January 1978 -  April 1978
Age 20

"Why is it that 60 seconds' worth of argument can wipe out a whole days' worth of good mood?"

January 12, 1978

Sitting in the Student Lounge; Writing class was canceled today. Now I have an hour to fill before the bus comes ... what should I do? Watching a documentary on the Beatles on the video tape machine - already saw it once today.

Maybe buying this new notebook will inspire me to write more. I hope so. I've had some kind of mental block the last year or two - my journals have been sadly neglected. Sketchy, inaccurate, inarticulate - whole big important chunks of my life unrecorded and forgotten.

Today I got into a good conversation with Doug Peffer in the Hilton; for some strange reason I found myself opening up and talking to him about my life, what things are important to me, things I've gone through, etc. The whole time, part of me was standing apart & looking at myself & wondering, "Why on earth am I telling him these things?", w hile the part of me that was doing the talking was enjoying the feeling of discovering a new friend. Doug was very open, too, which is probably the reason I was able to relax ... to a point. I have to admit I wasn't totally comfortable with him. I'm seldom comfortable with anybody, with the exception of certain family members and friends. I get very nervous. I can't talk to people - especially strangers - very easily. Sometimes I tell myself that I just don't like people, but it's more fear than hostility. Am I afraid that people aren't going to like me? The "real" me?

Scott has been bugging me lately about my attitude toward people. Nagging. Sometimes it's about small things, like "Don't you say 'hi' to people anymore?" Last night when we were high and I was being goofy and laughing a lot, it was, "You should be like this all the time." These comments usually come right straight out of the blue and they always hurt. I tell him that I can't help being the way that I am, that he shouldn't expect such a radical change, that he's asking for too much. That never goes over very well, and we end up in the middle of an argument that neither one of us intended to start.

I don't know why I act the way I do. Well, I suppose I could figure it out if I had the money for trips to the couch, or if I had the sort of probing mind that was able to figure such things out. I imagine it has something to do with the way I look at myself, my self-image or whatever. You know - "Does Terri like Terri?" My first response to that sort of question would probably be, "Well, Terri isn't too happy about certain aspects of herself, but she certainly does like herself." And maybe that's true. Whatever it is that makes me act the way I do sometimes - withdrawn, hostile, inhibited, unhappy, whatever - I would like to eventually figure it out.  See, I would really LIKE to LIKE people. I'd like to be the sort of person who feels at ease in a crowded room ... who can strike up conversations with anyone. I would like to be uninhibited - dance at parties, laugh out loud, sing, whatever I feel like doing. If I feel like being weird, I'd like to do so with confidence. But I can't. Something inside of me is holding that part of me back, keeping me from liking people. You know, sometimes when I'm sitting alone somewhere - on a bus, or in class, or in the Hilton - and a stranger sits down besides me and starts up a conversation, my whole body turns rigid and I can actually feel myself thinking "GO AWAY, MOVE AWAY, LEAVE ME ALONE." So I pretend to be reading a book or doing homework or something, ignoring that person until they finally become discouraged enough to either go away or to quit talking. And I really hate myself when I do that. At times like that, I could just kick Terri V. for being so hostile, so self-engrossed, so self-conscious. I resolve that next time I'll find something to say to the stranger sitting next to me ... kind of "tomorrow will be a better day" thinking. And of course it usually isn't.

Now I'm sitting on the bus, preparing to attempt the impossible - writing while the bus is moving. (The bus driver just looked at my notebook and said, "Gee, you make neat letters - almost like a draftsman." I just laughed and said "Oh, thank you." Another contact with a stranger, but this time I didn't freeze up - I didn't really have time. Usually in split-second encounters like that one, I'm OK. It's when the encounters tries to spread itself out into a full-fledged conversation that I have problems. I can handle compliments. That's a start, anyway.

There's a girl sitting in the front of the bus today - her name is Marcia. Yesterday when we were sitting at the bus stop we started talking ... well, she did most of the talking, I did a lot of smiling and nodding and saying "Yah, unh-huh." Today she's reading a book, and she looked up and smiled at me as I walked past her. Now, if I was the sort of person I'd like to be, I'd have this uncontrollable urge to go up and sit next to her and continue our conversation from yesterday. But I can't. I don't even really want to. Instead I'm sitting in my usual seat close to the back of the bus, away from everyone else, with my nose buried in this notebook. If a psychologist were to walk onto the bus right now, he would be able to pick me out as the introvert of the crowd right away. I'm the one with the invisible fence all around me that says "PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE."

Why? Why? Why?

About Doug's conversation - another reason why I probably feel reasonably relaxed around him is that he's a guy; further, he's an intelligent guy, very articulate; and even further, he was so willing to talk about his life, so readily. I have always been able to communicate with guys a lot better than with girls - another thing about myself that I wish I understood further. I don't feel comfortable with girls. Most of the really meaningful friendships I've had in my life have been with guys (or men, whatever). Tusk, of course; Jerry Bates, Kevin, Rudy. Etc. etc. etc. These have been the friends with whom I have had intelligent conversations and mature relationships, friends that I've talked to about feelings and experiences. Maybe that's the only level of friendship I can adjust to? Maybe I just can't handle anything but those kind of "deep" friendships? That sounds too crazy to be right. If anything, it should be the other way around, shouldn't it?

Lately I've been thinking that there are a bunch of Terri V.s, all rolled up into one. When the bus stops lurching around, I'll try to split them up on paper.

4:00 p.m.

I don't really feel like dissecting myself right now. I'll do that at some other point in this journal, when I can't think of anything "good" to write about.

I've thought of a couple little exercises that I can do every day, "social exercises" related to my problems dealing w/people. From now on I'm going to keep track of how many encounters I have throughout the day with strangers or with people I don't feel comfortable around, and then evaluate how well I expressed myself - how well I communicated with them. Maybe that's something I can do with this journal? Maybe by charting myself this way, I can tell if I'm "improving." Does that sound like a sensible idea? Might as well give it a try, anyway.

Another exercise: I'm going to try and make a point of having some kind of social contact with at least 2 people that I either don't know or that I don't know well. In that way I'll be sort of forcing myself to reach out to people a little more, each day.

Today's contacts:

1. Talked to a new guy in our Anthro class, Roger Something. He asked me what the name of the class was, and I said "Shamanism and Healing." Easy. I wasn't uncomfortable, of course, since any kind of idiot could have handled that one.

2. Having that long conversation with Doug in the Hilton during my break. We talked for a full hour - about classes, teachers, the changes some of our friends have gone through (marriage, leaving home, death, etc.) He's involved in Search & Rescue, and we talked about that. Also: journals, the Beatles, family, boyfriends & girlfriends we've had, things that are important in our lives. Etc. etc. What makes me feel particularly good is that I initiated the conversation.

3. The bus driver and his unexpected compliment about my handwriting. Again, a very easy encounter.

4. After I got off the bus and was walking up the street toward home, a strange man in a blue jeep pulled up in the street next to me and - apparently - was trying to pick me up. This encounter, understandably, made me extremely uncomfortable. He said he'd noticed me get off the bus and thought I looked "familiar." (Sure.) Not a very original line, was it? He said he thought I was "cute as hell," and then when he finally made his pitch - "What kind of chance would a guy like me have with a good looking girl like you?" - I surprised myself by quickly & naturally saying, "I'm married." He just shrugged and said, "Gee, the cute ones are always married. Have a nice day," and he drove away. I'll have to remember that next time it happens.

Scott came over this afternoon - he let me drive his car down to the store for pop and cigarettes. It's surprising how quickly and easily I've gotten re-used to driving, considering the fact that up until this week I hadn't been behind the wheel of a car for two years. I guess that driving, like typing or any other skill, is something you never lose completely. I got my learner's permit (again) the other day, and now I'm going to work super hard at getting my drivers license before March. It's very important to me that I get my license. I think that getting it will go a long way towards raising my self esteem. After all, being 20 years old and still without a license is pretty embarrassing, especially since I have no plausible excuse for waiting so long. How do you explain to people that you haven't gotten your license because you're afraid?

What's funny is that I'm not really sure exactly what it is I'm afraid of. Of course, being behind the wheel of a car is a little scary - particularly when you're a novice. And the prospect of the DREADED drivers test scares the hell out of me ... but those aren't the fears that have prevented me from getting my license. I can't put my finger on it, really. Am I afraid of the responsibility that driving entails (insurance, getting a job to afford the car, keeping it in good shape, being a good driver, etc.)? Or am I afraid of growing up (drivers license = mature adult, which I'm not ready to be yet)? It's all so absurd. Why on earth would I be afraid of growing up???

Anyway, this is one of my MAJOR goals for 1978: to get my drivers license BEFORE MARCH 31st.

I have a ton of homework that I should get started on - two tests tomorrow, in Speech and Geography, and I've got three chapters of reading to catch up on. I always seem to put it off until the night-before, something else about Terri V. that I'm not too crazy about: I'M A PROCRASTINATOR.

7:00 p.m.

My head aches from trying to cram so much new information into it at once. I am bound to fail both tests tomorrow. I still haven't done my Speech homework and I have a paper to type for Writing. Will I ever get out of school?


Things I would like to do in my life: finish school, get an interesting and stimulating job, marry one person and stay married to him for 50 years, have 2 or 3 children, write books and stories, be a successful author, be a creative mother, live to be very old.


Reprieve!  I just remembered - I left my Speech book in Scott's car!

I saw Cray C. at school today ... haven't seen him for 3 years!


Head still aching. Watching "The Waltons," thinking about taking a shower and washing my hair. Tired. This has been a long day; thank God tomorrow is Friday. Don't have any definite plans for the weekend, other than sleeping late (which goes without saying) and maybe going to a party at Peterson's on Saturday night. I've finally learned not to expect too much from the weekend. It usually doesn't turn out to be quite as exciting as you think it will.

Kevin just called a few minutes ago - it's funny how he'll do that. I won't hear from him for a couple of months at a time, and then one day I'll write his name in my journal (like I did today), or I'll hear someone mention his name - something that puts him in mind - and BAM, he'll call out of the blue, just like that. Sometimes I think he must be telepathic. He was in another of his rotten moods, but I'm just beginning to learn to expect that from him. I used to think he was an incredibly good-natured person, but now I can see he's just buoyant. He rises above his world and looks down on it - very cynically, actually. Anyway, we talked for about half an hour - he's getting a new job as a chef in Puyallup ("pooey aloop"), making EIGHT HUNDRED DOLLARS A MONTH. I could've died when he told me how much he's making. It's going to take me six months to save as much as he will make in one month. That doesn't seem fair, somehow.

You know, I really want that car. There have been a lot of things that I've wanted in my life - wanted so badly I've made myself sick with longing - and now that's how I feel about the car. Every time Scott lets me drive it, I feel this desperate wild longing. It's awful. I'm not really worried about the money - I'm sure that I can come up with it somehow, at least most of it. And I'm not really too worried about taking the drivers exam. If I fail it the first time, I won't be crushed or anything because I can always take it again. It's the waiting that I can't stand. I'm not very good at waiting for things that I want really badly. I want them to happen now, today. Six whole months ... it seems like the most interminably long period of time I've ever had to face. I don't know how I'm going to do it.

Dad and I have a joke about long periods of time like this - we call them "long dreary plains." The poor sun-parched traveler, having to cross the long dreary plain to reach the lemonade stand ... that's what these next six months seem like to me. A Grade-A Long Dreary Plain.



January 13, 1978

Friday the Thirteenth, but then I'm not a superstitious person so it doesn't mean anything to me. Sitting in the Hilton with a Coke, surreptitiously watching the people around me. I'm doing what I swore I wouldn't do this quarter ... cutting a class, and on a test day, no less. I'm just not prepared for the quiz, so I can't bring myself to go to class. Sometimes I wish I had more inner resolve, especially when it comes to school. I know I'm not dumb - I'm quite intelligent, actually, or at least I have the potential to be - but I'm lazy. Too lazy to study at night, too lazy to get assignments in on time, and then when I'm not prepared for a class I just "solve" everything by cutting it.

OH. I just remembered my dream last night, and it was terrible: I dreamed that Grandma V. died. I used to have that dream all the time when I was little. Once, in particular, I dreamed that both Grandma and Gramps died, and that as I was looking at them laying in their coffins, the coffins started rolling down a hill very fast. I was running after them, trying to stop them, but I couldn't. (Obvious what my subconscious was saying, right?) I haven't had a dream of that sort in years, and it was really awful. Grandma had died and I was filled with remorse because I hadn't seen her in weeks so I didn't get a chance to say goodbye or "I love you" or anything. I woke up crying and sweating and thrashing around in my bed, and so today after school I'm going to make a special point of dropping by and visiting her. One of these days the dream is going to come true, as it must, and I'm going to hate myself for all the time I wasted, all the opportunities I threw away. I love Gram & Gramps just about more than anyone in this world, and I owe them one hell of a lot.

I feel like death is something that will never happen to me, or to anyone I love. I guess everyone probably feels immortal, the way I do. What a shock it must be at the instant of death - when your consciousness realizes that you are dying. What a horrible feeling that must be. Thus far in my life I've been lucky - death hasn't really had much impact on my life. My dog was hit by a car and killed when I was 12 years old, and that was a great blow - it took me months to get over the pain of it. But Rowdy wasn't a mother or father or brother or grandparent - he was a dog, and the pain I felt at his death probably can't begin to equal the pain I'll feel when someone very close to me dies, someone I love. I'm very much afraid of that. I'm afraid I might not be able to handle it, that I might fall apart completely.

For a long time after Rowdy died I had all kinds of morbid, gruesome dreams - digging him up from the back yard where he's buried, watching his skeleton running around the yard, etc. Really awful dreams. The more I tried to stop the dreams, the more they haunted me at night. Eventually they went away, but it took a lot of time. Even now, I still hurt for that 12 year old Terri and all the pain she went through.


Feeling good - or at least, not half bad, anyway. Have had some good, interesting conversations with people and I feel an inch better about myself, at least. Notably: talked to one very nice guy in the Hilton, someone I've been seeing here at school for the last few quarters but never really talked to. (Oh God.  Was this Dwight?? Run, Terri  ...  RUN ... as fast and as far as you can ... )


Saturday afternoon

January 14, 1978

Feeling like I'm getting some things done in my life, and it's a very pleasant, competent feeling. Turned in my Avon order this afternoon, about $76.00 worth - not bad for my second month. I also got paid for last month - only $18, but that's a start anyway. Every cent of it will go into the bank towards the purchase of that little red car. Joann (Scott's mom) went with me and let me drive her car all over the place, even in the heart of (relatively) busy traffic. It was a little scary, sure, but I've got to get used to driving around in traffic and on highways and stuff. That's the only way I'll learn. I have a feeling that someday I will probably get to the point where I actually enjoy driving - IF I can get over that panicky feeling I get whenever a car is behind me or approaching me from another direction.

Getting ready to go out tonite: Scott and I are going to a party at Steve Peterson's apartment. I feel good and I think I'm in the mood for a party, so maybe it'll be a fairly successful evening. I'm going to try and exercise my new policy of talking to people tonite.

After-Party P.S.

Too hot, too crowded and too noisy to "talk" to anybody. Scott and I stood in the kitchen for a while, trying to fight off the swarms of people, and left early to find refuge in a Jumbo Jack and the relative quiet of my driveway.

January 15, 1978

I did something last night that I'd really like to get out of the habit of doing   --   I let Scott read what I've written in this journal. It's not the fact that he read it that I don't like ... it's just that I would prefer this to be a completely personal notebook, so I don't feel self-conscious about what I write, playing censor to myself for fear that someone will read what I've written. You know what I mean? There are some things that I would like to discuss in this journal - private things - and while they may not be terrible or anything, I would still like to feel that no one will ever read what I've written here except me.

I know that's impossible, though. Someday, someone will probably be holding this notebook and reading it, and Lord knows what they'll think about me. The man I marry (Scott?) will undoubtedly read it, or my children or other family members. Someone.  (Uhh ... like the whole world, maybe, when I post it on my website twenty years later?)   After I die, someone will take all my journals into possession. What a scary thought.

Sitting in bed, watching "Bridge Over The River Kwai," knowing that I should be trying to get some sleep. I've got a wisdom tooth coming through on the lower right side of my mouth and it aches. The gums all around the tooth are swollen and tight and painful. My room is immaculate: I spent a good part of this lazy Sunday afternoon cleaning and dusting and vacuuming, and now everything is neat and tidy and in perfect order. I love this room ... it is a refuge, a haven. The smell of DOG that permeates the rest of the house isn't here. Instead, my room smells of furniture polish, baby powder and incense. I eat my meals in here, study, read books, watch TV, get high, write letters, listen to records, lay on my bed and think and dream and plan. The things in my room are a comfort - one stable, sure part of my life. The wooden bookcase that Grandpa V. built for me when I was a little girl stands against the north wall. The antique sewing machine I got from Great-Grandma Gim ... the heavy oak rocking chair ... the linen calendars, hanging on the wall ... the plants and knick-knacks ... the record collection ... the neat rows of books and magazines ... all my "things," surrounding me, reminding me of other past parts of my life. I have spent my life collecting all my things. When I leave this house, I won't be able to take my room with me - that makes me sad - but I will take my things. They are a part of me, as permanent and as vital as an arm or a leg.

When will I leave (Dad's house)?

Will I live in my own apartment for a while, or will I marry first?

Who will I marry? Scott? And when?

When I was growing up, Grandma Vert used to tell me that I couldn't get married until I was 21. Now my 21st birthday is less than a year away and I don't feel any closer to the possibility of marriage than I did when I was seven years old. It STILL seems like such a vague, far-off proposition, me ever being Mrs. Somebody, wife of Mr. Somebody.

Some things I have determined, however. I will NOT be "Mrs. John Doe." If I don't use "Ms.," I will at least be "Terri Vert Doe." I refuse to resign all traces of my identity just to become "the wife of somebody."


Monday morning

January 16, 1978

Highly tempted to skip class, but finding some measure of that inner resolve I've been wishing I had more of. Monday morning is definitely not the high point of my week.

Later - now I do feel good. Got an unbelievably high score on my Geography test and I feel quite proud of myself.


What you notice first in a person:

1. Gender

2. Race

3. General appearance (clothing, hair, face, etc.)

Appearance Cues

Enduring markers

Semi-fixed cues

face = key site of emotion

Facial expressions: eyes, eyebrows, mouth are key areas

1. Partial (only one area shows an emotion)

2. Blend (one affect shown in one area while another affect is shown in another area..

Affect = emotion.)

3. Micros (micromomentary) - fleeting emotions that pass across face in 1/32 of a second.


U.S. - Federal level

1. Congress (legislative branch)


House of Representatives


Dwight (the guy from the Hilton) has offered to give me a ride home today after class, and I accepted ... but now, suddenly, I feel very shy and nervous about the whole thing. He is super-nice, comes across as very humble and friendly, but for no reason at all I feel intimidated by his interest in me. I don't know why. The fear is just there. Maybe I'm afraid that I'll run out of things to say in the car, that I'll come off looking dull and drab. Being so utterly and completely comfortable with Scott for the last two years has, in a way, made me feel comparatively uncomfortable around other guys, particularly guys I don't know very well.

Dating is a game, a ritual, a performance. I used to be good at it, but now I'm miserably out of practice. A ride home from school isn't a "date," of course, but it requires a performance just the same. At least it does for me.

 At home:

Damn it! He asked me out! During the ride home, he asked me if I wanted to go to a show on Friday. Why does this ALWAYS happen?? Hasn't he SEEN me around campus with Scott?!? 

Joyce Carol Oates - "How I Contemplated The World From The Detroit House of Corrections and Began My Life Over Again"


January 17, 1978

Tuesday morning

Scott and I are sitting in the Hilton. He is writing something on the back of a daily bulletin, I'm drinking my usual Coke. Dwight is sitting at the next table with his back to us. He won't talk to me w/Scott here. Relief.

I suddenly feel sad, for no real reason. I wish I could just go home and go back to bed, but Dad has decided to take the whole week off. He says he's "sick," but that's unlikely since he was typing & drinking & shouting on the C.B. until 2 this morning. We've been getting on each others' nerves a lot lately. I have a feeling he's having serious financial problems. God, I wish I could move out of that house before he drives me right straight up the WALL.

You know, I'm really very flattered that Dwight asked me out, but I wish he hadn't. It seems like this happens to me a lot. Just when I think I've made a good (male) friend, they have to spoil it by trying to make it into something more. There's nothing wrong with that, of course, but I still wish it wouldn't happen. Kevin is a prime example of this. He's always trying to make our friendship into something more, and I'm always having to dodge his overtures. Why? Because of Scott, I suppose.

Scott is sitting across from me, reading the school paper ... intent, absorbed, unaware that I'm surreptitiously sneaking glances at him. Long curly dark hair, unshaven, a contradiction of features ... sweet boyish face, dark growth of beard, cigarette burning in one hand, drinking his Sprite ... I hope that if we have children someday, they look like him.

 In the Student Lounge:

Lots of homely people in the world ... fat people, skinny people, people with greasy hair and acne and thick glasses and funny clothes. Poor, sad, pathetic Ugly People. What a hopeless feeling it must be, trapped inside such a body. How do they feel when they look at themselves in the mirror?

Anthropology was canceled today. Actually, Mr. Campbell just didn't show up, and by 11:10 people began drifting out of the room, one by one. Now I have two whole hours before my next class, and nothing to do. Right now I'm sitting in the middle of the Student Lounge. Very crowded, very noisy. Clamor of pinball machines and pool cues hitting balls and people talking back and forth. I feel extremely conspicuous - like everyone is staring at me. I keep looking behind me to make sure no one is reading over my shoulder. How paranoid. I don't especially like sitting here all alone - I wish Scott was here - but I couldn't stand to sit in the Hilton for the entire two hours. As a matter of fact, I'm not entirely sure I want to go into the Hilton at all today - I have this burning desire to avoid Dwight. I don't want a ride home with him tonight, I don't want to date him. If the two of us can just be friends, great, but anything beyond that has got to be out of the question.

Another subject, please. But what? My typical morning? Zzzz. My classes this quarter? Zzz. My plans and hopes for the future? ZZZZZ. Shit, there's a whole 90 minutes left. What is Terri V. going to DO with herself?

Question of the Hour (Minute, Week, Year, Eternity, Whatever): Why does Terri V. habitually back herself into corners?

Re-phrased: Why does T.V. allow herself to get into a sticky situation with a guy?

Specifically: Why did I let Dwight get to the point where he thinks I like him & thinks that I want to date him?

I didn't do it intentionally. I don't even think I led him on, really. I was nice. I struck up a conversation with him. Remember, that was going to be a "social exercise"?? But he took it all the wrong way, and now I've got the unpleasant job of letting him down.


January 18, 1978


Some days I feel like:

The only Square Head in a world of Circle Heads.

Other days I feel like:

A piece of a puzzle that doesn't fit anywhere.

On some days I've been known to feel like this:

Like I must smell very, very bad because everyone has their back to me.

Or like this:

Like I'm standing naked (except for a few small fig leaves) on the busiest street in town, because everyone is staring at me.

On days (like today) when I feel like a Square Head, a misfit puzzle piece, someone who smells very bad or a naked girl on 1st and Pine, I wish I had stayed in bed ... or, better yet, that I could find a planet of square-headed, funny-smelling naked puzzle pieces. I'd fit right in.


Well, things aren't all that bad, I have to admit it. This thing with Dwight is a mess, but other than that I may survive.

January 19, 1978

Dammit, dammit, DAMMIT!!! Terri V. is really starting to get on her own nerves. I didn't have the nerve to say "No thanks" when Dwight offered me a ride home a few minutes ago, and Doug looked at me and said (under his breath), "Coward." He seems to think this whole situation is funny, and maybe it is - but right now it's a great big Grade-A pain. I wish I had never struck up that conversation with Dwight in the first place. I AM NOT INTERESTED IN HIM!!!  I'M NOT!!! And I wish he would leave me alone .

Thursday evening

Watching "What Ever Happened To The Class of '65?"

There is a brand new touch tone phone sitting beside me on the dressing table.

I want to be tired, but I'm not. Yet.

Maybe I'm beginning to live my life.

Want to hear my plan? I want to buy that car in June. I want to take Teller Training in July or August. I want to be working in a good job as a bank teller one year from now. One problem: I have to be accepted to get into the T.T. program. What does that mean? Will they want to see my high school transcripts? If so, I am doomed.

What a life.

What a happy/sad, mixed-up process life is.

Up & down, up & down ... every year I'm one year older, but I still feel ageless. Like I'll never be really old; being young is all I've ever known!

People my age seem to be the same size they were when I was in first grade.


Dee Dee Eason's (my penpal in Alton, Iowa) 19th birthday. Iowa is worlds and worlds away from Seattle, Washington. At least it seems that way.


Sometimes I get so frustrated with Scott I can't stand it. He leaves me feeling so cold and angry that all I can do is hang the phone up in his ear and splash my face with cold water.

Lately we've been picking at each other almost continually, and it's really beginning to be a very big irritation. I love him, of course, but the bickering & quarreling over idiotic LITTLE things is starting to wear me down. It's reaching the point where we can't spend an entire afternoon or evening together without starting on the same, worn-out old arguments. I know them all by rote. I'll call him a snob, he'll call me a baby, and on & on it goes until neither one of us is speaking to the other.



Monday morning

Every day I seem to write a little less in this notebook. That always seem to happen and I don't know why. I always start off really well, writing pages & pages of whatever comes into my head, but then after a week or so I peter off until my entries are infrequent and only a sentence or two long. I wonder why that is. Lately my head has been filled with all kinds of different thoughts - plans, hopes, worries - and I feel like I should be putting them down on paper. But I can't. When I pick up a pen this "mental block" or whatever it is won't allow me to write whatever I'm feeling. It's very strange.

These are the main things I've been thinking about, not necessarily in order of importance:

1. Scott and all the arguing we've been doing lately ... which will end first, the arguments or the relationship?

2. Getting my license.

3. MONEY - saving enough to get the car in June; should I get a job here at school; will I make enough selling Avon;

4. Teller Training this summer - will I be accepted?

5. Moving out into an apartment of my own by Jan. 1979 (!?)

Many other things, of course, but don't really feel like listing them all. What would be the point anyway? Sooner or later I'm bound to touch on all the problems in this journal, so I don't need to start repeating myself this early.

Coming down with Cold #1,000,000 this year ... maybe that's why I've been dragging it around all day. Doug says that most colds are psychosomatic. In which case, why do I "want" to have a cold today?


This afternoon I came perilously close to losing one of the best things that has ever happened to me; meaning, of course, Scott S., the one person who means the most in the world to me outside of family. I almost took our whole relationship and threw it out the window. We had a major, tears and hysterics argument, culminating in him walking out the door. To tell you the truth, I honestly expected it to be the end. I wouldn't have been surprised if he never spoke to me again. But instead he called me about half an hour ago and everything that needed to be said was said. He is one guy in ten hundred million and I love him incredibly.



Tuesday morning

Except for my cold - and it's a bad one - things are looking "up" again. Scott and I are sitting here in the Hilton, and I feel very good about him. Somehow, some way, we've got to work out the differences that have been dividing us lately, because in the long run life is infinitely better with him than without him.

There's a song that's very popular now called "Sometimes When We Touch," by Dan Hill, and I swear that it must have been written with Scott and I in mind.  Gack.

Eating greasy chicken at Kentucky Fried. (This, apparently, being the only place where I can avoid Dwight - or anyone else, for that matter - since all I want to do for an hour is sip a Coke, have a cigarette and enjoy some solitude.)

I wish I could write about that horrible fight Scott and I had yesterday, but actually maybe it's all best left unsaid. We've had that scene many, many times before and I know that if we decide to spend the rest of our lives together, there will be many more.  We both want to see changes in the other, but neither one of us seems willing to take the initial steps toward making these changes. He wants to see me become more outgoing - I say I can't. I want him to open up to me more and quit being so callous - he says he can't. And on and on it goes.

The way I am is the way I am, isn't it? How can I change? I'd TRY if I knew how. Or would I? Maybe I don't even want to change. Hell, I just don't know. How do you go about making yourself into a brand new person, a supposedly "better" person? It probably depends on the equipment you've got to work with. (So what's wrong with my equipment? Outdated parts? Faulty wiring?!)

Scott accused me of not caring about people, of only thinking about me. You know what my reaction to that was? I ran into the bathroom and sat ME down on the edge of the tub and cried into a towel. When he tried to open the door, I held it shut and wouldn't let him in. ME was very hurt by what he'd said. I obviously can't take criticism when it hits that close to the heart. I don't even know if it's true or not. Sometimes I am very thoughtless and self-absorbed, but at other times I'm just plain shy. Unable to think of anything worthwhile to say. Scott says that I'm an "embarrassment" to him - that he always has to explain why I'm "acting like a bitch" around his friends. That really hurt me, too.

This is one way I've usually looked at myself: that it's difficult to really get to know me because I'm afraid of opening up, but that when someone does break through the barrier and take the time to get to know me, I can be very nice and understanding and easy to talk to. This is what some of my closer friends have told me I'm like. Now, though, everything that Scott said yesterday during the heat of the argument seems to refute this, and I just don't know what to believe. He's making it very hard for me to start liking myself, although I don't know if this is intentional on his part. (Or maybe it's just the handiest excuse I can find at the moment?)

Another question: how do you really start liking yourself? Maybe that's a result of becoming the person you'd like to be, or know you can be, or something like that. I guess it's all tied in together.

At this point, considering JUST the peripheral things, I would probably like myself a whole lot more if I had my license, a car and a job ... if I were 16 pounds lighter ... and financially well-off enough to move out on my own. Considering the non-peripherals, I'd like to be friendlier, more assertive, more honest, a little more in control of my emotions. That constitutes nine major areas of change. Now that I've listed the things I'd like to see improved or changed, how do I go about doing it? Obviously, the car and drivers license will be taken care of within a few months, IF I work on them steadily. The job will probably come with increased mobility (the car), and the apartment will come after the job. Right? I suppose the weight could be lost any time. (As I sit here with chicken grease on my fingers ... for shame!)

As for the non-peripherals ... hmmm. A much tougher job. How do I become friendlier? More assertive? Etc. etc. I've made an effort to talk to people more readily, and where has THAT gotten me? Stuck with an amorous "friend" (Dwight) who I can't get rid of. You can't win for losing.




Three days dead
and still alone:
Where are all my fellow sinners?

Perhaps to be in Hell is this:
to be alone.





(Whose energy? Mine?)

I don't mind being alone - it's loneliness I can't tolerate.


The mind manifests itself through the eyes."

"A dog who pleads with fleas says. 'Fleas, please flee."
Jeff S.

Today could quite possibly be the first day of the rest of my life.  On the other hand, maybe yesterday was ... or the day before that ...  or maybe March 7, 1968 was.  Who knows?


I think he (Dwight) is beginning to get the message, and although it's a definite relief, I still feel bad because I'm not going about it in a particularly nice way. I'm being a bitch. Oh well ... what can I do? I mean, he KNOWS I have a boyfriend and still he persists. What other way can I handle it?

I'm beginning to get tired of writing about Dwight.

Everything is money. I wish it weren't, but right now (today:afternoon) practically everything I need/want hinges on getting the right amount of money.

Not true! Not everything. Does love hinge on money?

To place curses, overcome illness, attract or find a mate, cast love spells, gain protection, gambling luck, induce passion, avoid injuries, prevent losses, influence Fate, increase fertility, bring financial gain, change personality, ward off evil spirits, increase business, cause insanity.



Thursday night

Watching "James At 15."


Why do I always have to "compete" when it comes to writing? Feel intimidated by a certain couple of people in my Writing class who may actually write better poetry (gasp!) than me.

(Note written here from my Writing Instructor,  Lonny Kaneko: "That's OK - but don't just hide, because you "think" they might be better. They're just different.")

Anyway ... how am I feeling tonite? Dwight has me all tied up in knots, but aside from that things are (semi) good. Real. It feels nice to be alive. Hey People, all around me - we're ALL ALIVE! Tomorrow some of us may be gone, but right now, at this very moment in time, we're all living on Planet Earth, living, breathing, thinking, self-contained but with enough room inside to hold each other, too.

I love Scott. I really do. And I love my family. I love my brother, wherever he is tonight. I love my mother (wherever SHE is tonight).

Goal: When I get the car & the license, maybe Mom and I can grow closer together? I'll be able to go over and see her more often.

Assorted Thoughts On A Thursday Night

I always make lists. I am a list-maker. When I wanted to get my ears pierced in sixth grade but Grandma wouldn't let me, I went around the school and made a list of all the girls who had pierced ears (supposedly to show Gram as PROOF POSITIVE that "everyone" really did have pierced ears). As I recall I never did show her the list, and it wasn't until I moved in with Dad that I was finally able to have it done. Funny that I should remember that.

Was it a rebellion? Was everything I did after I left Gram & Gramps a rebellion? If it was, why? Why would I want to rebel against the two people I loved most in the world? Or is that the way it is?

Something new to write about - a suggestion that Mr. Kaneko made in Writing class today - pick something painful or important in my past that I'm reminded of today, when I see certain people. Easy. Every time I see Jeff Welk and Dave T. here at school, I am painfully reminded of the Terri V everyone thought they knew in high school - the "bad girl" with the easy reputation. The awful thing is that the reputation I was forced to carry around in those days wasn't real. Jeff and Dave remind me of it because a mutual friend once told me some really terrible things that J & D said about me, and something like that sticks with you forever. *Fun fact*  --  Jeff wrote to me, after he read this old journal entry on my website, and apologized for the things he said in high school.  I now consider him a dear friend.

I guess I know why I got the reputation - I'm not bad looking and I went out with a lot of different people.  Period. That alone, apparently, was enough to give me a name.

Must continue this line of thought at another time. Must look at this Terri V. I left behind and figure out exactly why people thought of her the way they did. Must decide if I've really left her behind, or if she is still living a few inches beneath the surface.


Pre-elocution (1600's)

John Bulver, "Chirologia-Chironornia" (dealt with non-verbal communication, the natural language of the hand)


Elocutionary movement (1763-1930's)

1. "Natural school" Thomas Sheridan (what people NORMALLY do)

2. "Mechanical school" John Walker

Difference: Not degree in which they showed movements, but Walker paid more attention to vocalic communication.


About to take a very difficult Geography test that I may or may not be prepared for. HOWEVER I have learned that frantic last-minute cramming serves only to confuse, so for the next minute or so I'll write about something totally unrelated.

I had a lot of confused, jumbled-together dreams last night. They would probably make for a fairly interesting entry if I could just remember what they were. I dreamed about Steve - what a shock. I haven't had a dream about him in a long, long time and I don't even know what may have prompted it. It was really strange - made me start thinking about him in Speech class this morning.

I would like to change the storyline (of my life) ... go back and do a few things differently. Say things that should have been said - NOT say thing that shouldn't have been said.

Does that make sense?

Knowing everything I know now - today - I'd like to go back to 1970 and start things all over again.

Wouldn't everybody?

There would be a LOT of people I wouldn't listen to ... people who really screwed me over good.

Saturday night/Sunday morning

Got ridiculously high at John and Karen's tonite: so high, in fact, that for a while I couldn't do much more than sit there on the couch and look at the television and smile a lot. In a way it was fun, or maybe relaxing is a better word, but I don't really like to lose control of myself like that. Opium can really turn your head inside out.

About Dwight:

I'm really beginning to hate him, and not because he isn't a nice guy - because he is - but more because of the things he makes me do to him. (Lying, making excuses, avoiding him, etc.) I'm not and never have been the slightest bit interested in him!! So why is he knocking himself out over someone as crummy as me? I'm not even really worth it - to him, at least.

I've got a boyfriend that I love very much, and as far as I'm concerned no one else could even begin to measure up to Scott. I'm perfectly happy with him and I intend to stay that way.

Sunday afternoon. Wondering how on earth I'm going to explain myself tomorrow? Probably should just come right out & level w/him, right? (Right. I know.)

I guess that I'm just not comfortable with strange guys anymore. As long as things are strictly on a friendship level, I can handle it, but the instant anything more serious looks like it might be trying to happen, I freeze up like an iceberg.

January 29, 1978

Things I'm thinking about on Sunday night - sometimes I am easily influenced. All my life people have managed to get me to do things that seemed OK at the time, but that I regretted once I had time to step back and think about it.

Other times I'm too stubborn for my own good. I wish I could be a little more flexible when it comes to listening to other peoples' points of view.

This movie doesn't have music. ("Shaggy Dog.")

Sometimes I think that real life should be orchestrated, the way movies are. Maybe that's why I listen to so much music ... I wish that all the major events in my life had background music.

Actually, though, most of them have. I can pinpoint dozens of important periods of my life and immediately name 2 or 3 songs that I automatically associate with that time.

Falling in love with Scott: "Crimson and Clover"

Breaking up with Clarence: "Showdown"

Breaking up with Steve: "Someone Saved My Life Tonight"


Mr. Miles: Tall, lean, balding, easy grin, almost imperceptible country twang in his voice. Looks like a big, clumsy, "Aw-shucks" farm boy.


Reduced to sitting in the cafeteria this morning in order to avoid HIM. I don't really like the cafeteria: it's too noisy and too drafty.

Very rainy today ... feels like Seattle. With the exception of the ugly monstrosity that is the new library, this is a pretty campus. Overlooks the Sound: mountains in the distance. Mr. Sommarstrom (my Geog. teacher) said that most people would choose their own area of the world as the nicest place to live, and I know that's true as far as I'm concerned. I think that I would pick Seattle as my #1 favorite place to be, simply because it's all I've ever known. Something about the water, the mountains, the trees, the cultural heritage ... I even like the weather. (Wish it would snow more often, though.) Seattle makes me feel good. I'd hate to live someplace dry and arid, like Arizona or New Mexico or Texas. And I would HATE to live in a farming area, like Iowa (where Dee Dee lives). I'd also hate to live downtown. I'm strictly a suburban person.

Ten minutes before class and nothing left to write about.

When it's a toss up between what I want to do and what I should do, which is "right" and which is "wrong"? Heart or head? And how do you know which way to choose?

One thing I CAN'T STAND - people who try to read what you're writing when it is obviously personal. (Pat W.)



The Big Confrontation

I tried to be open; I tried to explain why I did what I did. Part of it came out really good, but toward the end I sort of fell apart and found myself making phony excuses, etc. Not I'm (basically) right back where I started from and things are no better. In fact, I may have made them worse. Why do I back out on myself at the last minute? Dammit, that makes me mad!!! ONE THING I HATE ABOUT TERRI VERT .... in times of stress, she cuts out on herself!!! Why does she do this? It is extremely irritating.

Although: I've gotta be good enough to at least give Terri a few "performance points" ... at least she managed to scrape together enough nerve to actually sit down with the guy, face to face, and apologize for being such a butt. That wasn't easy. It took a lot of deep breathing and encouragement from Doug to do it. (Some of his advice is irrelevant, but once in awhile he comes up with a real gem. This time he told me to relax and do it. Good advice?)

Now I've got to just relax and forget about it for awhile or else I'll give myself an ulcer. I'll go to Writing class, take the bus home afterwards, do some housework (as little as possible) and have a quiet, uneventful evening in which to recuperate.

On The Bus She Says:

Almost (but not quite) stuck my foot in my mouth in Writing class, by criticizing Linda's poetry. (Linda Jump, incredibly talented at writing poetry.)

Is My Face Red:

After I made my criticism, I sat there in my seat for the next 15 minutes and thought, "My God, what did I say THAT for?"

A fabulous person: Lonny Kaneko.  Restored my faith in my own poetry-writing ability and explained that Linda REALLY doesn't mind the criticism. Relief.

(Note written by Lonny: "She welcomes it.")


February 1, 1978

An umbrella day. Wind, rain, soggy feet. I hold my new umbrella against the rain and pray (silently) that this wind won't tug it inside out in front of All These People. The bus is five minutes late and the bus fare in my hand - two nickels and two dimes - is becoming very warm.

This is a new bus driver. He doesn't look at us as we climb aboard and deposit our fares - he is looking out the window ahead of him, vacantly. We give him our money and take our seats in silence. No one has a name here. We sit, one to a seat. ten to a row, bovine-like, soundless. The bus lurches and leaps and takes to the highway, and I begin looking out the window. I have a book in my lap but no one reads on this bus. We watch the cars crawling below us, and we catch our reflection in an occasional store window, and we think how ridiculous we must look to people standing at the curb.

Ten minutes and fifteen stops later, an elderly nun makes her way down the aisle and takes the seat in front of me. I have never been this close to a nun before, and I look at the back of her head. Her hair is iron gray and clipped very short beneath her cap, and she has a mole on her neck. A mole with one thin hair sticking out of it. I lean closer - I didn't know that nuns were allowed to have moles. I wonder why this nun isn't smiling, or reading a Bible, or holding a rosary. Instead she, like all of us, sits expressionlessly and stares out the window at nothing.

A boy and girl climb aboard at the next stop. He is very tall and foolish-looking, and she is very short and round and foolish-looking, and they are holding hands. He pays their fare and she turns to look at the people on the bus. She sees the nun, and a moment later her boyfriend sees her too, and they stop holding hands. They don't look at the nun as they walk past her, but they take a seat in the very back, and later when I look at them they are sitting very close together and they are both looking out the window.

Half an hour later the bus is crawling toward my stop and I reach above me and pull the cord and the bell rings. As I walk toward the front the bus sways, unexpectedly. I stumble against the nun and my books fall to the floor and the contents of my open purse fall and scatter. "Dammit!" I say without thinking, and the nun is handing me my compact. I don't look at her face, but stuff everything back into my purse and gather my books and get off the bus as quickly as possible.


Afternoon. I take a piece of posterboard and a black felt pen and a red crayon, and I make a chart. It is shaped like a very large thermometer, and at the top it says "Nine hundred dollars." This is my goal. Then, with the red crayon, I color in the mercury, stopping at the $25 point. Actually, I have $26.38, but I round it out for the sake of neatness. I put the chart on my bedroom door and sit on my bed to look at it. Seeing it hanging there, I realize how very little $25 really is, and suddenly I feel very depressed, and I take the chart down and stuff it into my closet behind my laundry basket and go make a sandwich.


Later I show the chart to my father and he says "This is how much you need to buy the car."  (Not a question but a statement.) And then he says, "And this includes all the money you'll need for insurance and everything." I nod and say "Yes," but of course I never thought of that and now I fold the chart in two and put it back into the closet and make another sandwich.

February 2, 1978

I. Thursday morning and wondering where does all my money GO? Today is Kim's 18th birthday and I had to borrow money from Scott yesterday to buy her presents. Remembering the night of my 18th birthday - December 15th, 1976, senior in high school. Beach Boys concert at the Coliseum w/Rhonda, Debbie, Mark and Greg. Got very high, sat on Greg's lap during the ride home (no room elsewhere). Came home from the concert and looked in the mirror - "do I look any different?" - but of course I didn't.

It's funny how we can't see ourselves change. I suppose one day you look at yourself in the mirror and see those first wrinkles or gray hairs, but you don't really notice them happening until they're there.

2. Rehearsal. In one hour (if all goes right) I will say something to the effect of the following: "I don't know how to say this without hurting your feelings, but ..." (and this is where I'll probably falter)

February 3, 1978

I. Scott is angry with her and came looking for her in the Hilton. ("I thought you said you were coming!") Now her good mood has dissolved and she doesn't know how to make it up to him.

2. She wrote a letter to the editor of the college paper and now she feels awful because she knows, with all certainty, that it will be printed and it was just a joke anyway, written to forget the ugly scene with Scott.

3. On a scale of 1 to 10, the guys in the newspaper office gave her a 9.17. Naturally all she can think about is what's wrong with the other 1.83 of her ... ?

4. Very quiet. Wondering about things. Class is going on all around me but I am somewhere else. Why is it that 60 seconds' worth of argument can wipe out a whole days' worth of good mood?


Sunday night

Reading "Go Ask Alice" for about the millionth time, and I think it's kinda funny that a book that's supposed to be preaching against drugs actually ends up making them sound so great that I want to go right out and smoke a joint. I wonder if the people who write about the "dangers" of drugs realize how people are reacting to their descriptions of the drugs & what they do.


Feb. 6, 1978

Monday morning

Look good today, feel (relatively) good as well. The two usually go hand in hand. When I look awful I feel awful, and vice versa. Scott's first class has been cancelled and he's sitting here in the Hilton with me. Dwight is making an obvious point of ignoring the two of us, and I'm so glad.

People are talking to me a lot more lately, and I can't seem to figure it out. Have I changed, or have they? I know that the entire collective human race couldn't have suddenly decided that Terri V. is a worthwhile person after all, so I guess maybe it is me who has done the changing. But when? And how?

Finished reading "Alice" and will now begin "I Never Promised You A Rose Garden" by Hannah Green, recommended by my Anthro teacher. Got it for 25 cents yesterday at a secondhand store. Scott and I spent a good part of the day browsing through the Flea Market and Value Village, looking for secondhand books and records. As usual, I spent more money than I should have and now I'm almost broke and I won't be paid for another 12 days and the car is looking farther and farther away. MONEY. Why is it that some people have more than they need, and other people don't have enough? That's one of the most unfair facts of life - that, and loving and not being loved in return, or being hemmed in by circumstances beyond your control. Who was it that said "Life is what happens to you when you're making other plans?" Boy, is that true. Practically all of the really big, important things that have happened to me - things that have changed my life in some way - have kind of dropped on my head unexpectedly, without any warning, and many times completely contrary to my "plans." For instance. If I hadn't been in the Glacier High School cafeteria at 11:30 on February 27, 1976, I would probably not be sitting here right now, going with Scott. That morning I met Joada, and we became friends, and she later influenced me to go out with Scott. That wasn't planned.

Here's another one: if I had gone to the wedding I was invited to in June 1975, instead of staying home, I never would have met Steve P., and I would have avoided a lot of shit and heartache that influence the way I feel about some things still, today.

It's funny how one random, seemingly unimportant decision can have so much bearing on future events  ...  how it can even change your whole life. Kinda makes you wonder if you should stop taking everyday decisions lightly. Who knows? Maybe deciding to walk to the store one afternoon for a loaf of bread will somehow affect who your children will be someday.

I. Sitting In Class

Half-listening to an argument about stoned thinking vs. straight thinking, but today my body is here and my mind isn't. I am very hungry but today is the first day of my new diet and I'm determined to fight the hunger pangs and lose the entire 13 pounds I need to lose.

II. Sitting in the Hilton

Doug is forcing me to eat a salad, and actually I don't mind because I'm starved. (Observation: plain lettuce is quite similar in taste/texture to wet newspaper.) Now he is forcing me to put dressing on my wet newspaper ... dressing is "fattening." He can really be a pushy guy. Pushy isn't the word. How about obnoxious?

What I'm going to do: Find pictures and captions to describe them all, and a collage to describe me. Dad, Mom, Dick, Gram, Gramps, Debby Jeanne, Scott.

Tuesday morning

Sitting (alone) in the Hilton. Scott is in a really foul mood because of something that happened at work this morning (he won't say what). As for me, I feel practically the polar opposite of yesterday ... I look awful, I feel semi-crummy, and I have this feeling that 2/7/78 is probably not going to be the best day I ever had.


What a crummy attitude! Today wasn't as awful as I predicted, although I got the first migraine I've had in a long time, but that more or less because I was out delivering Avon in the wind and rain, under a lot of pressure.

The Number Man

The Number Man is peddling up the hill
and the raff and the bindlestiff follow,
bidding for his sums and quotients like
goodwives at the counter.

He sings of rational and radical
while the populations swell and divide about him;
the ruck and the rout, begging and bartering
for a single digit to carry home.

There is small comfort in his numbers
yet the ragtag and the bobtail cry for what he offers -
some small comfort in the divisor
and the dividend.

The Number Man is pedaling up the hill
and the vagrant and the vagabond dicker and deal
for his sums and quotients,
for any comfort, even in numbers.


Today we set Joey free
And his dragons did not follow him.
They stayed behind to guard the hills and turrets
And watch the quartermoon for signs of his return.

One day Joey will come back
But it will not be to this hand which loosed him;
Rather, it will be to those things he loved best -
His temples and his towers,
And his dragons

They who loved the boy
And watched him take his leave without sighing,
Knowing that he who loves dragons
Must return to them.

Why is it that I always attract the kind of guy-friends that want to smother me with concern? Doug is trying to play mother-hen in his not so subtle fashion, and I can feel part of myself resisting that kind of intrusion into my life. If I so much as put a caffeine pill into my mouth, or skip lunch, or miss a class, or look particularly tired one morning, I'm immediately under fire. I really like him, but for all his pseudo-intellectual talk and attitude, he's really not that bright and I can't really take things he says too seriously. Once I started listening to what he was actually saying. I realized that he isn't as tuned-in as he likes to pretend he is.


Why do I automatically:

  • Go down the stairs instead of the ramps?
  • Sit on the left side of the bus?
  • Automatically brush my hair when I walk into a classroom?
  • Sit with my back to the door?

Can you love and hate a person at the same time? Or is it more a matter of envy/jealousy - resentment over something - resentment/need - resentment over the NEED that it there, whether you want it to be or not?

People are lonely because of internal barriers, preventing them from reaching out and saying "Hey, I want you for a friend." We don't understand our needs, so a lot of our behavior is neurotic - need-fulfillment - anxiety=tension in the body

I must have a lot of suppressed anger or resentment inside of me. About what, I don't know. But it's manifesting itself in violent headaches, nausea and moodiness whenever I'm at home & Dad is around. I wish I knew what it was all about.

I. Afternoon (Barely)

Sitting in the Hilton, as usual. The rainstorm that caused power outages in the state last night has gradually let up and the sun is shining again. When I get home I think I'll drag my ancient Socker-Boppers out of the hall closet and punch myself out - or a wall, or a chair, or whatever is handy at the time. I have this terrific need to get all this pent-up anger or frustration or whatever it is out of my system, and to start using my free time (what there is of it) in more creative ways. Yesterday I sat on my bed for most of the afternoon and evening and couldn't move ... couldn't write, couldn't read, couldn't concentrate. I wish I could figure out what's BOTHERING me. It could be one of several things:

1. Anger and resentment because Dad is home on vacation this whole week, leaving me with no time to myself, no privacy.

2. Frustration because I'm not making any progress money-wise, and the car is very important to me but seems like I'll never be able to actually afford it.

3. Confusion. The same tired old question of  Where is my life going and what can I do to start making necessary changes (the same thing that has made me periodically depressed for three or four years, or whenever it was that I started caring about things like that).

4. Anger about the relationship with Scott. But why anger? Maybe frustration instead? The longer we stay together, the more differences we seem to discover. "How can I marry someone who doesn't like seafood?" Dumb little things like that, as well as bigger differences, like our positions on the womens movement, children, traditional womens roles,etc. Outwardly things seem very smooth between us, but there areconflicts beneath the surface that may or may not be too big to resolve.

I would hate to marry him and then discover, "My God he was serious, he really DOES expect me to stay home and do the housework!"

About Scott. I really do love him, you know, but the conflicts we have make it hard to have a really good relationship. I don't think it's entirely hopeless -- someday we may be able to resolve them, if we try hard enough. But as it stands now, we've got a lot of work ahead of us if we ever want to get married or make some other significant commitment. I've got to realize some important things about him that are just a part of his character, unchangeable ... just like he's got to understand that I could never be happy or fulfilled playing fulltime housewife and mother. That's just what I don't want to do with my life. I'm not radically feminist, but I care enough about the role of women in society to expect to be treated as an equal. I refuse to live under anybody's thumb just because I'm a woman.

You know, that was one of my biggest complaints about my old church - the way the pastors and the youth leaders and the entire hierarchy of the church preached that a woman's role was to serve her husband - to build him up - to do whatever he says - to live under his thumb. I got very hot about the subject whenever it came up at Bible Study meetings or on retreats, and I really resisted it. I'm still resisting it. In my kind of marriage one person simply can't be the "leader" and the other the "follower." I realize that that usually happens anyway - one person is the parent-figure, the other the child-figure - but I resent the implication that the roles must never reverse themselves. That's what my church believes, and that's what I can't buy. The roles HAVE to reverse themselves! That's the only way it could work for me! If I felt particularly strong in a certain situation and sensed that my husband felt particularly uncertain, I would naturally expect him to step aside and let me be the parent figure and handle that situation, without any fear of loss to his "male ego" or whatever - and vice versa, letting him handle situations that I couldn't cope with. And, my God, I don't mean that he should handle the money exclusively, and that I take the household and the children ... I don't mean that at all. It shouldn't be a natural assumption that simply because I'm the wife I should be chief diaper changer and bottle washer. It should be a mutual, sharing thing. If he doesn't do his share, then it won't get done and that's that.

I suppose if I knew more about Womens Lib I could quote some handy facts or something, but I know how I feel and that's how I'm going to live my life.

(Isn't it amazing how much we think we know at twenty?)


Holes in my shirt ... how embarrassing. Now I'm going to be afraid to MOVE.

One hour later:

I've got an hour to kill and nothing to do, nothing good to write about. I hate long stretches of empty time like this. I'm really hungry and am considering buying a doughnut or something, but the rational part of me keeps reminding the hungry part that we can't afford the calories OR the expense. Sometimes the rational part of me is a real pain in the neck.

Week's end is almost here. Tonight, or rather this afternoon, Scott and Jerry and I are going out to John and Karen's for a steak dinner. I just hope we don't get all burned out too early, like we ended up doing last time. That was really a drag.

(Hoping that this little man sitting directly across from me isn't going to try and strike up a conversation. He has that look on his face, and I'm not really in the mood to talk to strangers. Maybe my experience with D. has turned me off of talking to older-men types.)

Anthropology 11:00

I spent two hours in the Hilton this morning, skipping two classes (Speech, Geography). Guess I'm not in a school mood today. I would probably have skipped this class, too, but Scott asked me to get notes from Pat W. from their Business Law class.

Overslept this morning for the second day in a row, dammit!! I'm not over-tired or anything, so I can't understand what the problem is. My body has been rebelling against itself lately and it's very disconcerting.

My GOD!! What a dumb thing to say! Asking Doug if he's "deaf or something," and finding out he is! In one ear! Terminal foot-in-mouth disease.


I. Monday morning

Brilliantly sunny today. Heard "Good Day Sunshine" on the radio during the ride to school this morning and felt like flying. Very, very UP for this week. Dad has gone back to work, and I'll be able to have some privacy in the afternoons again. Beautiful. Tomorrow is Valentines Day, Scott and I are going to The Raintree for dinner with his Mom & Dad. The Goodwill truck is coming tomorrow to haul away the boxes & boxes of old junk, books and clothes mainly, that have been cluttering my closet and my life, leaving me with lots and lots of room to start collecting new junk. Little things today are making me feel relatively happy and at peace with myself and with the world.

Of course the one constant, nagging worry in my life is the money situation, and wanting that car so much that it hurts. I've even started dreaming about it nights.

Spring is coming ... isn't that great? And after spring, summer, and all the seasons for the rest of my life. Today I'm not even afraid of getting older. That seems so far removed. I feel like I'll probably be twenty forever.

You know what's funny to think about? When my mother was my age , she'd been married for four years and given birth to three children already. By this time her marriage to Dad was already falling apart. What a sad thought. I wish I knew my mother better - that we were close enough to talk about things, like her marriage to Dad and why they got a divorce and what that felt like. I feel like I should know these things. I'd like to know what I was like as a baby   ...  whether she was really happy when I was born   ...  if I was a good baby. I want to know if she loves me, I guess.

I think that deep down inside I'm probably very angry and hurt that my mother didn't raise me. I'm also probably jealous that Debby Jeanne is now getting all the attention that I never got from our mother. I feel almost like an intruder when I'm with the two of them ... they're so close. Mom calls Debby her "shadow," and they go everywhere and do everything together. It doesn't seem fair, somehow. What have I missed, growing up without my mother?

I was lucky that I had Grandma Vert, at least, to raise me as a sort of surrogate mother. In a lot of ways I'm much closer to Gram that I ever could be to Mom, because Gram is the one who raised me and listened to me and scolded me and made me a lot of what I am. Gram was all the things in my life that my mother should have been, but couldn't be.

(But why couldn't she? Why doesn't she reach out to me now and try to close the gap between us?? Dammit, that hurts.)

II. In The Cafeteria

Should be in Anthropology class but I'm not, so I won't make a bunch of excuses. For some reason I just don't feel like going to class lately, and that's all there is to it. That first feeling of spring is in the air, and all my scholastic energy seems to be fading. If I could do anything I wanted to do right now, I'd be at the Pike Place Market with a camera and $500 worth of spending money in my pocket. What a fantasy. Wouldn't that be great?? I could buy all the handmade jewelry and handpainted sheets and silk-screened stationery and old movies posters I wanted.


Valentines Day. What can I say? Hearts and flowers, Cupid, boxes of chocolates, will you be mine?



Very depressed. I guess I let myself get too "high" emotionally last night over the prospect of getting that job, and now (today) I'm having the emotional hangover that goes with it. I called the place this morning and they said they would "call." If that weren't discouraging enough, the girl I talked to said they need someone to type and use an adding machine. An adding machine?? God, I don't stand a chance. I'm probably the singularly WORST person at numbers & anything remotely connected to numbers.

I have a feeling that even the slightest irritations today (DOUG) are going to make me blow up.


God I feel rotten.


God I still feel rotten.

When does it end? I've been in a fairly good mood for the past month or so - this is the first day that I've really allowed myself to be down in the dumps over anything. Maybe I deserve it. Maybe I'll feel better when I get home, but I doubt it. Something very traumatic happened at home this morning, too traumatic to talk about. (WHAT DID SHE SEE WHEN SHE WALKED INTO THE HALLWAY?? I KNOW.)

I guess this must have been the time I walked into the hallway and saw my dad emerging naked from the bathroom. I was horribly traumatized at the time, but now it seems like no big deal.




Infinitely better. Whatever was wrong with me yesterday seems to have disappeared with a good nights' sleep. Scott is in a terrific mood because they've voted to go union at Van Daal, and that helps. After school today we're going to go downtown and see how the Fat Tuesday celebrations are going. (He has half a lid of Columbian!!) I'm still not speaking to Dad, which probably sounds childish, but lately we've been rubbing each other the wrong way almost continually and I can't take it.

Got an invitation to Christy's wedding on Saturday, but I won't be able to go because I've already got plans, but I suppose I'll send her some kind of gift or something. Seems strange to see Chris getting married. Another former friend taking a big, irrevocable step. We've come a long way since Camp Waskowitz in sixth grade. I don't think I'm envious, really, so much as puzzled ... When will I start taking some of those "big irrevocable steps" everybody else seems to be taking  ...  ?




Didn't go downtown yesterday - went to Burien instead - but we plan to spend most of the day down there tomorrow. Happy, sort of. About to take a Geog. test.

Took the test - don't think I did very well. Dammit!! Sitting in the corridor of my nest class; the whole building smells like stew or something, cooking in the Home Ec room downstairs. Guess I didn't realize that I'm really very hungry.

Have to sit home tonite - Scott is going out with "the boys." He gave me some of his Columbian, though, so maybe it won't be so bad. Get high, listen to music, eat, write ridiculous poetry or something. I used to really resent sitting home on nights when Scott didn't want to go out, but now I don't really care. Maybe I'm secure enough now, or something like that. Besides, we have all day tomorrow together, so I'll probably LIVE.

On the bus:

Catching cold. What will I do tonight for entertainment? Sniffles. Owe letters to people ... Rudy, Dee Dee, Karen, Janet, Georgia. Why haven't I been able to write letters lately?



Monday Night

An Account of the Weekend.

My three day weekend is all over, but it's been really good. Scott and I spent a lot of time together. Saturday we went and spent the day downtown, celebrating Fat Tuesday with the rest of Seattle ... watched the parade, walked around listening to street performers ("Professor Chumley and Brodie, Dog of the Future!"), watching people in weird costumes and makeup, had a generally cold time. It was cold and raining and I had a cold, but that didn't bother me too much. Sunday was a REALLY fun day. Sun shining, felt like spring, and Scott and I got in the car and drove around, doing whatever we felt like doing. We did some "second-handing" at Value Village ... took some Kentucky Fried Chicken down to Saltwater Park and had a makeshift picnic by a stream ... went to the Swap Meet for more second-handing ... stayed at his house until late, watching TV and eating hamburgers. Finally, today, Joann and Kim took me out driving down by Southcenter and on the freeway, and then I practiced some parallel parking on their dead-end street with Scott. I feel tired, happy, ready (sort of) to go back to school.


1. Get license

2. Buy car

3. Finish school

4. Find job

5. Move out

6. Marry Scott

7. Two children

8. Write books

9. Grandchildren

10. Death

11. Life

Sounds so clinical and depressing when you put the rest of your life into a list like that, doesn't it? Maybe people shouldn't plan their lives. It looks so measly on paper.

I want to have two children. If Scott is the father, I want them to look a great deal like him - facial structure, hair texture, eye color, etc. Ideally I would like to have a daughter first and then a son, and I would like to give them fairly unusual, unisex names. I want them to be liberated kids, raised without the ridiculous notion that girls play one way & boys play another way ... that boys are "tough" and girls are "delicate" and all that other male superiority crap. I want my kids to be free enough to realize that people are PEOPLE, and that no one sex Is "better" than the other.

I wonder what kind of mother I'll be. One thing: I don't intend to quit working in order to spend every waking moment w/my kids. I'm never going to be housebound UNLESS that's what I choose to do. For instance - if my writing career were to take off and I found it easier to work at home. I'd like to be a good mother, though. I want my kids to like me, to be proud of who and what I am.

My parents loved each other at one time, but things just fell apart for them and they couldn't provide Dick and I with the kind of home I'm sure they had planned to. I'm sure it must have been devastating for them to break up and give us to Grandma and Grandpa. I don't resent them for it, at least not consciously, but deep down inside I know I must feel something. Subconsciously I probably resent it very much. The whole time I was growing up with Grandma & Grandpa, I wondered what it was like to grow up within a "real" family structure, with both parents, the way all my friends did. I felt left out, almost embarrassed, because even though I loved Grandma & Grandpa they were two generations older than us & sometimes couldn't see things the way younger adults would. It as almost as though they were trying to raise their own children all over again, circa 1945, and that put a great strain on Dick and I. We wanted to be just like the other kids, but we couldn't entirely because Grandma & Grandpa were trying to bring us up the same way they had brought up their own children 30 years earlier. That was hard to deal with.

When I was a little girl I worshipped my father. I thought he was the biggest, strongest, handsomest Daddy in the world - that everything he did or said was wonderful. I didn't see him much, particularly during the years he lived in Ellensburg, but I wrote him letters and he came to visit once in awhile. Once he came from Ellensburg for the weekend, and on Sunday afternoon when it was time for him to leave we sat in Grandma & Grandpa's front yard and I asked him not to go, to stay and let me live with him forever. He said he couldn't - he was going to school in Ellensburg so he could be a teacher someday. "Can I be in your class?" I asked him, and he said "Maybe." Then he gave me a half-dollar and got in his big green car and drove away. I stood in the yard and watched him drive away until he was out of sight.

Later, when he dropped out of school and came back to Seattle to live, I saw him almost every Sunday. Those were exciting, important days for me. Dad would come out and pick up Dick and I and take us for the whole day. We'd go down to the waterfront and explore places like Ye Olde Curiosity Shoppe (where he would always buy us stick candy) or Trident Imports, or we'd go to the Seattle Center and go on rides and look around the International Bazaar, or we'd go to Green Lake for picnics and walks along the shore. Sometimes we would go to the Flea Market in Federal Way, usually ending up at Shakey's for pepperoni pizza. Once in a while he would take us overnight - we would go to a drive-in movie and then spend the night at his apartment. Those Sundays were very special to me, and on the rare occasions when he couldn't make it, I would be devastated for days and days.

During those years I called him every night, right after dinner, and told him about my day - what happened at school, any problems I was having at home, etc. Whenever there were conflicts between Grandma and I, I could always count on Dad to intervene and take my part in the argument. I remember one time in particular, when Grandma wouldn't let me go to junior high school dances. I wrote Dad a letter about it, and he must have done something because soon afterward Grandma started allowing me more in the way of privileges. Dad made Grandma understand that I was growing up, and that it was the 1970's - not the 1940's.

Now that I've lived with Dad for nearly six years, he isn't nearly the godlike figure I once made him out to be. I suppose that's natural, but in a way it's sad. Sometimes I really can't stand him. Everything he does seems to rub me the wrong way. It's funny, but the whole time I was growing up with Grandma & Grandpa , Dad was the one who was pushing at them to let me grow up - now he is the one who's trying to hold me back. He wants me to be his little girl permanently, and I'm resisting that, and that's where most of the problems begin.


What can I write about? (I'm tired of writing about my father.) Feeling very quiet, sleepy, pensive. "Soap" is on TV, the house is relatively clean and quiet, and so am I.

God is in His Heaven and all's right with Terri V.'s world.

Spring is in the air, more and more every day -- I was just getting used to winter!

Scott's List

1. Girlfriend
2. Friends
3. Personal life
4. Parents
5. Home
6. Job
7. Future
8. Good times & fun
9. Car
10. Clothes
11. School
12. Church
13. Sports

My List

1. Boyfriend
2. Future
3. Car
4. Job
5. Personal life
6. Fun & good times
7. Home
8. School
9. Friends
10. Clothes
11. Parent
12. Church
13. Sports


I think that the differences in our lists (this was a class assignment) show that Scott is more concerned with the people in his life - me, his friends, his parents - and I'm more concerned with my life, with me. That doesn't necessarily mean that I'm self-centered or anything, but that I'm trying to figure out where I'm going. I really care about my future and where I'm going to be in ten years. Sometimes I think I worry about it too much - feeling like I'm trapped here in February 1978, like things will never start changing. My perspective isn't always what it should be.

I want that car so much because it will be a BIG change. It will give me more in the way of freedom, more mobility. It will probably make it easier to find a job since I won't have to count on the bus taking me everywhere. I won't be forced to stay home all the time; and maybe when I finally have the car, Dad will recognize me as the 20 year old I am instead of the 14 year old he'd like to have me remain.

Another giant change I'm impatient for: moving out on my own. Sometimes I get so frustrated with my financial inability to move out, it tears me apart ... makes me feel like a baby, still depending on Daddy for everything. My two best friends, Karen and Rhonda, have both moved out and I feel like the odd person out. I want to live alone for awhile, in my own apartment - free to come and go as I please, free to do anything I want w/o the ever-present Parental Authority Figure looking over my shoulder and screaming at me to wash the dishes, go to my room, "turn that radio DOWN!" ...

I don't really want a roommate, unless the financial obligations make it necessary; I want to be alone, all alone, with plenty of time and space to grow and become my own person. (That isn't unreasonable, is it?)

* * * PREDICTION * * *
(Based on nothing more than hope - wild, desperate HOPE):

I'll be out of this dump and into my own place by February, 1979. Exactly one year from now. Oh please, God ... if You're sitting in Your Heaven listening to this little person with her hopes and dreams, please help her achieve her puny little goals. Help her get her license and the car by summer ... help her find a good job by fall ... and help her be moved out by this time next year! That's not asking too much, is it?

It will be a long, long time before Scott and I get married. We've talked about it, we've argued about it, we've laughed about it, we've cried about it, and we know that we've each got to experience some measure of independence before we commit ourselves permanently to each other. He wants to live on his own first just as much as I do, and of course I understand that. At this point we'd probably kill each other if we tried it now - even just living together. We both have too much growing up to do. Maybe if Mom and Dad had felt this way when they were our age, things would have worked out differently for them.

If I get some kind of good job, sometime this year, I probably won't come back to school in the fall. Grandma will hate that idea - she has big plans for me to go to Western - and Dad will probably make a scene about it, but school just isn't doing me good. My grades aren't any better than they were in high school, and neither is my motivation. In those respects maybe I never even left high school at all.

Everyone around me is in a good mood - I'm kind of on the outside looking in today. Something I seem to do a lot of lately.

1. Read Geog. Chapter 12

2. Study map



Something I "should" be doing - calling Mrs. Holstein and apologizing for screwing up her Avon order ... but I just don't have the nerve. WAIT! I DID IT! I scraped the nerve together and did it!

Skimming through the Highline Times. Marla S. is getting married April 22. God. What does that make, about the billionth old friend who has taken the plunge since graduation?? Chris just got married last weekend; Dan and Marita are getting married in May. I don't know how I feel about all this. Not left out, exactly, but kind of out of the loop. I suppose this will be happening to me for the rest of my life - friends marrying, having children, dying, whatever. It's a strange, strange feeling.




Sitting in the Hilton, waiting for Scott to finish registering and come join me. Gray, misty day, beginning to feel overwhelmed by all the homework I've got. How am I going to learn all 50 states, plus the 25 largest cities, by tomorrow?? PLUS review the whole Geography book, PLUS organize my notes, PLUS read Chapter 12, PLUS get 8,000 words done for Writing? God. I feel like I'm back in high school. See what I mean? I'm still worrying about the same dumb things I used to sweat over back at good ol' GHS.



I've been studying states and principal cities and maps until I could SCREAM. And the infuriating part is knowing that I'll still probably do lousy on the test. Life is so unfair.

After Test

Too hi to even care about dumb things like Geography tests ... I've gone down about 5 levels and keep flashing myself to a ski lodge on a snowy mountaintop, early in winter. Cold.


I'm back, in all respects. Don't know why I got high this morning, but it wasn't a very good idea. Now I feel quiet and withdrawn and I'll probably just sit there in Writing class, staring at the walls. I feel really weird. I've got to call my Avon people tonite, dammit. That is really a hassle. Don't know what I'll be doing this weekend - probably nothing. God, I wish I could just crawl into bed with a candy bar or something. Maybe I'll go home now. Highly tempted!! Almost did it!! But CAN'T!!


No inner resolve - not a shred. Here I am sitting on the bus, getting ready to go home. To do what? To get higher? Fall asleep? Eat? I so often do things without thinking them through all the way first. Now I'll probably be all burned out tonight, great. If I go out, I'll fall asleep - if I stay home, I'll fall asleep. Either way I've got one heck of a thrilling evening ahead of me.

Put on a sweatshirt & an old pair of jeans and brave the rain to walk over and see Grandma .. ?


Sitting in bed, late at night, preparing to go to sleep, having one final cigarette. It is raining very hard outside. Scott and I went to the drive-in tonight - we saw "Beyond & Back," a hokey little National Enquirer-level movie that "PROVES that there is LIFE after DEATH!", and "Audrey Rose" ... a reincarnation film festival. Despite the cold and rain, it was very pleasant - the Colt has reclining seats and lots of leg room, and with the heater and the rain visor it was really very warm and comfortable. We smoked a couple of joints and were pleasantly high most of the evening.

When Scott brought me home and we were parked for a minute in my driveway, he held me in his arms for a minute and I couldn't help but say, "It feels so good to be loved." Until that moment I don't think I ever consciously put that thought into words. It's a feeling that I've felt in my heart for a long time, of course, but just one of those things that you don't THINK about. I mean, you know you love, and you know you're being loved in return, but the actual pleasure that it brings isn't something I've ever put into words. It's just a feeling that you accept.

I've been with him for two years now. What a very long time. Oh, I know that in the face of lifetimes, two years doesn't amount to much - but it's the longest that I've actually been with one person, and that certainly counts for something. The truly happy part is that it's only the beginning. Knowing that we may have a lifetime together is a very satisfying, fulfilling feeling.

There's so much more I would like to write about, my head is swirling with thoughts, but I'm tired. I think I'll just huddle here under the blankets for a while and listen to the rain before I fall asleep.


Tired. Had a full day of housework, and now all I feel like doing is sitting here in bed and relaxing. Nice weekend. Last night Scott and I went to Leonard and Tracy's for one last party before they move out of their house - 20-25 people, lots of beer and talk. Scott and I left at 11 so we could come to my house and watch "Saturday Night Live," cooked a box of frozen french fries, eventually fell asleep on my bed. I woke up at 5 a.m., the TV was still on but Scott was gone - he left a couple hrs. earlier while I was asleep.



Today is Dick's 19th birthday, but since he's in jail downtown I won't be able to see him or take him a present or anything until Visiting Day next Sunday. I hope he doesn't think I've forgotten him. I love him so much, and would never intentionally hurt him. Too many OTHER people have done that.

Not feeling so great today, for no particular reason. I just feel kind of quiet and withdrawn, sort of like retreating away from the world for a while.


Got a disappointing grade on my Geog. mid-term. This is one of those days where the slightest little thing could set me off. Dad is home today and tomorrow - another irritation. I can't stand it when he's home. We seem to get along fine as long as we never see each other, ha ha. Oh God, I feel low today. I look terrible, I feel terrible, I'm yelling at people left and right, and there's no refuge, not even at home. No where to go and get away. There's always something to worry about, to fight against, to struggle with. Doug is driving me crazy with his ceaseless, mindless talking, talking, talking. He never shuts up, not for a minute, and sometimes I feel like telling him to just shut up and go away and take his rotten poetry and his family problems and his personal life with him and LEAVE ME ALONE. I can't stand it when I have to continually EXPLAIN myself to somebody - always having to make excuses.

Two stupid things I'm trying to do - save money, lose weight - and nothing could be harder. Every time I get a little money saved or lose a pound, something happens to make me fall on my face & blow it all. Maybe that's what's making me feel so frustrated and unable to get things done. The more I fail, the more frustrated I get, and the harder it is to get up and try again.

("All you're having is Tab? Is that going to be enough?" Example of typical Doug The Mother-Hen question.)



Tuesday morning

Feeling like I could easily die from cramps this morning. No wonder I've been feeling so rotten the past couple days. Sometimes being female is a big pain in the neck. Guys have it soft compared to this crap.

Last night I was looking over this journal and thinking of things I could write about, and it made me realize something that isn't too comforting ... I would rather write about things that have already happened to me in the past (my childhood, high school, etc.), or things that are going to happen to me (getting the car, moving out, getting married) than about the things that are happening to me now. What does that suggest about my life right now? Nothing even remotely interesting to write about?

Continuing that thought ... it isn't just when I'm writing about experiences, either, but also when I'm writing about feelings that I seem to stick basically to the past or the future. When I do write about what I'm feeling at the present moment is usually in relation to some feeling I've had before. Does that make sense? At any rate, I should make some kind of conscious effort to deal more with the present than I have been.

My usual lunch companions have all deserted me in favor of the free Magi concert in the Student Lounge.


Thursday morning. Spring is here. Wearing my first "warm weather shirt" of the year, a definite indication. We probably have more rainy stuff to endure before spring/pre-summer is actually here, but for all intents & purposes, it's here.

I finally have enough credits to officially be a college SOPHOMORE. But God, it's taken me five quarters to do it, and I still have 41 credits to go. Divided into 15 credits per quarter, that's 3 more quarters. Shit. I may still be sitting here in the Hotdog Hilton one year from now. What a horrible thought. I hate school. I enjoy being around the people and all that - infinitely better than sitting home, rotting away - but I can't handle the homework!! I spent 5-1/2 hours on homework yesterday; I started when I got home and didn't finish until 8:00. And the depressing part is knowing that tonight I'll probably have to do it all over again. It never ends!

Had a humiliating experience in Writing.


Upset. (Very.)

Scott isn't speaking to me because - are you ready for this? - I lost his paper clip at school today. Yes, you read that correctly - his paper clip. Actually, it was a very "special" paper clip; he had it bent just the right way, so that when you spin it on a flat surface, it spins for a long time. He had that paper clip for over a month, and I managed to lose it in one afternoon. Now he's mad at me. Losing that special paper clip showed GROSS NEGLIGENCE on my part. I don't THINK ABOUT HIS THINGS. I'm CARELESS, UNTHINKING, INSENSITIVE and not worth bothering with. In fact, I'm not even worth talking to on the phone - he hung up the phone in my ear, twice, when I tried to apologize.

God damn him. For someone who is always yelling at me to stop being a "baby," he's certainly setting a rotten example. I've never in my life seen anyone overreact as violently over something as trivial. It was incredible.

For all his good qualities - and he has a few - Scott can be the most irritating, exasperating, entirely self-engrossed person I've ever known, and I've just about reached my limit. Right now I doubt that I even LIKE him, let alone love him.


Phone rings.

Terri: "Hello."

Scott (voice semi-disguised): "Yes ... is my ex-sweetheart there?"

Terri: "No, she isn't." (Hangs up)

A few minutes later.  Terri calls Scott.

Scott: "Hello."

Terri: "How do you like THAT?"

Scott: "I don't. Don't do it again."

Terri: "Don't YOU do it again."

Scott: "Do you want to get punched?"

Terri: "No."

Scott: "Then don't tell me not to do it again." (Hangs up)

Several minutes pass. Terri waits. And waits.


I have no backbone ... at least, not when it comes to Scott. All he has to do is say "I'm sorry, Sweetheart," and that's it. I can't stay mad at him. He called back and apologized and that was the end of it. I love him, I really do, in spite of everything. In spite of the arguments, and the crying, and everything. When Scott is being his normal, sweet self, there isn't anyone in the world who can compete with him. I've just got to learn to handle his occasional bad moods a little better (and I've got to find that stupid PAPER CLIP).


I found it. I can't believe it, but I found his stupid paper clip this morning, on the floor of my Writing classroom.

What do other people argue about? What did I fight about with other boyfriends? I can't remember. It must not have been important.

Sitting in class, but am only here physically. Mr. Campbell is talking about Janov's Primal Revolution; I'm sitting in the back of the classroom, writing. Pat W. is behind me, kicking the back of my chair every couple of minutes. There is a certain restlessness in the air ... people are acting crazier than usual, more familiar with each other. Must be a combination of spring and the approaching end of the quarter. Two weeks from now - vacation.

Dad will probably be home for most of it so I'm not very excited, really.


3rd level - present

2nd level - past (verbal)

3rd level - past (pre-verbal)

I wish I could abreact!!

The first frisbee-tossing of the year, outside the classroom window

Suppressing sexuality of growing children. (Who suppressed mine?) Parental messages, "don't grow up, don't become sexual." Affects ability to develop normally and enjoy the sexual experience. Repulsive thought - fathers having sexual feelings toward their daughters. Nauseating.

Scott S.

Terri V.

Jamie Lee
Jamie Lynn
Kasey Kasie (no)


Severe case of the Monday morning blahs. I've got to do my Avon tonight - can't figure out why I always dread it so much. Cut my hair last night, several inches, but no one has noticed. Had a nice weekend. Friday night Scott and I took some beer out to John and Karen's for the evening; Saturday night, went to The Other Side of the Tracks to listen to K & J sing. Scott was served beer, but I got asked for I.D. - amazing what that beard has done to make him look "older." Also went to a giant party at Doug Bagnell's, overcrowded & overheated but (fairly) fun. Sunday, yesterday, went to the Swap Meet, spent several dollars on records. Later in the afternoon went and bought Scott an anniversary present, one week early - a new turntable for his stereo. Ate dinner with his family, came home and cleaned my room. Now it's Monday morning and I can't seem to get excited about anything. Thank God the quarter will be over this week.

In Anthro:

Got ANOTHER goddamned low score on my Geography test ... a 45, the second lowest score in the entire class. The only person who did worse was that fat idiot with the bad breath who sits next to me.


Sitting all alone. Wish Paul or someone would come into the Hilton ... I've grown so accustomed to spending my lunch hour with "company." Doug and I aren't friends anymore, because I finally blew up at him last week and told him to leave me alone. Now I would even welcome his company. Oh well ... you get what you deserve. This is just one of those not-so-great days when having someone to talk to - even someone as obnoxious as Doug - would help.

The Hilton is crowded and noisy today - all the tables are filled. People all around me. The guys at the next table are staring at my low cut T-shirt, making me feel self conscious, but that's something I've gotten used to. Some men (boys, whatever) are really crude and blatant about the way they treat women, and it never fails to make me angry.

I don't feel good. I look good today (fairly) but I don't feel good: for once, the two don't correlate. I'm under a lot of pressure today and I can feel the tension in my neck and shoulders. I wish that it was a hot, sunny day and that I was floating in an intertube in the middle of a lake somewhere.

Most Frequent Dreams

1. The one I had last night (again) and generally dream once or twice a month - that I'm back in sixth grade at Boulevard Park, with Mr. Iverson and Sandy and everybody. A variation of this dream is that we're having a sixth grade "reunion." ANOTHER variation is playing on the upper playground during recess.

2. Going back to Camp Firwood, in one way or another. Sometimes I'm there for summer camp as a camper, other times I'm a counselor. Every time, though, something has changed & I'm unhappy about it - the cabins are all different, or there are people there that I don't like.

3. A variation of the Firwood dream: my mountain. Heavily wooded, beautiful, peaceful. I love my mountain and I always feel very happy to return. I am usually with a group of people and I run ahead, leading the way up and down the paths. Sometimes the mountain turns into Firwood, other times it leads to some kind of secret valley or village. I always feel like I've come "home."

4. The dying dream. I'm in a car accident or I'm shot or something, and I feel the experience of dying. There isn't any pain, but it's sometimes cold and scary. I usually wake up immediately.

5. The science-fiction dream. This one varies greatly, and is actually several different dreams. The ones I have the most, though:

A. The moon dream. The moon has drifted very close to the earth, so close that it fills the whole sky, and it is being colonized. Someone from the moon colony comes to earth and tries to get me to go with him.

B. Going back in time - usually to grade school.

C. Making friends with someone from another world, always male.

6. The moving dream, one I used to have all the time but not so often anymore. For some reason Dad and I have to find a new place to live, and I'm never happy about it because there's always something terribly wrong with the new house. A frequent variation: being forced to move back in with Grandma & Grandpa.

Why do all my most frequent dreams involve going somewhere, or going back to some place I've been ... ? Sometimes I'm happy about going, other times I'm disappointed because things have changed too much. Going back to Boulevard Park and Camp Firwood - two of the happiest periods of my life - strange how often I dream about that, isn't it? Escapism? Trying to relive my childhood? But then when I dream about moving back in with Grandma & Grandpa, I'm resisting it. How confusing.


Sitting in bed.

Happy in spite of "things." Watching a special on TV about the human heart ... it's really fascinating. I just talked to Scott on the phone, and things are good between us. He said something tonight that really came as a shock - that he was "thinking" today about us, and about marriage and everything, and that he thinks we'll probably be married by summer '79. I could have died when he said that! It came almost entirely out of the blue, and it was the closest he's ever come to an actual marriage proposal. My God! Me? Married? I can't picture it, I really can't!! In so many ways I still feel so young - a 16 year old at heart. I still live the same way I did at 16 - or 14, for that matter - except that I'm going to college now, and a few other relatively unimportant personal changes. I still WRITE the same way I did at 16!!! And getting married seems so unreal.


Tuesday morning. Raining. Still in a buoyant mood. I have so many things I should be worrying about ... money, primarily, and finals next week ... but for some reason I don't feel like worrying today.

Last night I dreamed that Rocky M. was trying to beat me up. (?) Won't even attempt to interpret that one. Don't even care.

Penny Nicholes is getting married this summer. Sigh.


Watched "Reefer Madness" in the Lecture Hall. Does marijuana make you want to kill people? (Occasionally, maybe)

How many different personalities ... ?

One gets high
One hates father
One remembers
One plans
One puts ketchup on cottage cheese
One loves brother
One dreams One cries One is strong and says "Here there is no pain"



Wednesday morning

Bright, sunny morning. Yesterday it rained. Today it is spring again. Sitting in class, waiting for Mr. Campbell to arrive. Feeling quiet, as usual. "The death of permanence" ... I don't seem to feel it yet. Now is now: it can never be any other time but 11:00 a.m. on March 8, 1978. Now is now: this day can never be a long time ago. Egypt was a long time ago, and the Roman Empire, and the Middle Ages, but today could never be the past.

I wish I could be young when the 21st century arrives. I'll be 43, as old as Dad is now.  Grrrr.  I wish I could be young in 2057, but if I'm alive I'll be 99 years old, probably too old to enjoy or understand anything. What a depressing thought. The family I have then will maybe never have known me as anything but a doddering, helpless old woman. They will never know me the way I am now - 20 years old, very full of life, very hopeful about my life, very pretty. I'll just be that old lady in the nursing home or whatever.

Which makes me realize that the very old people in my family now - Gim, for instance - used to be young, yet I've never known them as anything but old.

People aren't born old.  We forget that sometimes. 


Avoids intimacy. Conflict (existence vs. need), thinking disassociated from feeling. Body is narrow and contracted. Face is mask-like. Feet are contracted and cold weight on outside of feet. Some splitting of the personality into opposite attitudes (virgin/whore). Withdraws in self defense. Cause: rejection very early by mother, with hostility.


Cam establish closeness only on the basis of his need for warmth and support - that is, on an infantile basis. Conflict (need vs. independence). Body is long and thin. Muscles are underdeveloped (but not as stringy as schizoid), especially arms and legs. Body has tendency to slump. Physical immaturity (small pelvis). Breathing is shallow. Tends to cling to others, inability to be alone. Feels empty. Cause - early deprivation, year one. "The world owes me a living" attitude.


Relates only to those who need him. (He is in a position to control the relationship.) Conflict (independence vs. closeness). Denial of feelings. Great investment in EGO IMAGE. Drive for power and need to dominate & control. Two body-types: over-development of upper half or fairly regular. Drive to succeed is very strong. Sexuality is used in this power struggle, pleasure in sex is secondary to performance. Cause: sexually seductive parent but rejection of child's need for support.


Establishes closeness on the basis of a submissive attitude. Conflict (closeness vs. freedom). Whines and complains but remains submissive on the exterior (inside: strong feeling of spite, negativity, hostility and superiority). Thick, powerful muscles restrain any direct assertion. Body is short, thick, muscular, extra body hair. Short thick neck. Ass is tucked in. Feeling of being stuck in a morass. Tries to please. Cause: love & acceptance with SEVERE pressure.

Rigid (Hysteric)

Fairly close relationships but remains guarded. Conflict (freedom vs. surrender to love). Holds themselves stiff with pride. Defensive. Body is healthy but with some loss of grace and coordination. Ambitious, competitive, aggressive. Good contact with reality but it is used as a defense against the striving for pleasure.


Ate lunch alone. Paul is on a "field trip" to a TV station, and I don't know where Doug and Cathy are. A little bit lonely. Looking at the five Bio Energetic character categories (above), wondering where I fit in (or IF I do). Scott is easy - he's definitely the masochistic category. Even the physical description is correct. But what about poor, misguided, uncertain Terri V.? What category do we put her in? It seems like I have some of the schizoid characteristics, some of the oral, some of the psychopathic (especially the physical), some of the masochistic AND some of the rigid. What a mess I must be, internally.

Sitting on the sunny side of the bus. Darece D. asked me if I'd gotten a tan, that I "look darker." Actually it was probably because I was blushing furiously ... I read Part II of my story out loud in class, and that doesn't come easy, particularly on one of my "quiet" days.



Thursday morning

Am I going to turn in this journal at the end of the quarter (next week)? It isn't exactly ORGANIZED, but then when I bought it, I never intended to turn it in. Hmmmm.

Thinking about going home early today, but can't find any plausible excuse. Clean the house? It needs it.


I did come home early after all, and am I glad I did. The house was a horrible mess and I needed the extra time just to get it looking semi-decent. God, I hate this house. A lot of things have happened in my life in the five years that we've lived here, and there's lots of good memories & all, but I really hate this place (with the exception of my bedroom, of course). It looks terrible, it smells awful, and even hours and hours of concentrated housecleaning barely make a dent. It's so discouraging, like stringing beads on a string with no knot on the end. Once you get all the way through, you just have to start all over again. Maybe that's why I have no intention of becoming a fulltime "homemaker" - I just plain HATE housework. After all, I've had six years of it already. Who would know better than me? I can't understand women who enjoy it, or who are willing to let their husbands walk all over them like that. ("Your place is in the KITCHEN.")


Discouraged with school. What a flop I've been in high school and college. The frustrating part is knowing that I'm a fairly intelligent person, and that I COULD do better, but anyone looking at my transcripts would think I'm some kind of brainless moron.

Writing while the bus is moving ... not an easy thing to do. I don't know how, but I got through this week in one piece and now the weekend is here. Today I'm not going to get off at my regular stop, but am going to Boulevard Park to buy a card for Scott at the drugstore, then to cash some checks at the bank.



Saturday afternoon

I know this is going to sound ridiculous, but right now I feel so completely happy, I think I could explode. I wish this happy feeling would never go away, that it could be Saturday, March 11, 1978 forever and ever. I love Scott - I love being alive. Tonight we're going to go out and celebrate our two year anniversary - we're going out to dinner, then to Wendy W's party for awhile, then to the U-District to see my favorite midnight movie (The Rocky Horror Picture Show). This afternoon we went and looked around the Glacier Big G rummage sale, bought a lot of old records, then went to A & W for a hamburger lunch, then to turn in my Avon order. Now I'm sitting here in my room listening to "Snowball," and I feel so wonderful. I'm so happy.



Monday morning

Weekend is over and I'm pooped. This was one of the busiest, most hectic weekends I've ever seen, and now it's hard to get back into my regular school routine. I guess it doesn't matter much anyway, because this week is final exam week - I only have two - and then we have vacation. So I'll no sooner get used to school again when it'll all be over for another quarter.

Saturday night was perfect. Everything turned out just as well as I hoped. Scott gave me a ring, a beautiful gold one with a tiny diamond in the center. I showed it to Dad and his entire face sort of fell apart ... you could see "FEAR" written all over it, so I had to reassure him that it ISN'T an engagement ring. (?) We went to dinner at The Pizza Works in Burien, then to Wendy's party (which turned out to be a LOT of fun) and then to see "Rocky Horror" at midnight. Didn't get home until 3 a.m.

Sunday, went to the Swap Meet for a while, bought some records and books (Scott bought me a pitcher & bowl set). Ate dinner at his house with his family.


Will turn this journal in, after all, in spite of some of the things I've written. I don't care if it's not "organized" and I don't think Mr. K will, either. I'm not a terribly organized person, anyway. (One look at my closets & drawers & under the bed would reaffirm that. I just packed away several boxes of junk, some of it dating back to grade school, and had the Salvation Army come and cart it away. But even that attempt at organization was futile, since I'm starting to collect more junk all over again. Sigh.)

How do I feel? Tired. Happy. Restless. Angry w/myself for spending $3.00 in the bookstore a few minutes ago. But over all, just happy to be alive.

More afternoon:

An hour to kill. I almost went home early but at the last minute decided against it. Don't know why, exactly - I hate taking the bus home. For that reason alone, I probably won't be taking another 1:00 class next quarter ... riding the bus is so depressing. Sitting in the Hilton with Doug and Paul - probably for the last time, ever. Paul is getting married on Saturday and is transferring to Bellevue CC next quarter, so I don't know when I'll ever see him again. Getting used to temporary friendships, though ... such is life.


Note to my Writing Instructor:



March 28, 1978

JOURNAL!!! We are reunited!! For the past two weeks of Spring Vacation I've been going INSANE without you to confide in, and now at long last I've got you back! Mr. Kaneko made some comments about the things I've written here - he says I'm too hard on myself. Well, I don't care about any of that, right now. I'm just glad to have my old familiar notebook back in my hands. I've grown so accustomed to writing in you, you're like an old friend, and it was tough getting through my vacation without you.

Spring Vacation '78 was boring. It had its high points, of course, but for the most part it was a real drag sitting around the house every day while Scott was working. Easter Sunday was nice, though. Scott and I went out to the Swap Meet in the morning, as usual, and then I was invited to have dinner with his family - met his Grandma and Grandpa S.


Problems, problems. It's a minor miracle that I haven't yet developed an ulcer from all the worrying I do. I have just realized, for certain, that I have another Bethany Day problem. The strange part is that it hasn't started to bother me yet, emotionally or otherwise. Maybe it just hasn't sunk in yet. I'm still worried sick about money, too. God. If I ever live to see 1979 I'll be amazed. I'll be even more amazed if I get the car. Will I? When?? You know what's frustrating? Knowing that maybe a year or so from now, I'll be reading this journal and smiling because it all sounds so infantile. My car will probably be sitting out in front of our house, and as I read this I'll be thinking "Thank God I don't have to worry about that kind of stuff anymore!"

My classes this quarter:

9 a.m. (M-W-F) Science Fiction in Literature

10 a.m. (M-W-F) Oral Interpretation of Literature

11:00 a.m. (Daily) Introduction to Logic & Practical Reasoning

That last one sounds great, doesn't it? Imagine Terri V. thinking logically and reasoning practically. Sounds too good to be true. I'll probably flunk.

Where is Benji??

He hasn't been home in 3 days.

Where is my kitty??

He came home safe and sound, and lived to a ripe old age. 

Very late, very high. Scott and I smoked some hash tonight and the effects are taking a long time to go away. I'm just sitting here in bed watching CBS' 50th anniversary show, sipping a 7-Up on ice, thinking about how much my journals have changed since I first began keeping them in eighth grade. The three biggest things in my life in eighth grade were my unrequited love for Kenny Roberts, trying out for cheerleader & losing (ouch! that one still hurts, a little) and Grandma getting sick & us having to move in with Dad. Funny how much things can change in eight years. I'm not even the same person I was when I was fourteen. That funny little Terri V. is still living back in 1972, waiting for summer, waiting to grow up. Most of the friends I had then, the friends who were so important to me then, have married or moved away. Even our old junior high school has been shut down and converted into a warehouse. Everything has changed.

I wonder how much things will change in the NEXT eight years? Where will I be in 1986?

(Note: Reading this "old" journal and smiling. 4/9/86.)

In 1986 I'll be 28 years old. I will probably married and probably have one or two kids. I will be working, maybe writing, and will probably have had something published. The friends that I have and the things I'll be worrying about in 1986 seem as far removed and distant as 1972 seems to me right now. Heck ... in 1986 I probably won't even CARE that Thaddeus Colas had a terrible headache ...


Wednesday morning


Feeling very good today IN SPITE OF EVERYTHING. I still can't figure out why I'm not feeling panicked, but who cares? I have plenty of time left, and things are too smooth between Scott & I right now to rock the boat. That can wait, for a little while longer at least.

Went to my new literature class, "Science Fiction," but Mr. Olson never showed up so we all left. Denise Day is in my class, so is Craig S. and a couple other faces I recognize from around school. Now I'm sitting (where else?) in the Hilton. I've got two more classes to go to today, wondering what they'll be like and how long this buoyant mood will last.


Just walked into my room and - for the first time this year - smelled spring. Felt it. It's an impossible sensation to describe .... just a feeling in the air, a smell, the change in the light, something intangible. It was nice.

Ate lunch at A & W with Scott after school, the way we used to do sometimes during our senior year in high school. Now he has gone to work and I am sitting here in the quiet, quiet living room, finishing my Coke and having a cigarette. The clock on the wall is ticking, the refrigerator is humming in the kitchen. Very quiet. Today was a nice day. My other two classes seem fine - I am particularly taken with my new Speech teacher, Mr. Sandifer.

It is growing cloudy and overcast outside, but nothing can touch that spring quality I'm feeling. I'm going to try and get my housework done by 2:00, and then maybe I'll have a bowl and listen to some music and relax. This nice feeling is too good to waste worrying about things.

Today Terri V. likes Terri V.!

Tonight we got very high



Thursday evening

Didn't go to school today. Only my second day of classes and I'm cutting them already. Hmmm. Actually, I overslept this morning and didn't make the bus on time. I only had one class today so it's no real big thing.

Sitting on my bed, doing my nails, watching TV. Tonite Ellen Corby returned to "The Waltons" as Grandma Walton, and it was such a moving episode that I found myself crying two or three different times. I get so emotionally involved with that program, I forget that it's only make-believe. The Walton family is so idyllic and warm and perfect. It makes me envious, in a way. In spite of their poverty and all their problems, it would still be such a wonderful family to be a part of. I don't know what I'm going to do when they take the show off the air. I'll miss them all as though they were real living people.

Oh well.

More stoned gibberish.

Would you believe it? The entire cast of "The Waltons" (including Grandma) is hosting "CBS On The Air" tonite!

Bing Crosby singing "White Christmas" -  people should never forget.

We must write all this down.

What delights me is that my handwriting is still nice.

Twitching muscles ... underwater feeling in ears and eyes.

The little oceans in our mouths.

Dots on finger.

Bone under skin.

A plane buzzing in the night, very high in the sky.

The planes are what take us to the nearer moon when it fills the sky (one dream).

Joanne Woodward.

Some people have everything

The Miracle Worker

There isn't a thought or a word which cannot be heard.

The crowds of people trapped in video tape, forever.

Things we can't understand: eternity. eternal existence. existence or form of God. infinity. time. non-time. heaven. hell. divine birth. resurrection. satan.



Friday lunch

Discovered these people are in my Science Fiction class: Jeff Simons, Ted J., Bryan Wetzler, Denise Day (I already knew that one). I think this class will probably get very dull later in the quarter ... the teacher has no charisma.

Read my poem "Amputation" in Speech class, very nervous, but Mr. Sandifer liked it. He said that there are only seven or eight poets in the entire world who can read their own poetry effectively, and that I'm one of them. (?) Mr. Sandifer likes me. He said I have a "deep, sexy French voice." That embarrassed the hell out of me, but it's nice to know he likes me, anyway.

Brilliantly sunny day.


Watching "All In The Family," wondering what I'll be doing this weekend, if anything. I'd like to go out tonite but Scott is working late and there's no telling when he'll be through. How do I feel? Pleasant. Lazy. Drowsy. I got another letter from Karen today, and she sent a picture of herself and Dean at Christmas. I envy her, in a way - living in California, so satisfied with the way her life is going. She could have weakened and stayed here just to be with Dean, but she knew what she wanted to do and she was strong enough to do it. I wish I had the strength she has - to know what I want to do, and then to DO it.


Monday afternoon


What am I thinking about on this lazy, uncomplicated afternoon?

Watching Gloria have her baby on a rerun of "All In The Family," drinking diet pop (trying to lose weight again), trying to get enough energy together to clean up my room. Another sunny, spring day, and I feel good, if not energetic. Watching this show makes me wonder what it'll be like when I have children. Will it hurt? Will I be conscious, or will I be under anesthesia? What will my kids look like? What kind of people will they be?


Am now watching The Academy Awards (50th year). Does it seem like I'm ALWAYS watching TV? Don't have any weed, but I used my resources and scraped together the resins from the bong ... now I'm pretty high. Wondering: why do I always let Sweetheart read my journal, dammit??!!!?!?! Now I can't write anything that I wouldn't want him to read.


Wednesday morning


Morning. Not going to S.F. - sitting in the Hilton instead, hoping against hope that Dwight won't come over here and sit down at my table. I don't think I could bear one of those forced, uncomfortable conversations.

This is the kind of day that has a "hump" in the middle - something you've got to do that you're not looking forward to at all, but you know that once you get it over with it'll be all done & you'll never have to worry about it again. Tonight I've got to go to a Mariners '78 opener with Dad and Gramps, and I really DON'T want to go at all. I'm all burned out from getting high and drinking coffee to stay awake, and I'd rather stay home with a good book and go to bed early. No such luck. I don't know why I even said I would go. I don't like baseball all that much, and I positively HATE going to the

Kingdome ... noisy, crowded, congested. Shit. With all this negative feeling inside me I'm probably going to have a lousy time, whether I try to or not.

Thinking about: myself. How do I handle problems? Avoid them? Ignore them, hoping they'll go away? Put them off and deal with them "later"? I wonder: do we deal with problems the same way we deal with people?

Well ... he came over to my table - I knew he would, dammit. Some people just never give up, do they? AND HE ASKED ME OUT AGAIN. Dammit!! Again!! Shit, I've turned him down five or six times and he still asks ... what IS it with him? Or what is it with ME? I'm not encouraging him or anything, so what is it that he finds so attractive? You would think I was the only female in the entire world, the way he hangs on.

Almost noon:

Sitting in the Hilton (again, not still). Doug has been yakking my ears off for almost 45 minutes and I don't believe I've heard a word he's said. I've never known anyone who can talk to much and say so little. Karen used to be that way but she's outgrown it, I think.

I'm starving. My stomach feels like it might collapse from lack of attention. I don't want to eat until dinner, though. My pants are starting to get a little tight around the waist because I've put on 5 pounds and none of my clothes look right.



Thursday morning

Feeling very, very good ... but, as is sometimes the case, I'm not exactly sure why. Maybe it's because the ordeal of the Mariners game is over, and it wasn't such an "ordeal" after all. (We won, 3 to 2, against the Twins.) It could be because I'm more well-rested than I've been in days. Or maybe it's because it's spring, and a sunny day in April. I rode out with Jerry this morning to school. I was nervous about it because I was afraid that conversation between us would be awkward and strained, but it was a very pleasant ride and I enjoyed it. I like Jerry very much and I'm happy that we can be comfortable around each other again, after what happened last year. I was afraid we would never get back on the right terms with each other. It's a relief to be able to sit next to him in the car and not be embarrassed every single minute, wondering what the hell he's thinking and if he feels as dumb as I do, etc. etc.

I figured something out the other day - I've gone to school with Jerry longer than anyone else - 14 years, to be exact! Boulevard Park, Sunset, Glacier, and now HCC. Makes me feel like I've been sitting behind a desk for a long, long time.

Only a couple more pages left in this journal. I feel very proud of myself, the way I've been writing so faithfully these past couple of months -- it's been a long time since I've gone all the way through a journal without giving up in the middle or something, and it gives me a good feeling to know I haven't lost my touch. I think that from now on - or for a while, at least - it'll probably be easier for me to write in my journals, now that I've gotten over this hurdle and broken my "creative block" or whatever it is that's been preventing me from completing a journal. Now I'm back in the habit, and it feels good.

(What in the world is wrong with my handwriting today? Must be the coffee I drank this morning.)

In a few minutes I'm going to go to the Bookstore and buy a new journal, as soon as I scribble my way through these last couple of pages. ("Hi, Carole.") Before I do, I'd like to kind of review the things that have happened in my life since January 12th, when I first began this notebook. That way I can sort out what's important and what isn't ... what has changed my life and what hasn't.

I made some new friends - Doug, in particular, and Dwight, and Paul (although he's gone now). That is important to me. I dealt with the problem of an overly-amorous guy, came right out and said I didn't want to date him ... something I've never been able to do before.

I dealt with the subject of death - what is it like? am I afraid of it? - and youth - how it feels to be young & alive. I faced the fact that deep in my heart I feel immortal. I talked about my parents, and came to the realization that I resent my mother very much. I've never understood that before, until I wrote about it in this journal. I also faced the fact that my father has never been the god I thought he was, even when I was little. I realized that even though I love him, I can't stand to live with him ... a fact that could apply to anyone in the world.

I wrote three good poems - "Still Dead," "The Number Man" and "Epitaph." Three poems may not seem like a lot, but for me it is. What's more, I do believe that they're good, and that's important. I've got to believe in my abilities.

I celebrated two years with Scott, the longest I've ever been with one person, and I realistically explored the possibility of marriage.

I figured out why I can't go back to my old church (because of their antiquated, slanted view of a woman's position in the world). Later I'll talk about my feelings toward God -- too bad I didn't do it in this book, but it gives me something to explore next time.

Spring arrived. I straightened out my priorities a little better, figured out what I want to do first and how to go about doing it. I may not have accomplished many of the goals I've set for 1978, but at least I know how I want to get started, and that's the first step. I've resolved to get Terri V.'s life moving in a forward direction instead of backward.

I started looking at my dreams - describing them, or drawing pictures of them, even the private ones I've wanted to keep to myself, and in doing so I may be on the way to discovering what my dreams mean, why I dream the things I do, what my subconscious mind is trying to say to the waking, walking Terri.

All in all, 1978 has been a pleasant year so far, at least the small piece of it that I've recorded in these pages. I've been happy for the most part, and the best thing is that I have so much to look forward to. Getting my license, getting the car, summer '78, moving out, marriage, children, writing, my whole life stretched out ahead of me like one long, lazy summer day ... so much living yet to do. I hope I live a long, long time, but even if I should die tomorrow I've had a happy life. I've managed to pack a lot of living into my twenty years and four months on Planet Earth, and as far as I'm concerned nothing could beat being alive.

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