that way with father. He was very disappointed at my decision to leave so soon, but the thought elated me. Then I decided to read my mother’s letter. One of the many things she mentioned was advising me to stay. Now I would like to please both mother and father but I won’t be happy. I didn’t want to handle this problem on my own so that is why I’m writing now. I think I will stay, much to my own chagrin. Mother wants me to come home beautiful and I’m far from it and I would so much like to make her happy in that way. I simply must stop eating! Now I must go to bed so I can tell father that I changed my mind. Oh, God help me! I was so soon going home!

August 17, 1982

7:45 P.M.

The time spent here is really going fast and I’m glad! Today I went to Viejo San Juan and spent $60.00 on three wall hangings, 5 bottles of rum and a pair of earrings. I brought this book with me, figuring I could find a quiet little spot by the water, but I shopped too long. I walked up and down the tiny streets all by myself. One man in one of the stores asked me for a date. I don’t know what number that is but I’ve turned all down. It’s been a week since I had that encounter with the man at El San Juan. I stay home nights now. I asked father for some spending money but I’m getting nothing from him. I really should go home now but I was thinking later on that maybe I will stay just until the fourth of September. That way I can go home with darker skin. That’s really not that important but I lay in the sweltering heat anyway. Father asked me why I find it so difficult to talk to him. Ah, there is nothing here for me, just the sun and water. That is nice but it really isn’t my bag. I would rather be with my friends although I am a loner. By myself, I lay in the sun and read, come home, take a shower, eat, write, watch the tube and crash, wake up and start the routine again. That is my life here. I don’t understand it. It is filled with no purpose. It is sort of life married life in the fifties or sometime when wives do as their husbands tell them. Father orders me to do everything for him – things that he can do for himself. I figure it is my payment for being here. Oh – this is all shit now. I just have a headache now, my third since I’ve been here. I’m also watching the Solitary Man on TV. I wrote five postcards today and I cleaned my rooms plus cleaned up after dinner like I was told. I am going to get a bowl of cereal for my headache and all I had left to do was write in here. Like I say about all my books – you are my only true companion.

Dear Reader:

This is a work in progress. I am typing as fast as I can. I then go back and edit. Once you've read a diary entry, it may not be complete as I am finding pages out of order. Every entry will also eventually have an author's annotation.

March and April 1981 are relatively complete. May 1981 through August 1982 are still being typed, edited and annotated. Like Phoebe Gloeckner's Diary of a Teenage Girl : an account in words and pictures, and Jolene Siana's Go Ask Ogre, both of which inspired this book, this book will also be illustrated. For those who enjoy illustrations with their words and don't enjoy typos, you will know when it is safe to read when you go to the very beginning, March 1981, and see the comics. That is when this project will be in its final stages.

Order of Progress:

Transcription of March 1981 - March 1984 diaries (ages 16-19)
Correction of typos and editing
Annotations added to entries
Comics added to entries
Look for publisher

For those keeping track, I am still at step one.

Thank you for reading.

August 16, 1982

8:45 P.M.

It was a beautiful day. I spent it at the El San Juan pool. My back and legs got sunburned. It hurts a lot. I asked father to buy me a dress and he says he’s low on funds. I’m very disappointed. I think I want to go home even sooner. Maybe I am spoiled but I think my father should buy me a dress if I want one. Oh well. He is doing nothing for me. Yes, he paid for my trip but I hope he pays the money he owes my mother for the rest of the ticket. He has me kissing his feet, doing this and that for him. I hate it, but he’s not going to buy me a dress. Well, writing down my disappointment isn’t going to help – forget it. Tomorrow I go to Viejo San Juan for my mother’s wall hangings.