JOURNAL NO. 24
September 1978 - April 1979 Age 20-21

"I'm happy. I'm moving into my first apartment day after tomorrow. I'm hung up on a great guy.
I'm alive. I'm 20 years old. I'm going to live forever."

 

 

Sunday afternoon
September 24, 1978

This is the state of my life on a crowded Sunday afternoon in late September, 1978:

I am happy and sad
I am positive and negative
I am decided and confused

This weekend has been incredible ...

Friday night Bruce and I double-dated with Rhonda and Scott Wolf, and it was a very long night! First, the four of us sat at Rhonda's apartment, drinking Mai Tai's, smoking Columbian, snorting a little coke, eating speed and doing a lot of general talking and relaxing. It was raining like crazy, but we were more or less determined to go downtown and see Rocky Horror at midnight, rain or no rain. Scott drove like a crazy person - I am surprised we're all still alive - but we made it to the show in one piece, and it was great.

Afterwards we went to Scott's apartment in Redmond, and on the spur of the moment Scott and Bruce decided to fly to Hawaii for the weekend. Can you believe that? So they called and made airline reservations, and the next thing I knew we were all piled back into the car heading for Bruce's house, so he could pack. The whole situation was totally unreal!!

Their flight wasn't until 8:30 a.m., so while Scott drove Rhonda home, I stayed with Bruce for a couple of hours, supposedly to "keep him awake." It was our only chance to be alone all weekend, and we made good use of it (which I'll talk about later). Anyway, I drove myself home from Rhonda's and got home at 6:30 a.m.

I slept until noon, but even after I finally dragged myself out of bed I'd lost every ounce of energy. I was burned out, tired, and depressed because Bruce going to Maui sort of fucked up the rest of the weekend for me. Grandma was at the Puyallup Fair all day so I had the house to myself. I ate some more speed and started doing things to take my mind off of Bruce ... I did a gigantic laundry, straightened up the bedroom, washed some dishes, sewed buttons on some blouses, etc. etc. Little domestic things. Later in the afternoon the speed started to hit me in an unpleasant way, and all I could do was put a Moody Blues album on the stereo and sit on my bed and look out the window.

Last night I was so tired, I just wanted to crawl into bed and get some extra sleep, and that's exactly what I would have done except that Rhonda called at 8:30 and asked me to come over and help her babysit her two nephews. We sat at Renee & Jeff's until midnight, watching TV and reading magazines and smoking a joint of Columbian that Bruce gave to us.

When I was driving home, my car died on Des Moines Way, right in the middle of the road! I was scared out of my mind -- it was dark and late and foggy, and I was stoned, and there was no help in sight. Finally a couple of guys I know (Tony Delorenzo, Larry Roberts) stopped and helped me push my car off the road, and then them drove me back up to Renee and Jeff's.  Jeff came down and gave me a jump and I got home OK. Today I took the car down to the service station, and thankfully it was just my fan belt that needed to be tightened and not a dead battery, which I was afraid the problem was. It was fixed in minutes and runs just fine now.

I was supposed to go to church with Grandma and Grandpa and Gim this morning, but I overslept. I think I really needed the sleep. Today is Gim's 90th birthday, and we had an open house at Grandma & Grandpa's -- a real houseful, including Uncle Paul and Aunt Elva, Uncle Vaughn and Aunt Leona, Linda and Stan with Dawna, Sean and Shannon, Kenny and Kathy Naff with Heather and Aaron, Dad, Johnny and Gail Naff with Michael and Nathaniel, Elva, Irene and Kirby Naff. I stayed for a couple of hours and told the story of my new job over & over, but the houseful of little kids started to wear on my nerves after a while so I made my excuses and left.

L-to-R: Cousin Linda (holding baby on her lap), Cousin Elva Naff, me
(more family reflected in mirror)

Now I'm home. ("Home," for now, is still Grandma St. John's.) I'm sitting in the living room watching "American Graffiti" for the fifth or sixth time ... Grandma, Mom, Ken and Les are noisily playing cards at the kitchen table ... Debby is wandering around restlessly.

I'm happy because we'll be moving into our apartment in a little over a week. I'm happy because I've lost more than ten pounds. I'm happy because I'm in love.

At the same time, I'm depressed - maybe I'm just over-tired - but this whole thing with Bruce has got me down and I don't know what to do about it. He is everything I've always wanted in a man - supremely self-assured, easy to be with, perceptive, sensual, considerate. Making love with him is the greatest. Whenever I'm with him, I just let it all go. I haven't yet learned to discard all inhibition the way he does, but I'm learning. He can be so tender and so aggressive at the same time, and it drives me out of my mind. No one has ever made me feel like this, and that includes all of the supposed "great loves" of my life.  With Bruce, there is passion and there is tenderness, instead of only one or the other, the way it's always been in the past. I can have it both ways!

The depressing part is knowing that I can't really have him unless I'm willing to give up my job. I'd be fired in an instant if Kirk ever found out Bruce and I are dating. That just burns me up. It's so unfair. Why do I always reach for the unattainable, in love anyway?

But would Bruce ever love me anyway? What am I to him? Just another "thing," or someone he could really care about? In the quiet after our lovemaking there is always a silence that just begs to be filled with an "I love you" or something similar. We'll be laying there together, and inside I'm screaming "LOVE me! LOVE me!"

Bored. Lonely. Restless. I got in the car and drove past Rhonda's apartment ... Bruce's car is still there (he left it at her apartment for the weekend while he's in Hawaii, which disturbs me somehow) but Rhonda isn't home. I went to McDonald's and bought myself a Coke - sat in the parking lot and had part of a joint and worked on my Coke. Then I drove home. Everyone is still here, but even a houseful of people doesn't ease this vague feeling of being completely alone.

What will my life be like two weeks from right now, living in my first apartment? What will I be doing the Sunday evening after my first weekend on my own? Who will I be with? What will I be thinking about?

You know, the six months I waited to get the car seemed to go by in no time, but these two weeks of waiting to move are taking an eternity to pass. This is not "easy waiting," either, but very difficult waiting.

Later:

Traces of a beginning headache. I've been taking speed every day for almost two weeks. I've lost ten pounds and barely eat anything anymore, but my head hurts sometimes and my face is breaking out. (I didn't know that speed promotes acne, but Rhonda mentioned something about that tonight.) I want to lose ten more pounds and then I'll knock it off.

Everyone has left. Ann got drunk and struck up a screaming argument with Les in front of Mom and Ken and Grandma and I, and soon afterwards they gathered their coats and went home. Now Grandma is upset ... she's cleaning up the kitchen, wordlessly. I am in the living room, half-watching "Battlestar Galactica," ignoring my headache, ignoring the vague hunger pains, ignoring the fact the work tomorrow is going to be a real pain without the pleasant distraction of Bruce in the office ...

(Every time I hear a plane rumbling overhead, I wonder if it's Bruce coming home.)

Think I'll take a bath and go to bed. What a weekend.

I have just now realized that I haven't yet explained to you how this whole crazy thing with Bruce began. Unusual for me, since I ordinarily have every detail of every love affair carefully recorded and preserved for posterity! ... but at the time we were beginning to be interested in each other, I was still technically going with Scott and I couldn't write about Bruce, for fear that Scott would read my journal and find out. Now I'm 100% free and clear to write exactly what happened - every terrible wonderful detail - and who gives a damn who reads it?! This, then, is ...

HOW IT HAPPENED

To begin: Scott and I went with each other for 2-1/2 years, and I have to admit they were good years. We had a warm, intimate, mutually caring relationship, and for a long time I was happy with him. It was a nice secure feeling to have Scott to lean on. But after the first year, it got to be more of a habit than anything else, at least as far as I was concerned. There was still tenderness and intimacy, and yes, I loved him, but the passion, and the excitement - the thrill of being together - had long since faded away.  I didn't enjoy our sex life.  In the beginning it was nice, and even exciting to a point, but after a while I started to really hate it. I made up excuses and lied and did everything I could to change my feelings, but that was impossible. The really awful part is that he probably thought everything was OK. He was satisfied, and I did such a terrific job of making him think I was satisfied too, he never questioned it. And the whole time, little pieces of me were dying every time I gave in and went through the charade, knowing that there had to be something better for me, somewhere.

 After I moved out of Dad's house and got the job and the car and everything in my life really started to move, something inside of me changed. I knew that it was insanity for me to stay locked in a dead-end relationship. I would end up old and hard and incapable of passion ... or, worse yet, married to a man I didn't really love.  How fair would this be to either one of us? Realizing this scared the hell out of me, but I didn't know how I could ever break up with Scott. I felt stuck.

Then I saw Steve again, which was a major mistake. I had myself thoroughly convinced that I loved him again, but when he still hadn't called after two months I realized I'd been "had" again and let it go at that. Chalk up another value lesson for Terri V.: Steve  is incapable of loving me. I can't bleed for him. I won't bleed for him.

A few weeks ago, I started noticing Bruce around the office. I can't pinpoint exactly when it happened, which is sort of out of character for me ... all I know is that suddenly he stopped being one of the salesmen in the office (and a rather arrogant one, at that, who irritated me more often than not) and became a very attractive, charming guy that I wouldn't mind dating. I would sit at my desk and watch him bouncing around the office, all energy and vitality and life, and I would plot little subtle ways to get him to notice me. (Dabbing sexy cologne behind my ears and then walking over to his desk with a "question" about an order, leaning very close to him.) All the stupid little things that women do to attract men. It wasn't working, though. He was very friendly, but it was strictly business. I was growing more and more powerfully attracted to him every day, and it was frustrating as hell.

In the meantime, Scott and I were still plodding along ... bickering constantly, mainly because he sensed me drifting away and he wanted to prevent it from happening. The harder he fought our break-up, the more I pulled away.

It got to the point where I was living to see Bruce. The high point of my day was coming to work in the morning and seeing him. Maybe it was his inaccessibility that made him so attractive - the "thrill of the hunt" that made me want him so much. I've always been like that - wanting what I either can't have or what is hardest to get, because it's more exciting that way. At any rate, I wanted Bruce, and I was determined to get him.

Once, at lunch, Bobbi and I were talking about guys and dating and the whole business, and I decided to tell her. "I've got a terrible crush on somebody," I said. "Is the feeling mutual?" she said, and I shook my head with a he-doesn't-even-know-I'm-alive expression on my face, and inside I was dying for her to ask me WHO? But instead she just said, "Is it someone here in the office?" and I nodded and we just left it at that. I think she probably figured it out, though.

It's funny, but I sort of knew that I would end up going out with Bruce eventually. Intuition or something. I'd look at him, sitting his desk, and imagine what he would be like away from the office, and I knew that someday, something was going to happen between the two of us.

Everything happened, finally, on Tuesday the 5th. After work, Randy & Tom (a couple guys from the warehouse) invited me to go to The Boardwalk with them and have a beer. I sat with them and talked for about an hour, and after three beers I was feeling no pain at all. When I was walking out to my car to go home, I saw that Bruce's car was still in front of the office and the lights were still on inside the building. I decided to take a chance. He was still working at his desk, alone. I walked in and made some phony excuse about needing to use the phone -- made a quick call to Rhonda, just to make it look good -- and then, with a courage I didn't even know I possessed, sat down next to him and said "Would you like some company?" He wasn't at all annoyed - he seemed pleased, actually - and we sat and talked for over an hour. It wasn't on a business level, and it wasn't exactly on a personal level ... it was just a friendly conversation between two people getting to know each other. Actually it was the first non-business conversation we had ever had.

Somehow or another we got onto the subject of getting high, and when he asked me if I had any drugs with me, I thanked the Powers That Be that I had a little stash of great Columbian and little cocaine outside in my car!  We sat in the office and got high while he finished his work.

I was really coming on strong, but we were both a little high so I don't know if he noticed right away or not. We got very comfortable and relaxed with each other, right away, and before I knew it he asked me if I wanted to go out and get something to ear. We drove (in his car, leaving mine at the office) to VIP's and had an omelet for dinner. He was very attentive and polite, and he carried the weight of the conversation. That's the sort of person he is. The whole time I was on Cloud 9, but I tried to be real cool about the whole thing.

After we ate, I hinted around a lot about how I didn't really want to go home yet - not very subtle, admittedly, but hell! this was my golden opportunity! - and he picked up on it and invited me to come to his house with him. It was already late and we both had to work the next day, but this was the chance of a lifetime and I couldn't pass it up. He lives on Mercer Island in a house with two other guys, Craig and Tom. My first impression of the house: magnificent view of Lake Washington. BIG house. Expensive. Beautiful. Craig was in the living room, sitting in front of the fireplace reading. We sat down on the couch and got a little higher and watched a movie with Craig. The whole time, we were sitting fairly close together, but he didn't so much as lay a finger on me. Frankly, it was frustrating as hell!!

Finally, at 11:00 when the movie was drawing to a close and I'd come to the unhappy conclusion that he just wasn't interested in me "that" way, he half-turned toward me and said, "Well, you about ready to go?" and leaned over and kissed me. Just like that. I didn't have time to react because then he was kissing me again, and the next thing I knew we were in each other's arms. I didn't leave until very, very late. Of course we didn't sleep together - I wasn't ready for something like that - but things were really intense anyway. It was like we broke all the barriers with lightning speed. No one had ever made me feel quite that excited, and it was incredible.

The first time we slept together was the following weekend - the night that Bruce, Kent, Rhonda & I went out to dinner and then went to Bruce's for drinks and to get high. I'm not going to write all the details, but I will say that it was the polar opposite of any sex I've ever had before  ... it was beautiful, tender, exciting and satisfying. I'm hungry for the man just THINKING about it.

 

 

 

Tuesday night
September 26, 1978

Back to the present. Dead tired. The weekend is only now catching up with me; think I might go to bed early tonight, for a change. I could certainly use the extra sleep. Last night I spent the night at Rhonda's - Bruce and Scott came home from Maui at 3:30 a.m., and I slept on Rhonda's couch so I could answer the door when they arrived (Bruce's car was still there at Rhonda's, and I had the keys). I was in my nightgown and I looked like hell, but he kissed me and was very sweet and nice. It was GOOD to have him back in the office today - the place is like a tomb without him. Rhonda and Scott and Bruce and I all went out to lunch at Perino's.

Good news. Rhonda and I will be moving into the apartment this weekend, instead of in the middle of next week as originally planned. Naturally, I'm very happy about it, but I'm so tired that I can't seem to get excited about anything except a hot bath and a shampoo and bed, and maybe a joint if I can scrape up some papers somewhere.

After bath:

Only 8:30 ... I can't go to bed yet! (Can I?) Still obscenely early. Still too many things I should write about.

Moving out on Sunday. TERRI V. IS MOVING OUT ON SUNDAY, OCTOBER 1st, INTO HER FIRST APARTMENT.   I'm moving out!  Strange - I can write the words, and know what they mean, but they don't have any impact on me. Yet. Maybe they will, when I wake up on Sunday morning ...

 

 

 

9/28/78
Thursday morning before work

Quickly. Yesterday was a tough day at work. I was very tense, had a lot to do. After work Bruce left a note on my car ("I'll talk to you in a bit - Bruce") and later he came up to Rhon's. The three of us snorted some coke, had a couple beers and got very relaxed. He left too early, but hell - at least he came by.

More later.

Lunch:

"Later" is now. Sitting at my desk with a cigarette and a can of diet orange pop. I hate myself - I lost ten pounds and was doing terrific, and then last night after I left Rhon's I made a Taco Time run. Now it's back to speed & starvation until I lose another 10. I'll stop at 110. Any less than that would be emaciation.

The state of things today ... feeling very positive. Getting a lot of work done today. Kirk has been a little easier on me the past few days, which helps. I'm still accused any time something comes up missing or incorrect, whether I'm actually responsible or not, and he still treats me in an offhand way, like I'm not really very important, but I can handle that. All things considered, I like my job.

About Bruce: I've sorta reached a conclusion. I care about him very, very much, and I'd like to have a long and satisfying relationship with him, and the only way I can make that happen is to take things SLOW and EASY. He is obviously not interested in rushing into anything too involved, so I guess the only way for me to handle it is to feel the same way. Or at least pretend to. One of my problems is impatience ... I want everything RIGHT NOW, whether it's a car or an apartment or a relationship. I can stand in a grocery store line for half an hour and never bat an eye, but when it comes to the important things - changes, events, people - it's got to happen immediately or I go crazy. Bruce and I got very intense, very fast - at least physically, and (for me) emotionally - but now we've got to slow everything way down before it burns itself out just as fast.

I know he feels the same away about this, which (I admit) hurts my feelings a little. I don't even know how he feels. In fact, I don't honestly think that he's taking it seriously at all. There have been no words. I'm the one who has gone overboard, while he remains cool and in control of everything.

Oh well. I've been in this position so many times before, I know all the lines by heart.

MOVING OUT THIS WEEKEND!!!

What do I still have to do? Pack the stuff downstairs - clothes, dresser top stuff, records mainly. GET BOXES. Drag everything down from the attic. Locate a temporary bedspread. Get my furniture from Dad. Secure ample transportation and a couple of big strong men to help me move. Help Rhonda pack. Call the Goodwill to cart off my junk.

NEXT PAYDAY: Bedspread or comforter? ($20) Ruffle ($8) Pillowcases ($10?)

Bedside lamp - Bedside table/nightstand

 

 

 

9/29/78
5:30

Friday afternoon, home from work.

The weekend begins.

I'm hoping like crazy that Bruce and I go out tonight, but we didn't have a chance to talk in the office today and I stayed at my desk during lunch, so I have no idea what his plans are. All I can do is sit here at the kitchen table and wait, I guess. God, how I hate waiting.

9:00

This is something I haven't done in a long time ... just sitting in my room getting drunk alone, listening to old 45's ("Love Is Blue"), relaxing. It feels terrific. Bruce didn't want to go out tonight - he said he's "got an early one tomorrow" - and Rhonda went to Glacier's Homecoming game with her mom, so I just said fuck it all and decided tonight would be a good time to start packing for the big move on Sunday. I put on an old flannel shirt and tied my hair back and jumped in, and I got everything done in an hour. Now I'm just sitting here on the floor with a wine flip and a roach, feeling good. Bruce and I are going to do something tomorrow.

On Sunday -

1. All the junk down from the attic

2. Pack all my "immediate stuff" in luggage (tote bag & overnight case)

WHO'S GOING TO HELP ME MOVE???

I'm happy. ("Blankets and bedclothes/the child of the morning..") I'm moving into my first apartment day after tomorrow. I'm hung up on a great guy. I'm alive. I'm 20 years old. I'm going to live forever.

 

 

 

9/30/78
Saturday 1:00

Final day of September. Final day before moving out.

Sitting at the table with my nth cup of coffee of the morning. Listening to the radio. Grandma is eating bacon and eggs and waffles, which I'm trying to ignore - I weighed myself this morning and I'm down to 118. Only eight more pounds to lose.

Sunshine.

Bare feet.

Laundry smell.

Feeling very, very good. Rhonda just called and I'm going to head over to her place as soon as I've finished writing this. We're both packed and ready to go. I still haven't lined up anyone to help me move tomorrow, which has me a little worried.

Hoping I'll see Bruce tonight.

Hoping about life.

Happy.

Wondering ... what is beginning now? And what is ending?

Late afternoon:

Judy Collins on the record player. Freshly bathed and shampooed, I am perched on the bed in my bathrobe, wondering whether I should bother doing my hair and making up my face. Am I going out tonight, anyway? Bruce hasn't called, and I'm sure as hell not going to call him again, the way I did last night.

Rhonda and I finished emptying out her apartment today, and then we drove out to our new apartment to give the manager our first rent check.

We're all set!

We drove around the Kent valley a little but, sort of getting a feel for the place. It's so peaceful down there ... good for the soul.

7:00 p.m.

Well, it's 7:00 and still no word, so I've pretty well resigned myself to the fact that Bruce and I aren't going out. Sigh. I really despise my inability to remain uninvolved emotionally. I leap before I look, in ALL things, and someday it's going to cause me a lot of pain. Hell, it already has.

I'm not in love with him. I would LIKE to be ... and I probably COULD be, with the proper encouragement form him ... but he's made it abundantly clear that any sort of commitment is out of the question. I can't fault him for that, but I hate myself for expecting things of him that he's not prepared to give.

This is so fucked up. I should be so happy and excited tonight - I'm moving out tomorrow, something I've dreamed about for years - but instead I'm depressed because some jerk hasn't called me. Why do I let men take priority in my life? Why are all my moods - my ups & downs, my highs & lows - based on whether or not a certain guy calls, or whether I go out on Saturday night, or whether the person I'm involved with pays me enough attention? Why does every facet of my life revolve around my love life? It's not healthy! I've been this way for as long as I can remember, and it's caused me nothing but needless pain and ceaseless worry.

And what's really strange is that once a guy does love me, and get into the middle of another secure relationship, I start looking for ways out.

I'm not happy without it - and I'm not happy with it.

Saturday night: Bruce decided to go out "bar hopping," so Rhonda, Kim, Wanda and I got some wine and went downtown to see "Rocky Horror."

 

 

 

October 1, 1978
Sunday night

Very, very tired after one of the longest and most hectic days of my life.

We're all moved in!

My furniture is still at Dad's and my bed is in Grandma's shed, but most of my other stuff is here. I've spent most of this evening sorting, putting things away, throwing junk away, arranging, etc. etc. I think it's going to be nice when we're finished. On the whole, the apartment is bigger than I remembered, particularly the combined living room-dining room area, although my bedroom is tiny. I don't care. It's my first apartment and I'm in love with the whole idea of it.

I moved one carload this morning by myself (and it damn near killed me), and then later in the afternoon Bruce came by to help. After we hauled all my stuff and Rhonda was gone for about an hour, we had an interesting close encounter of the intimate kind.

 

 

 

Wednesday night
10/4/78

Nothing to do. I have all this newfound freedom, but haven't yet figured out what to do with it. What do I expect out of life, anyway? Once I finally get something I've wanted, I don't know what to do with it.

Evening. Rhonda is at work and I'm sitting in the apartment, alone, drinking and listening to the stereo ("Rocky Horror"). I am bored out of my skull. The apartment is beautiful, I am completely free to do as I please, and all I can do is sit here and blow my nose and get high and try to keep myself from beating my head against the walls.

Terri to Rhonda:

"Some guy with a gun broke into the apartment tonight and threatened to shoot me if I didn't give him the sofa cushions - what could I do?

Me"

Rhonda to Terri

"Dear Me -

The guy who stole the sofa cushions will return them shortly cuz they smell and need to be cleaned.

You sure slept through a wild party last night. Couldn't you hear the stereo blasting. This place holds about 100 cats. Boy do they like to get loose.

Ronnie

P.S. Please tie up the bread when your done, cuz it will go stale if you don't."

 

 

 

Thursday night
October 5, 1978

Randy W. just called - he wanted to come over with some coke, but Rhonda and I are both deathly ill with the flu and all I want to do is wash my hair and swallow some more cold pills and go to bed. I think Randy and I might do something this weekend, which I have mixed emotions about - I'm still hung up on Bruce, but part of me says I should just go ahead and go out with other people, in an effort to fight my feelings for him.

After washing my hair:

Not depressed anymore - maybe I never really was - it was just because I was coming down with this cold that I've felt so low. Today I reached a conclusion. I am now completely and utterly free to become whoever I want to be. I'm living on my own and supporting myself, there are no longer any real emotional ties to any one guy, and although my social life may be a little slow right now, things are bound to pick up. I can be whoever I want to be.

 

 

 

Sunday morning
October 8, 1978

Sitting bathrobed and ponytailed on the living room floor with a cup of coffee. Mulling over the events of the weekend ... which were next to nothing. Rhonda and I wound up sitting home alone on both Friday and Saturday night, getting high, listening to records and trying not to think about men.

Our social lives have hit a definite standstill. Whether this is temporary or not remains to be seen.

As I expected, Bruce didn't call me all weekend, and I feel terrible about it. Not so much sorry for myself as ashamed of myself for getting so involved with someone like him. He's slick and he's smooth and he knows all the right lines, and I was sucked in just like all the other girls he's known and used, probably. I can't believe I was so gullible.

Now I've got to find SOME WAY to get him out of my system - preferably with another man. Unfortunately that's easier said than done.

Where do you find men? HOW do you find men? And what exactly is it that I want? A more sincere version of Bruce Mitchell, I guess ... the charm and the sensuality with sincerity ... not calculated polish.

  

 

 

10/9/78
Monday evening

Rhonda is at work, so I'm home alone, getting high & listening to music. I mixed myself a stiff drink, smoked a bowl and am now listening to music at wall-shaking volume. I feel good, but I know it's just because I'm almost-high. Underneath it all, things are as low as ever. Bruce all but ignored me at the office today, and the vibes tell me it's all over. Nothing has been said but I just know. In the meantime, Randy W. is coming over tonight. Who knows .. ? Just having someone to TALK to is going to be a welcome relief.

Later:

Still waiting for Randy.

Hoping that I'm not getting into the drinking habit again.

(Written shortly before passing out on the couch.)

October 10, 1978

Randy never showed up and I just fell asleep, waking up four hours later when Rhonda came home. Needless to say I am hungover as hell today, but SUCH IS THE PRICE YOU PAY. Randy said today that his car broke down last night and he "couldn't call." It didn't faze me in the least. Actually, I was relieved he didn't show up - I was drunk enough and lonely enough to do something stupid. I like Randy and I enjoy all the friendly flirting that he & the rest of "the warehouse animals" do with me, but I'm not attracted to him in any way special.

Bruce took me out to lunch today - his invitation, not mine! Just when I think I have the man figured out, he does something unexpected to screw up all my nice neat rationalizing. I still feel like it's over between us. The glib conversation and phony relaxedness didn't change my feeling about that. Like I said last night - I just KNOW that it's over. He mentioned something about "cooling it for awhile," but I wasn't paying much attention to him at that moment so I sort of lost the context of the remark. I don't know if he was talking temporary or permanent.

Do I even care? Right now I'm not so sure I do. I'm strongly attracted to him physically, and I would like to have a committed relationship with him, but all things considered I'm not sure it's worth it. We're just too different. Our lives are polar opposites of each other.

All I know is that I want to find a man. The anticipation is the best part; the waiting is the worst part.

 

 

 

The era of The Balding Aluminum Sales Guy begins.

October 17, 1978
Tuesday morning lunch

 One week later, and the waiting is over.

So much has happened in seven days, I am completely at a loss for words. I don't even know where to begin telling you about it.

To begin ... I wish that I could just rip out the things I've already written in this journal and begin all over again.

An hour later:

I left work early and came home ... now I'm sitting in the apartment with a glass of wine, listening to the stereo ("Agents of Fortune" at the moment). I have the whole afternoon to relax and be alone and get my thoughts together.

Anyway ... what I was starting to say is that I regret the way this journal begins. I'm tempted to pull out the first few pages and start all over again. Today is Day One of my life, as far as I'm concerned.

I NEVER should have allowed myself to get involved with Bruce. He is a very special person and a good friend, but it just wasn't meant to be and I knew it all along. I guess I was just looking for someone, ANYONE, to provide me with an excuse to break up with Scott, and Bruce gave me that, at least.

Anyway. Something important has happened. I'm in the middle of another intense, light-speed relationship, but this time it's different. This time it's right. Last Thursday night I went out with Scott W.  Originally we planned to go out to dinner, but when we were at his apartment we just started talking & really opening up to each other, and the next thing we knew dinner was forgotten. It was incredible. I've never opened up to anyone so quickly and so completely, and after the depression I've been going through these past couple of weeks, it was a great release. Maybe it was my loneliness that allowed me to talk to him so freely, but whatever it was, it was great.

What's strange about it is that I'd sorta been avoiding going out with Scott, because I was almost afraid of him in a way. He's very intense, and he's always come on so strong, and I thought that a date with him would be an evening spent fighting him off. He's always been so blatant. That's why it was so strange - he actually isn't like that at all. At least, not with me. He's currently in the process of divorcing Pam, so that whole thing is very much on his mind. There he was, sitting there telling me the whole story like we were lifelong buddies, when actually we'd been together for less than two hours.

 

 

 

Friday after work
October 20, 1978

Sitting on the floor listening to the stereo and nursing a drink. Rhonda isn't home at the moment but all signs indicate she just stepped out for a minute & will be back shortly. I am tired. My energy level has reached an all-time low. I'm not getting to bed until 2 or 3 a.m., and then I have to get up at 5:30 a.m., plus I've been getting all kinds of high every night - more than ever - and it's beginning to wear me down. I haven't spent the night at home in a week - I sleep at Scott's apartment every night.

There's so much I want to write about, but lately there is just no time.

I'm in love with Scott W. It's strange, but there it is. I know myself well enough. It all happened so fast, but some of the best things that have happened in my life have happened (literally) over night, so I'm not totally unaccustomed to it. I didn't exactly WANT to start caring about him as much as I do, but some things you just can't fight and it's pointless to try.

A thought just occurred to me ... for most of my life, when I've tried to imagine true love, or what sort of person I could be happy with, I have always pictured someone very much like Scott. He fits the picture I created? (What exactly? Intelligence - confidence - experience - sensitivity - maturity - a certain recklessness - someone I can talk to?)  We've been together every night for the past week, and I have to say that never have I felt more at ease with anyone. Of course there are still a lot of hang-ups on my side. Never capable of total ease? But for the most part I feel more completely comfortable with him than with anyone before. I would like to just totally let go and be completely myself - I can't yet - but the encouraging part is knowing that I probably will, with him, given time. He's just that sort of person. I have the potential to be something good with him. He brings that out in me.

 

 

 

Saturday night
October 21, 1978

Still so much that needs to be written, and so little motivation (or time).

A thought that occurred today ... someday I will probably be looking back on this exact period of time as one of the very happiest. So much in my life is changing. It's as though my life is finally starting to begin, after several years of mild-to-severe depression. I'm happier, more consistently and more completely, than I've ever been before. Not just an occasional "good mood" or a temporary feeling of optimism, but a consistent undercurrent of peace with myself and my world and the way things are happening. Even when I'm low now, it isn't nearly as low as it used to be.

Maybe there's hope for me after all.

Right now I'm sitting in the living room of Scott's apartment - he's doing some paperwork at the desk next to me, I'm stretched out on the couch. "Stealers Wheel" on the stereo - fire burning in the fireplace across the room - companionable silence between the two of us. Completely at ease, as though we've known each other for years and years, when in fact it's been a little over a week.

I am hardly ever home anymore - I've spent the night here with Scott every night for nine days. Rhonda is starting to think of me as the "Phantom Roommate." On those rare occasions when I do make it back to the apartment, it's usually just to pick up some more clothes or to kill time until Scott comes over. I can't tell if she's angry; I know she gets lonely, spending so much time around the apartment with no one to talk to. But tonight she's out with Bruce (!) so at least her social life is picking up a little.

I'm probably going to be moving in with Scott within the next couple of weeks. He actually asked me the first night I was here, but I didn't begin to take him seriously until a day or two later, when it dawned on me that there was no reason in the world why I couldn't. It was a totally amazing realization. The strings are gone, and the restrictions, and I hardly noticed them go.

Of course, it's going to be hard to tell my family. My God, Grandma V. might not survive the shock of me MOVING IN (gasp) with a 26 YEAR OLD (gasp) MARRIED (gasp) MAN (gasp) with two young daughters (GASP!) If it's at all possible, she might not even find out about it. I'll undoubtedly conceal it as long as I can.

There's also the complication of work, and again it comes down to the standard problem of Kirk & Herb and their policy of no personal relationships within the company. I'll be fired in an instant if they find out I'm dating him, let alone moving in with him. I've more or less reconciled myself to the idea of looking for another job before too much longer, which is too bad because I was just starting to feel comfortable and useful at Lusk Metals. But Scott makes me so happy that I don't doubt it would be worth it. I don't doubt it for a minute.

 

 

 

Late Sunday afternoon
October 22, 1978

One quick word - because there isn't time for anything else - but the happy feeling continues. We are waiting for our steak and lobster to cook ... waiting for Bruce and Rhonda to show up ... we're going to the 10CC concert at the Paramount tonight. Scott and I went shopping a little while ago and bought me a semi-sexy nightgown, then went driving around looking at houses.

Too happy to even write in my journal. Sorry.

 

 

Friday night
October 27, 1978

Sitting alone with candles and Cat Stevens albums and quiet. Scott is still at the office - this is inventory weekend - so there's no way of knowing how late he'll be.

Kirk fired me yesterday. I didn't take it easily, and I spent the afternoon vacillating between uncontrollable hysterics and resigned depression. But now I've come to the conclusion that it was the best thing that could have happened, and that ultimately it will be more blessing than curse. I loved my job, and I particularly enjoyed the people I worked with (except for Kirk!) and I don't believe I was fired for any valid reason. Kirk said he thought the "job pressures" were too much for me, which is total bullshit. But it's over now, and I start my life from Point One again.

I'm living with Scott now. We broke the news to Rhonda yesterday afternoon, and while she obviously wasn't thrilled, she was very nice about the whole thing. I'll pay her my half of the rent until she can find a new roommate, and in the meantime I'll probably move all my stuff out this weekend.

As for a job, I think I'm going to enjoy one whole week of being entirely lazy & unmotivated, and then start looking seriously.

How do I feel right now? Slightly hungover - last night Scott and I met Bobbi and Bruce for drinks at Perino's, and after a couple hours Bruce followed us back to the apartment and the three of us got higher still. I haven't been that completely bombed in a long time. I have a huge bruise on the back of my leg from where I fell into the bathtub (!?). I couldn't even get myself out of bed until 4:00 this afternoon, and even once I was up it was all I could do to take a shower and clean the apartment and eat something. Scott won't be home until 10:00 at least, so I have three hours to kill.

I'm totally in love with him, and I have been since the third night we were together. I've plunged headlong into another intense, intimate relationship - something I swore I wouldn't do - but rather than regretting it, I'm loving it. Just sitting here alone in his apartment, looking at his things, cleaning, cooking my dinner in the kitchen, listening to his albums on the stereo ... silly little inconsequentials ... makes me feel more alive and more aware than ever before. The last thing in the world I expected to do was move in with a guy this year, but the unplanned things are what make my life interesting.

Thinking.

I've never had this kind of relationship before. I've certainly cared before - there have been three other people in my life with whom I built a certain level of intimacy and love - but I have to say, quite honestly, that it never even begins to approach the level of caring Scott and I have. With Phil there was the spiritual intimacy of sharing a Christ-centered relationship. With Steve there was blind passion. With Scott S. there was intimacy born of habit. I loved them all, to one degree or another, separately and individually and in completely different ways, but each time I always felt that I wasn't caring quite as much as I should be. It felt like something was holding me back. There always seemed to be something missing - some vague, imperceptible quality in the relationship that should have been there but wasn't. Maybe that's what distinguishes absolute love from imperfect love. (No love is perfect? But it should be? Or could be?)

At any rate, I am now in the middle of the best relationship I've ever had, and it IS beautiful.

 

 

 

October 29, 1978
Sunday night

Tired. Full of thought but incapable of writing much. I'd rather just THINK about it all. We moved two carloads of my stuff over to Scott's apartment this afternoon - his car and mine - mostly my clothes and my albums. He asked me, "Do you feel moved in yet?" and I had to say no because I don't. I'm so unsettled inside my head that it's hard to get settled into any physical space. I still hurt about losing my job, and about letting Rhonda down by moving out of the apartment after only four weeks, and about not calling Grandma, and I think Scott thinks I'm somehow dissatisfied with our relationship, when that's not the case. I'm characteristically so afraid of hurting people or stepping on any toes that it's hard for me to loosen up completely and enjoy an experience. In this instance, it means that I think I should feel guilty about moving in with Scott (because of Rhonda and Grandma), so I do feel guilty about it, and the guilt is inhibiting my ability to just let go and relax and enjoy this new development in my life. I guess I feel obligated to feel guilty, if that makes sense.

Besides which - and I have to admit this, almost in spite of the fact that I know damned well that Scott is going to be reading this - I'm NERVOUS! This is the most intimate and intense relationship I've ever had, and because I rushed into it I left myself no time to get "emotionally prepared" or whatever. No "pre-wedding jitters" or the equivalent (in this case) because there wasn't time. So I'm having my attack of nerves NOW, when they can't possibly do me any good and they just put a strain on everything. Terrific. I'm scared to death that he's comparing everything I do or say to the things Pam said and did, and that there's no way I can measure up - even stupid things like cleaning up the kitchen, the way I act in the supermarket with him, etc. The rational part of me knows this is ridiculous, he loves me the way I am & knows that no two people are the same, etc. - but my all-around insecurity about myself feels that in some crazy, ridiculous way I'm in competition with Pam. I'm absolutely insanely in love with him, which I believe he knows, but it might take me some time to loosen up and relax enough to enjoy the experience of living with him - something I want to do with all my heart.

(In case you were wondering, Scott.)

Maybe I'm in more of a writing mood than I thought. The words are coming a little easier than usual. Maybe my creative block is giving way, finally. I could probably even write a poem tonight.

(This is now - sitting on opposite parts of the sofa - he is engrossed in a book, barefoot, feet propped on the coffeetable - I am hunched over my notebook, scribbling - an all-time favorite on the stereo ("Only Living Boy") - fire in the fireplace - very quiet, very relaxed.)

I just want to think, I guess.

 

 

 

Monday early afternoon
October 30, 1978

Scott is at work; this is Day One of my "vacation from life." I got up around 10, had my customary bowl of Alpha Bits and milk, took the elevator downstairs and put three loads of laundry in the machines, came back upstairs and took a shower and mopped the kitchen floors. I know it all sounds nauseatingly domestic, but actually it's just the sort of activity I needed most .... humdrum, unexciting little things that keep me occupied. In fact, I'm enjoying it. I can't see myself doing this for any extended periods of time - I wasn't born to be a housewife - but until I find a new job, I'll just kick back and enjoy doing relatively nothing, keeping his (our?) apartment clean, cooking for him, being here when he comes, loving him the best way I know how. He's done more for me than he probably realizes - he's "fed my spirit" (K.L.) - and it's hard to know when you've repaid someone "enough." I suppose with real love that isn't necessary ?

 

 

 

Friday evening
November 3, 1978

Evening alone - stereo is playing. Scott is at the Lusk Metals company dinner, to which I was pointedly not invited. I was upset about that for a while, especially since Rhonda is going (with Bruce) and the whole thing seems somehow unfair. I did work there for three months, after all. But my rage has subsided. Scott will be home early and we're going out after he gets home, possibly to see "Rocky Horror" (although it is pouring down rain and I shudder at the thought of standing in that long line).

This week has been wonderful for me. No tension, no real pressures. Yesterday I drove down to Kent and single-handedly moved the rest of my stuff out of Rhonda's apartment. Today I spent a couple hours arranging it and putting it away here. I have to admit, I'm getting to be an "old hand" at moving ... this is my third move in four months. I've got it down to a science.

One serious point about moving, though - I'm wondering if I'll ever feel a sense of "roots" again. Will I ever find a place that is really 'home' again? Could this be the place?

Terri to Scott

"Hi -

Thanks for the Alpha Bits message this morning - itreally made my day. It's too bad that I can't tellanyone about it, though, because that would be likeadmitting I actually EAT Alpha Bits ...

I have a staggering amount of things to do today andI seriously doubt that I'll be here when you come home. HOWEVER, wherever I am or whatever I'm doingat 5:00 p.m. (or thereabouts), I'll call and let you knowwhat's happening.

I'm thinking about you - I love you too.

Me.

P.S. I have to warn you ... for your own peace of mindand sanity, DON'T look in the spare bedroom.

P.P.S. (And if you do look, don't say I didn't warn you)"

 

 

 

Monday morning 10 a.m.
November 6, 1978

Monday morning after an incredibly long and tiring weekend. Friday night Scott and I went to Rocky Horror after he got home from the company dinner, so naturally we didn't get to bed until 3 a.m. or so. Saturday morning we met Bruce and Rhonda and Kent for breakfast, and then Scott and I went out shopping - he bought me a new dress at Nordstroms to wear that night - we had dinner with Randy T. and Lenae B. at Stuart's at Shilshole, and then came back to the apartment and got high with them until 2 a.m. Yesterday we picked up Scott's daughter Brittany and went around visiting various members of my family - we went to Grandma and Grandpa V.'s - Dad was there, too, so it was like killing three birds with one stone. And then later in the evening we took Mom, Ken and Debby to dinner at Terero in Burien.

I'm understandably pooped this morning. I woke up at 8:00 and Scott had already left for the office, so I took a shower and made some coffee and am only now beginning to actively feel any signs of returning life and energy.

Unfortunately I'm not going to be able to spend this day the way I would choose - finishing my book, listening to music, recuperating - because Grandma V. called here this morning and wants me to drive down to see her. I guess Mom gave her my phone number (which sorta pisses me off), so now she KNOWS, for a fact, that Scott and I are living together. From the sound of her voice I can tell that she's not exactly pleased. She wants to "have a talk." Shit!

Shit (again). What is it with me, anyway? The things that I've been writing in this journal sound so one-level ... I'm merely recording events, not feelings or thoughts, the way I used to. I'm impatient with myself right now. Do I have to be in the middle of some kind of crisis in order to write the way I want to? (need to?) Does my world have to be falling apart before I can pick up a pen and put it all into words?

What about the GOOD things - the GOOD feelings - that I've been filled with this past month? Don't they deserve words, too? Why can't I write about how good it is to be loved by Scott? How it feels to sit next to him in the car, or watch him at night when he's sleep next to me? Or what I'm thinking about when I'm making the bed in the morning, or when I'm folding his socks? Even the silliest, most trivial things deserve some mention when they make me feel so good and so alive, and yet it takes a death in the family or something equally earth-shattering to wrench the words out of me. I'm up against some creative block and it's frustrating as hell. I want to preserve all the good things, too!

I'm going to Gram's in half and hour and I'm prepared for the worst ... the inevitable showdown, I suppose. Somehow I've got to convince her that I love Scott with my whole heart, and that I see nothing wrong with our arrangement, and that her worries, whatever they are, are unfounded. Easy. Why, then, do I feel like an unwilling soldier preparing for the battlefield?

 

 

 

Tuesday morning
November 7, 1978

Waiting for my coffee. Sitting on the sofa, bleary-eyed from a nightful of strange dreams. I didn't fall asleep happy last night, and that usually guarantees I'll wake up tired and run-down in the morning. Scott and I are having some problems, and we went to sleep last night without attempting to resolve them. When I woke up this morning his side of the bed was empty. I knew that something was bothering me - that something had happened last night - but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Now it's all coming back to me, and I feel very strongly the need to write about it this morning. Perhaps not so much for the sake of keeping a written record so much as the need to figure out exactly what's bothering me. Maybe writing it out, however clumsily, will make it easier for me to talk about it with Scott when he comes home tonight.

It is cloudy and gray this morning. I keep forgetting that it's November already and when I step outside the feeling in the air surprises me - that bitingly cold, prelude-to-winter feeling in the air. There has been a feeling of timelessness inside me since I stopped working; it is an effort to remember what the date is. Everything has more or less come to a standstill.

Grandma V. called me again this morning. She and Grandpa have accepted Scott as a fact - even the fact that I'm living with him - or at least they seem to have. I can never completely tell with Grandma. I'm surprised that she accepted it so readily, with so little protest, but I suppose I've reached the point in my life where I can pretty well do anything & it wouldn't surprise them. They can be hurt, or disappointed, but not surprised.

Anyway. Back to the subject ... or, at least, trying to figure out what the subject is.

We've got a problem. Largely it's a communication problem - we're not reading each other the way we could be. It seems like we're continually misinterpreting each other. Maybe I'm not secure enough in the relationship, because I can't seem to totally relax ... I'm always on edge, waiting for the let-down. Ideal relationships scare me because (basically) I don't believe there IS such a thing, and until recently our relationship has been so close to "ideal" that it scares me. I guess that what I'm doing is anticipating some kind of major problem because my experiences have taught me that there usually is one. And so even if nothing actually arises, I will create a problem just by anticipating it.

My God. That doesn't make any sense at all. Total gibberish. Let me try again.

I've got to relax around him. For the most part, I have. I feel very comfortable with Scott most of the time - when we're sitting on the couch talking, or driving, or grocery-shopping, or other non-threatening activities. At those times I feel completely at ease. But once it gets past a certain point, I freeze up, and that's where the problems begin. He expects complete and total intimacy, I think ... not only sexually, but in all other things, and for some reason this is something I can't offer him yet.

Will I ever be able to?

Part of me thinks I can, given time.

Um  ...  I believe that this was basically about oral sex, which twenty yr. old Terri had a HUGE problem with.  But of course I wouldn't come right out and admit that in my journal.

 

 

 

November 13, 1978
Monday noon

I never finish what I start, do I? Nearly a week later ... remembering that the worst day of my life was on this date, five years ago. I was devastated that day. Now it doesn't matter at all, because I'm so far removed from the person I was that day. I can remember the pain, but I don't feel any of it anymore. What does that say about us? We recover. We remember, and in some ways we're better because we do remember, but we recover. Bear that in mind, Terri  ...

Cold, clear day. Scott is at work and I have just finished cleaning the apartment. "The" apartment? Scott's apartment? Our apartment? Still feeling rootless. When does a place start feeling like home? My heart is here, if not my furniture ... maybe that's all that counts. My heart is here because Scott is here. I love him so much. We are here.

I spent some time this morning leafing through a couple of old journals - mostly the ones concerning Steve and Phil and my first year at Highline College. It was a revelation. God, how I've changed ... did I ever really feel that way? Or write that way? How do we change? When does it happen? If you blink you miss it, I guess.

Sitting on the couch listening to an old Simon & Garfunkle album, waiting for lunch to cook. Two o'clock in the afternoon. It's been almost three weeks since I lost my job, and I've spent a lot of time sitting around this apartment doing exactly what I'm doing right now. I feel the same way I used to feel during those long, uneventful summer vacations, when everything comes to a standstill and it's an effort to get out of bed in the morning. I'm not depressed in the least ... there's too much in my immediate future to look forward to, which (perhaps) is what's saving me. Scott and I are driving to Bellingham on Thursday morning and coming back on Friday; maybe I can talk him into driving over to Firwood. I would LOVE to see the camp again; my happiest summers were spent there on the lake. And next week we're going to Hawaii for Thanksgiving weekend, and after that there's all of December to enjoy, with my 21st birthday and Christmas and everything. So I'm in good shape emotionally, as far as the immediate future is concerned. As long as I have definite things to look forward to, I'm OK - I don't mind a little boredom. These past couple of weeks have been good for me. The pressure has been lifted, more or less. I've just let it all go.

There are, however, a couple of things that are bothering me. I've tried to ignore them, hoping they'll "go away" or that I won't worry about them, but unfortunately they're not the kind of problems that can be wished away. They've got to be tackled, and that's the part I'm not looking forward to.

First is the matter of finding a new job. Shit. I hate job-hunting with a PASSION - probably because I haven't had a lot of experience with it. Both of my past two jobs were more or less handed to me, with practically no effort on my part. I've got to find a job, and I don't actually mind the idea of working ... it's the hunting that I hate. It's so degrading.

I'll start looking seriously at the end of this month, when we come back from Maui.

The other problem is that my period is five days late and I think I'm probably pregnant. Isn't it amazing how casually I include it in my list of problems? "Scott and I aren't communicating ... I'm sort of bored ... I need a job ... oh yes, and I'm pregnant." Well. There's no point in getting all carried away about it, because it's not the end of the world. I'm not contemplating slashing my wrists or anything. Frankly, at this point, all I feel is a sort of numb, vague concern. No panic. Nothing in the way of emotion, really, except wondering what to do. Scott knows about it, of course, and it has been a considerable source of friction between the two of us, but we've come to some kind of understanding finally, I think. Or at least I have.

This is how I feel: At this point and time in my life, I'm not equipped emotionally to commit myself to much of anything. Too much has been changing too quickly, and I don't feel stable. I don't mean (my relationship with) Scott - I feel very comfortable with him, and more of less capable of commitment, to a point - largely because we won't be married for a year at least, and living together is about all the "commitment" that Terri V. can handle right now. Taking it in stages is the best way. The only way, in fact. We completely skipped over the preliminaries. I spent the night with him on our first date and (literally!) never went home again. We went from first date awkwardness to living together within 24 hours. Now it's time that we start taking things in stages. I'm not unhappy about the way things happened, and I don't regret it for an instant, any of it. Some things just happen fast. But as far as having a baby is concerned, that's one stage I'm not ready for, and I won't be for a long time. I'm only now learning what I need to give myself - how in the world could I give a child the things it would need?

Of course, I'm not at all thrilled about the alternative. But there doesn't seem to be any other feasible way out.

  

 

 

Wednesday afternoon
November 15, 1978

Scott won't be home until late tonight - 10:00 at the earliest - he has to take a customer out to dinner - and since it's only 3:00 in the afternoon I'm just sitting here alone in the apartment, feeling at loose ends. Jerry B. called a while ago and he helped cheer me up, but I've been down in the dumps since last night. The really frustrating part is that I can't put my finger on what it is that's got me down. Discontent with myself, I guess. I don't know. Worrying about being pregnant, too, although I can't talk to anybody about that yet, not even Scott -- it's too private a pain.

Evening:

Still alone, but better. I took a nap for two hours, drove to the store to buy some dinner and an evenings' worth of magazines, and settled down on the couch to relax. And think. I'm not sure I'm really in the mood to write about this, but I'm working everything out. Talking to Jerry today helped. Thank God for friends. I explained to him some of the things that have been bothering me, and he straightened me out. He wasn't exactly kind, but he was honest and that's what I needed more than anything. More than bland condescension, anyway.

I've been putting on weight and my face is all broken out. I feel sloppy. Not ugly, but not attractive, either. I've been going through a slump - emotionally? physically? - whatever. I'm not TOO concerned about it because my "slumps" are periodical and more or less predictable, and they pass. The only problem is that they're hell until they do.

Question: What exactly is a "slump?"

Answer: I haven't the faintest idea.

Q: Why do I get them?

A: I haven't the faintest idea.

Q: How do I get rid of them?

A: ... (what do YOU think?)

Later:

Took a bath - washed my hair - and am now snuggled on the couch with a pillow and an afghan, watching TV. This will sound strange (I realize) but a thought occurred to me as I was taking my bath, and "suddenly" everything was crystal clear. It happens that way occasionally. I'll be depressed about something and not really know why, and suddenly it'll snap into place. I've defined my slump. Or at least, I think I know why I'm slumped. I'll tell you about it later.

Later (again)

This is going to be clumsy, but I've got to write about it now while it's still uppermost in my mind. First, I thought about this: where was I one year ago? I was locked in a little room with no windows and no doors ... leading a narrow life. No job, no money, no car, not even a Drivers License yet ... living completely under Daddy's thumb, dependent on him for everything. I was depressed all the time and I felt like nothing was ever going to change soon enough. Then, in the past six months, EVERYTHING has changed. I moved out of the house. I got my license. I bought my car. I quit my old job and got a new, better one. I broke up with Scott S. I moved into my apartment. All of a sudden, I was completely in control, and for six months I felt on top of everything ...

... And now I feel like I'm back at Square One again.

  

 

 

November 18, 1978
Saturday night

Briefly. (Neither the time or the desire to be anything but.) Late evening - fire in the fireplace - first snow of the year, outside - Scott and I are sitting here with Coffee Nudges, watching TV. Quietly, completely happy.

Had to share the feeling with you. That's all!

 

 

 

November 21, 1978
Tuesday morning

Sitting on the sofa with my second cup of coffee ... clean wet hair wrapped in a towel. Feeling overwhelmed. We leave for Hawaii in the morning and I have so much to do. The apartment is a mess and I have a million little things I've got to buy before we leave.

  

There are no real journal entries written while I'm in Hawaii, although I did manage to scribble a brief itinerary of the things we did/ places we went:

Wednesday: Flying most of the day. Vague depression at Honolulu airport. Hotel @ 9 p.m., fell asleep and slept straight through the night.

Thursday:  Woke up to find myself in paradise. Scott and I breakfast at Whaler's Market; shopping for shorts and sandals; back to hotel to change. Bruce and Craig came over to our hotel room, got high with us. Fell asleep, awake at 10:30 p.m. Hungry! Thanksgiving evening but most restaurants were closed already! Finally had a ham sandwich at Drysdale's, heard "Place In The World For A Gambler." Sat on beach getting high.

Friday: Breakfast (omelets and Bloody Marys) at The Organ Grinder in Lahaina. Drove to Hana and back, took all day. Scott got drunk and surly. Went to dinner at Chuck's with Scott, Bruce, Tim & Mike. Scott got pissed off and disappeared, I went to a party with Tim and Bruce.

Saturday: Brunch at Drysdale's, nap. Sat on beach late in the afternoon, drinks at The Blue Max, then dinner at Nimble's. Champagne and Maui Wowee on the beach.

Sunday: Brunch in Kanapaali; drinks with Bruce and Tim; Scott bought me a pearl ring as a surprise. Driving around with beer, taking pictures. Flight home.

With the BASG in Lahaina
1978

 

 

Tuesday morning
November 27, 1978

One week later. Transplanted back into a gray, sullen Seattle morning after five days in Heaven.

How in the world can I tell you about it all??

 

 

Continued the next day:

Scott is in the office all day today and I am, as usual, alone in the apartment, listening to music, passing time until he come home. This place seems so big and empty when he's not here.

I tried to clean the apartment a little bit this morning, and I started writing a letter to Sparky, but my energy level has reached an all-time low. I'm vaguely depressed - a case of the post-Maui blues, I suppose. That place is so beautiful. Sigh. If I believed in reincarnation, I would believe that Terri V. lived a previous life in Lahaina. The place just felt like HOME. I didn't want to leave.

Thanksgiving night was one of the most perfectly beautiful evenings of my life. Scott and I had been drinking steadily all day long, so late in the afternoon we decided to take a quick nap in our hotel room so we could be "fresh" for that evening. We both fell sound asleep, though, and when I woke up and looked at his watch, it was 10:30. I was so pissed!! I felt that the whole evening was shot, and to make things worse we hadn't eaten anything since morning and we were both ravenous. We got up and sat at the kitchen table and moped a little bit.

Went next door to the cafe

The restaurant was closed but Scott talked them into making us cold ham sandwiches because we'd missed dinner and it was Thanksgiving

"There's A Place In The World For A Gambler" came on the radio

Love on the beach in the moonlight

A million stars in the sky

All the world was beautiful

 

 

 

Tuesday
December 5, 1978

Again a week later.

Sitting on the floor of the spare bedroom, hair in rollers, listening to the radio. I think Scott is sitting out in the living room, but it's so quiet out there that he might have left while I was drying my hair. We're having problems. Or maybe it's just me who is having the problem. I feel frustrated, bitter and angry.

A line from a poem keeps running through my head ... "The idyll now is shattered; in the end we have only ourselves." I'm not sure it applies, but I can't shake it. He's pressuring me to get a job, and for some reason I'm balking at the idea. You grow accustomed to laziness, I guess. All my motivation has shriveled up and blown away. I don't feel ready to start the humiliating process of job-hunting, but the longer I wait, the harder it gets.

Also - the withering comment he made this morning about being "bored" with our sex life. God, that hurt. That was such a blow, especially since I thought things were getting better. Just thinking about that comment makes me so sad I just want to disappear.

A minute later:

I was right ... he did leave, and I didn't even hear him go. No note, either. I guess it's for the best: I need some time to be alone and sort everything out.

Maybe I shouldn't have moved in with him. It was too soon - we hadn't seen the bad sides of each other, only the attractive sides - and now it's a shock to see just exactly how ugly we both can be.

I don't feel trapped, exactly, but I do feel like I have no place else to go. Actually, this is the only place I want to be, but it's got to get better between us or else it won't work.

Evening:

I'll never cease to be amazed by the ease with which I fuck up my own life. He's two hours late and the dinner I made is stone cold. I know I sound like a complaining housewife but I'm thoroughly pissed.

11:30 p.m.

I was wrong ... he didn't skip dinner intentionally. He called and little while ago - and so did the Tukwila Police Department. He and Bruce got fucked up at Perino's and now Bruce is in jail and Scott is over at Craig's. I don't even want to write about what they did because it's so incredibly juvenile (They got drunk and smashed some lights in the restaurant's back hallway: the charge was 'malicious mischief') , but at least I know he's OK and that he still loves me. He assured me of that. He said that he's determined to make this work out, and I feel like a TON has been lifted from my shoulders ... in that respect, at least. Now all I can is sit here & wait & smoke & wait some more, until he calls back and tells me what's going on.

 

 

 

December 6, 1978
Wednesday night

Sitting on the sofa watching an old Bob Newhart re-run ... Scott is sitting beside me, his nose buried in the evening paper. Everything is more or less straightened out and I'd prefer to forget the whole ugly mess. Scott bailed Bruce out and as far as I know everything is back to normal ... even in our relationship. I am very confident of his love at the moment. I only wish I could be this secure all the time. It would make life so much easier. My insecurities are really going to get me in trouble someday.

A thought: Why aren't I feeling Christmas yet? We drove to Fred Meyer tonight to pick up our Hawaii pictures and I heard Elton John's "Step Into Christmas" on the radio for the first time this year, but even that didn't do it.

Scott (after reading some of my poetry): "I'm afraid that you're going to outgrow me."

 

 

 

Friday noon
December 8, 1978

Still wobbly from an incredible hangover ... difficult to even hold a pen ... my fingers feel thick and heavy, and my head is pounding. But it was worth it! Believe it or not, all this morning-after agony is REALLY worth it, because last night was SO nice.

  

 

 

Monday night/Tuesday morning
December 11, 1978

Late at night.

Scott is flat on his back in bed, sound asleep ... but I felt restless and decided to come out to the living room and try to get sleepy by forcing myself to be up. Bruce was over for dinner tonight (my famous pork chop & potato casserole, part of which is heating in the oven at this very moment as a "midnight snack"). Too bad there's not a good late movie on tonight.

 

 

 

Monday morning
December 18, 1978

Another week later.

Scott's mom is staying with us this week, and since Scott works all day it's up to me to keep her "entertained" ... and I think I'm going to go insane. The tension (real or imagined, mutual or only on my end) is unbearable. She's nothing like I expected - certainly not the tyrant of my nightmares! - actually she's a very nice lady. But I can't think of anything interesting or amusing or witty to talk about, and she must think I'm the dullest, dopiest girl Scott could have picked.

 

 

Wednesday afternoon
December 20, 1978

Late afternoon ... growing dark and cold outside. I am perched on the counter with a (diet) beer ... Scott's mother is curled up on the couch, napping. The Christmas tree lights are plugged in and the entire apartment looks clean and festive. I wrapped some presents - Ken's sweater, Rhonda's diary, wine for Jerry and Jody, Dick and Ann.  Phyllis and I went out to lunch at Denny's this afternoon, and she talked about Scott and Randy when they were little boys. I'm no longer so uncomfortable around her, although I'm still at a loss for words sometimes. I desperately want her to like me. I want her to feel that I'm good for her son. (Am I?)

Things have been strained between Scott and I the past two nights ... I'm not sure why. Last night I fell asleep in tears because of something Grandpa V. said on the phone (which I'll talk about later), and because Scott apparently had no interest in making love.

Interrupted - Jerry B. called

  

 

Thursday morning
December 21, 1978

Scott and I have been tense and brittle with each other for the past couple of days, but last night we managed to more or less resolve it.

 

 

 

Friday afternoon


December 22, 1978

Waiting for Scott to come home from the office party. We're taking his mom back to Pam's today ... thank god. We got a long better than I had anticipated, but there is too much tension in the apartment with the three of us there. I've found Scott's Christmas present - a large photograph of a sailboat, mounted in a huge wormwood frame.

 

 

 

December 27, 1978
10 a.m. Friday

Christmas has come and gone and I never even mentioned a word about it. This journal is sadly incomplete.

 

 

 

Tuesday morning
January 2, 1979

1979, and one of my resolutions for this new year is to write more consistently in this journal ... too many important things are happening to let life go by unrecorded.

Preparing to leave for my typing test at Micro Soft and my second interview at Unit Process. Who knows ... by this time tomorrow, I may be employed once again. Nervous. I've never taken a standard typing test before, and I'm miserably out of practice besides. God knows how I'll do.

Sick. Sore throat, fever. Maybe it's all in my head. More later.

Evening:

Wrapped in layers of clothing and blankets, laying on the couch ... REALLY SICK tonight. Can't seem to shake this cold or flu or whatever it is, and now the virus has spread to my right eye - it's all puffy and red and bloody looking. My typing test  was an abysmal failure. No surprise: I'm so out of practice. But I went on another interview later in the afternoon at a place in Redmond, called Ridgway Packaging, and I'm extremely optimistic. I want to work so bad I can taste it, and everything about the position at Ridgway is perfect for me ... minimal typing & lots of phones, a five minute drive from our apartment, pleasant working environment, good salary and benefits. I could go on & on, but I'm making a point of NOT getting too excited too soon. I don't want to set myself up for a big disappointment.

 

 

 

Friday lunch
January 5, 1979

Well, I got the job at Ridgway and I'm very pleased about it - and I'll probably write more about it when I come home this evening (I'm home for a quick non-lunch at the moment, and have to head back to the office pretty soon), but at the moment I've slumped into a vague depression. Scott left for Las Vegas this morning and will be gone for the whole fucking weekend, and I'm already so lonely for him I can't stand it. This is the first time we've been separated for any length of time, and the apartment feels incredibly empty without him. I'm not looking forward to this weekend at all.

Pick up tonight: Stationery (plain white) - beer - reading material

Write to: Dee Dee, Melinda, Teri, Sparky, Ron, Dave, Beth, Marie, Karen, Tammy, Becky

Scott to Terri 1/5/79

"Dear Terri -

I felt real bad about it later in the morning when I realized that I only left you $10 for the weekend. Here is another $20.  I really wish you could my being away for a weekend a little better, but I guess that it is the first time we have been apart at all.  With $30-$60 worth of c., you should be able to do something this weekend. I love you. Please don't forget that. You make me almost sorry that I'm going at all.

Love,
Scott"

Evening

Home from work and I'm so depressed I can't stand it. This is ridiculous. If I were a normal person I would be calling Rhonda or Jerry or ANYBODY, trying to find something interesting to do tonight, but instead all I can do is sit here and miss Scott and cry and feel totally miserable.

 

 

 

Saturday morning
January 6, 1979

Went to bed last night at 7:00 and slept straight through until this morning. I feel a little better this morning (emotionally) but am still unused to Scott's not being around. Lonely. Wondering what to do with my time today. The apartment is a mess and I have some good books to read, but somehow that doesn't quite do it.

Thinking about: Scott. Where is he right now? What is he doing? (Sleeping with his ex-wife in Las Vegas.  But I don't find out about it for a couple of months.) Is he having a good time? Does he think about me? Does he miss me?

Our first date was on Thursday night, October 12, and since that first evening I have never really left this apartment ... or, more accurately, I've never really left SCOTT, since we've gone to Bellingham and Hawaii since then. Maybe that's why this separation is so tough.

Later:

Taking a momentary pause. I'm now up and starting to do things. I've finally concluded that I can either sit here and mourn all day, or I can determine to MAKE this weekend entertaining. Or at least useful. Already this morning I've read an entire book and started to straighten out drawers and such around the apt. Still a ton of things left to do.

  

 

 

Late Sunday afternoon
January 7, 1979

Quietly happy. Scott is on his way home; the apartment is clean and beautiful; I've managed to do a lot while he's been away. I've missed him incredibly, but at the same time (I admit it) I've enjoyed my time alone. A year ago I would have killed for an entire weekend all to myself, and once I got over my initial loneliness for Scott, I began to appreciate this time spent being myself. For the first time in a couple of months I feel completely together. Having the new job helps ... knowing that in the morning I have a reason to get out of bed, and that I'm able to make a financial contribution, and that my life has a certain degree of direction. That's important to me. I can't stand feeling purposeless.

In the meantime, though - this evening - I'm sitting here in happy anticipation, waiting for the sound of his key in the door. He'll be tired and cranky, no doubt, but just having him home is all I care about. Waking up in the middle of the night and feeling him next to me in the bed is the most comforting feeling I know.

 

 

 

Monday morning before work
January 8, 1979

Putting on my makeup, getting ready for work. Happy. Scott came through the door at the stroke of eight last night and his "homecoming" was everything I hoped it would be. The world has started turning again and everything is back to normal.

 

 

 

Thursday night
January 11, 1979

Scott is out to dinner with a customer tonight and I'm alone again. Had some KFC for my dinner; wrote a couple of letters (Becky Bear, Tammy Cooper). Now I'm on the sofa with a screwdriver and sloppy clothes, relaxing.

My body is slowly but surely adjusting to a working schedule again. Getting up at 7 a.m. is hell after two months of sleeping till noon every day, but other than that the job is ideal. I'm beginning to get the hang of it, I think. There are still procedures that confuse me, but overall I'm pleased how quickly I'm adjusting.

Later:

Rhonda just called and we talked for half an hour. She's got bronchitis and feels shitty, plus she still hasn't found a new roommate and can barely afford to eat, let alone pay the rent. I almost hate to talk to her anymore. I feel SO guilty. Why do I feel like I've let her down? I didn't plan to fall in love with Scott and move out ... it certainly wasn't intentional.

She also told me that Kevin is getting married. KEVIN IS GETTING MARRIED????!!?!?!?!  Apparently he tried to get hold of me last night at her place, to tell me. I can't believe it. I guess I honestly believed he would be in love with me forever. Of course, that love was never returned, but it was flattering and comfortable all the same. My God. Things really do change, don't they?

For so long nothing changed. Reading my old journals - even those from just seven or eight months ago - reminds me of how stagnant my life was, how trapped I felt, how firmly convinced I was that l