1979 - September 1979
"At 21, I suppose
everyone is 'certain' of something or other."
Monday morning ...
beginning of a new week, beginning of a new journal. Spring is all
This morning there
wasn't time to write - too many people bustling in and out
of the office - but now, this afternoon, there is. I just got home from
work and am
perched on the kitchen counter with a small glass of wine, listening to
the stereo and
watching the rain outside, waiting for Scott to get home.
Still perched, but
Scott is home and bustling around in the kitchen behind me, preparing
to go out again ... he's going to drive down and "see" our friend Bill (to buy coke).
asked me to come along but I declined for a number of reasons: the
rain, for one, and my
stomach is still feeling queasy as hell, and I just want to take a hot
shower and climb
into bed and watch the Academy Awards. (My predictions, based on
nothing more than what
I've read - John Voigt, Best Actor; Ingrid Bergman, Best Actress; Jack
Supporting Actor; Dyan Cannon, Supporting Actress; "The Deerhunter,"
If I made my choices based on who I like and what I've actually seen,
pick Warren Beatty, Jane Fonda, John Hurt, Dyan Cannon and "Heaven Can
but my opinions don't count for much because I haven't seen any of the
Anyway. A slow
quiet evening sounds delicious. Tomorrow night is the Jethro Tull
concert, and that should be a real burn-out, so maybe one quiet night
in advance is a good
idea. Looking forward to the concert mightily!
The coke is
all gone ... damn. I should have asked Scott to leave me more, but I
was sick when he left an hour ago and I didn't think I could stomach
it. Now I
feel fine and I want to continue going up, but the plate is empty and
I'll come crashing down any minute. Too bad.
I only have time
for a quick scribble ... home for lunch, making preparations for
tonight's concert. Rolling some joints, working on a couple of lines of
out my clothes, patching up my makeup. Everything is in a rush. Looking
forward to the
show tonight - hoping that Ian Anderson does the songs I love most
Mouse," "Too Old To Rock & Roll, Too Young To Die," "Skating
On The Thin Ice Of A New Day," "War Child," "Bungle In The
Jungle," "Wond'ring Aloud" ...)
Perched on the
counter, waiting for Scott to take his shower and dress so we can leave
for the concert. I'm fucking nauseous again but trying to ignore it,
hoping it will
go away. Bruce and his date are meeting us at the Coliseum. It's
raining ... I hope
we don't have to stand in any lines.
as usual ... vacillating between too hot and too cold, fighting
the beginning twinges of nausea, wanting to write something but not
mental organization to make any sense ... isn't cocaine
wonderful? I don't even see why
I bother with it - it makes me feel lousy.
The day before
Easter. Sitting on the couch with Scott, listening to my new U.K. album
("Danger Money" - I also bought the new Blondie album, "Parallel
We had an addition
to our "family" today ... a new kitten we've named
Tootsky, or Toot for short - so named because she has a line of white
fur running down her
belly that looks just like a line of toot. She's
seven weeks old and completely black,
except for the while line and white paws and chest. And she's totally
Already she's conquered Scott and I, as well as the apartment ... she's
herself completely at home, and I love her madly already. Right now
she's on my lap,
swiping at the pen in my hand, snuggling her head into the sleeve of my
sweater. I can
feel her purring. I feel like Toot and I are going to be good friends.
Scott is going out
to a poker game tonight, which means I'm going to be home
alone. Strangely enough, that doesn't bother me ... I'm actually
to it. I have Toot to keep me company, a mad array of drugs and food,
books, new albums,
TV ... I mean, it's not like I'm going to be starving for
entertainment. I may
evening-ward. Scott is taking a shower and getting ready for his game
is angry with me because I won't let her onto my lap while I'm writing.
was never this forward this early, was he? As I recall he just trembled
and hid a lot at
I got a letter from
Dee Dee - the first since her trip to England - and one from
Grandma V., which I have copied on the next few pages.
my new cat, "Toot"
Stoned out of my
MIND. I can barely write, let alone think or function. This
isn't just ordinary mescaline ... it must be acid. I'm deathly sick,
buzzed, hallucinations (tactile as well as visual). I think I'm dying, I
think I'm flying, I'm up and down at once - I wish to God that Scott
was here. I don't know what good he could do me at this point, but I
just wish he was here. The logical, functioning part of me, lodged in
here behind the high, can't stick this out much longer.
Someone else watch
Terri's body for a while, huh? I
can't bear to watch.
Semi-OK now. What a
horrible experience that
was. I guess that the mesc hit me in a bad way. Never again!
from Grandma Vert:
Tae Lin -
lieu of a bouquet to you please accept a little letter of news from
had such a wild storm here yesterday and all night - about all we got
done was talk about it, and Grandpa
drove us over to see Dr. Smith for our "check-ups." He insists on
driving now and I am glad he is brave enough & doesn't let it
go as I did - but I fasten my seat belt!
letter was very much appreciated. Nothing is surer than change and we
wish you all the good that God intended when you were blessed with so
never regretted the years with you, and actually I think they came at a
time when grandpa and I really needed you both. You couldn't have been
more scared than we were, and from hassling our own kids into the
straight and narrow it soon came to me to just take time to remember my
own feelings as a child, and then I could understand your problems with
more compassion than I had our own children as they grew up. It isn't
always a case of love and give in when you raise a family - nor of
demanding and punishment. We both were happy to have those years, and I
wasn't working then so it really meant more to me. We love you and
love Dick, but something beyond us is involved there and it hurts. (We
can only pray, I guess.)
was in the hospital 10 days and Leona came and stayed here with me. We
renewed old times, went out for dinner (I drove!) and had a couple
delicious lunches at the hospital. Grandpa lived in three worlds and
never knew this one. Family members tried to convince me it
was the RX, but after consultation with two specialists I knew better.
Besides, sometimes I think they (the family) forget my own background.
The doctors diagnosed his post-operative mental attitude as post-op
psychosis, which happens occasionally - especially in elderly
people.They had him restrained for a while and I can't go into all the
adventures we had in a short letter. Vena (his step-sister) was in a
nursing home for a month with it, but the doctor thought he would be
better home among familiar surroundings.
occasionally he has a little slip but most of the time he is so very
clear and gratefulit is over with. He has angina and so we sort of
divide up our jobs and do as little as necessary. We haven't been to
church yet and I did hope to go on Easter Sunday but don't know if we
will make it. I have newspapers to turn in. I miss church and all the
friends we made there. We will go back when he
feels like it.
took Bear for a walk down to the park a couple days ago. The sun was
warm between showers and we walked about a mile. Someone said Boulevard
Park is to be closed this fall but I think it is next year maybe. When
school hours are over & on weekends there is a lot of activity
at the park as new games are added, but when Bear and I went it was
quiet and the greening of spring was spreading everywhere. New colors
in the weeds and bushes and birds of different species are creeping
closer. They don't seem to mind the airplanes either and it's as close
to nature as we can get. We often think back on the trips we took with
the trailer and wish we had gone oftener and could do it again ...
Your dad comes over once a weekend and spends some time visiting. He is
the only one grandpa asked to see when he was in the hospital. Uncle
Bob went to see him and the doctor happened to be there, and then
grandpa introduced Bob to the doctor as his son Roger! He never asked
for Paul Jr. or Bonnie ...
Well dear I must hush now. I've really scratched it up for you! Hope
you can make it out. We would love to see you - you know that - or even
a phone call.
with prayer and thankfulness for a loving association through the years
with more to come.
Your dad would love to hear from you anytime.
I miss my Grandma.
Wanting to write
... not knowing what to write about. Writer's block?
Restless. All my
nerves are standing on end. I hate this feeling of being full of
nervous energy with no outlet in sight. To make it worse, Scott is so
damned placid and calm, while I'm practically jumping out of my skin.
We're definitely mismatched this afternoon.
No cigarettes, and
only one line left. Life is such a bitch.
ONE YEAR AGO, this
was the state of Terri's mind:
Isn't it terrible how much I dislike going home? It certainly doesn't
say much for the state of my home life, does it? Actually, I don't have
it all THAT bad at home; it could be a lot worse. It's just that I'm
overly sensitive about still living at home at age twenty, when all
around me people my age are out on their own or married or whatever. It
makes me feel atypical ... and guilty about my lack of independence ..."
I was so impatient
then - I can still feel it, the anger over being trapped in a lifestyle
I couldn't change. I felt angry and unhappy and cheated. What a
terrible feeling that was - no control over my own life. Do I
have more control now? I hope I do. I think I do. In some ways my
options are as limited as they were then, but in the ways that count,
yes, I do have more control.
This is garbage.
I'm writing a bunch of senseless garbage ... why do I write about the
same things, over and over? All my journals sound exactly the same.
Nothing ever changes. The state of my mind never changes. All of a
sudden I'm horribly depressed and I don't even know how it happened.
It's 6:15 and Scott
is in bed already. Hell, I guess I might as well join him.
Thursday night 7:45
What can I say?
Perched, as always, on the kitchen counter while Scott bustles around
behind me (playing with his new scales, fixing our meager dinner of hot
dogs and old Tater Tots). Ray M. just left; Bruce is now on his way
over. Toot is scampering around the apartment, absorbed in her own
little world of exploration and games. She scratched me savagely on the
hand this afternoon, and it hurt like hell, even from such a tiny
kitten. She's not at all sweet tempered and gentle, the way some
kittens are ... she's a spitfire.
divorce was final ... at last! It hasn't showed up in the newspaper
yet, but I don't need the public acknowledgment to FEEL that it's
official! Jokingly I told Scott that now we're not adulterers anymore
... it's just basic, garden-variety living in sin.
Later, and I'm just
buzzing along on some dynamite coke. At times like this I could just go
forever, I think.
... And now all of
a sudden it's Friday night and I'm doing it all over again. It's
amazing how much coke I put up my nose these days ... it seems like I'm
continually on one kind of a buzz or another. Lately I
haven't been able to eat beans, and too much alcohol or too many
cigarettes make me sick to my stomach, but I can tolerate a certain
amount of coke. Within reason.
Guess I'd better
brush my hair and put on some shoes. We're going to drive over to
Mercer Island and see Bruce, for a quick visit.
Early Saturday afternoon
Our "quick visit"
with Bruce last night turned into a 2:30 a.m. affair ... we all got
high (Bruce had a couple of his buddies over to watch the Sonics
playoff game) and Scott was amply generous with his coke, so it turned
into one hell of a long night! I felt like shit physically,
and still do this morning, but in spite of all that I had fun. Bruce
was kind and considerate of me all evening - he knows I'm not feeling
well - and I felt a little mellower towards him than I have in months.
I still think he's callous and unfeeling in some ways, but in the ways
that count, he can be a nice person and a good friend.
Today is another
springlike day ... Scott and I are going to go for a ride, I think.
We haven't left yet
... I've been throwing up, and Scott has been making phone calls, and
in between all that we've being doing a bunch of that funny white
powder again and most of my motivation is gone - not to mention any
feeling in my left nostril, which is totally frozen.
Late Sunday afternoon
Toot is vertically
scaling the sofa, eyes glued on the world outside the patio screen door
... I'm playing my long-lost Who "Who's Next" album, sipping a grape
soda, bare feet propped on the coffee table. Clouds filling the sky
after another spring day. Scott is going out to the store to get
hamburger & buns so we can grill our dinner on the patio.
I took some of that
acid a little while ago and already everything is starting to melt.
Early Monday night
Scott and I just
took a shower together; now we're lying in bed, watching TV, relaxing.
QUICK piece of
news: saw a house tonight that Scott is thinking about buying
from Kirk ... wondering if that's where I'll be living in October 1979.
No time, no energy
Stiflingly hot in
this apartment. Waiting for Scott to put away his scales and dress so
we can make a run down to Pizza King, do our business & get
back home. Bruce is coming over tonight to watch the Sonics playoff
game on TV with us later. Maybe I'll write more when I come back. I
probably should, on the eve of this momentous occasion. Bye.
Home ... feel like
writing ... don't know if it's because my nose is full of coke or
because my mind is full of thought, but either way I guess I should
take advantage of the urge. I'm proud of the way I've been writing so
consistently lately, and I want to keep it that way.
Friday afternoon 3:30
My favorite time of
the whole week ... Friday afternoon, with an entire weekend stretched
out before me. I love this feeling. Howard let me leave work early, and
I've been sitting on the patio in the gorgeous sunshine, listening to
music and feeling marvelous.
Scott is home --
we're on our way to see "Up In Smoke" (again!), "Barbarella" and
"Little Cigars" at the Sunset Drive-In. I'm in a wonderful mood ...
I've been giddy and happy all day, just like a little kid, and never
so happy to have my period. What a weightless feeling. Better
things are ahead. I can feel it.
Sometime Saturday morning:
Had to crawl out of
bed long enough to pathetically scrawl a sentence or two ... I've been
up now for 24 hours - I've seen the sun rise today - and my body is so
racked with miscellaneous drugs that I wonder if I will ever recover
all my faculties again. Acid and cocaine and pot and too many
cigarettes, one long continuous high from the time we went to the
drive-in until now, 7 a.m. or whatever time it is. Jesus God Mother
Mary. Why do I DO this? It's great while you're there,
but coming back is such an ugly way to end a good evening of highs and
conversation. Guess I'll crawl back to bed and try to sleep until noon,
IF I can put my brain (not to mention my nerves) into neutral long
Writing very slowly
and tremulously ... last night was such fun, but such a drain of my
strength. I feel sapped. We talked and did coke and smoked pot until
7:30 in the morning, and then slept until 2:30 today. It's almost
evening and I'm only now showered and dressed and made up, and Saturday
is practically over already. But feeling good, regardless. It
was worth it, I think. I was on a total acid high at the movie, this
time with no nausea, no bad feeling, and it was weird and unreal and
exciting. And then when we came home, we went on a cocaine binge that
lasted until the night (and the drugs) were gone. What a night. I just
want to keep going forever while we're doing it, and then I always
suffer the next day because I don't know how to say "Enough!"
I'm not sure I
actually enjoy the agitation coke gives me. Is agitation "fun"? It
makes me talk, it makes me write pages and pages in my
journal, it made me clean up the kitchen at 2:30 a.m. last night. But
does it actually feel good?
And if it doesn't actually feel good, why do people spend so much money
on it? Scott says we went through $300 last night alone ... I don't
know if I can rationalize that much money for a little white powder on
a plate. Think of all the clothes you could buy with that kind of money!
Around 7:30 or so
... cloudy, warm, muggy night, dressed in shorts and one of Scott's
floppy old shirts. He is padding around in the bedroom, getting ready
to go over and take a sauna. He doesn't feel too good tonight. I don't
either. Too many poisons in our system, I suppose. We just got back
from a shopping expedition to Fred Meyer ... for some reason we just
went hog wild with our money tonight and spent over a hundred
bucks on clothes and toiletries and food and miscellaneous junk. It's
so fucking expensive to spend a weekend at home!! It would probably be
cheaper to just go out drinking & dancing, like the rest of the
world, instead of holing up in our apartment snorting coke and going on
dressed and showered, sitting on the couch with the beginnings of
another buzz. Smell of bacon and eggs and potatoes. Scott's brother
Randy - bearded and barefoot and 25 years old, as of today -
is in the kitchen, cooking our breakfast. He showed up at our door at
5:00 this morning, drunk and depressed, and Scott coaxed him into
spending the night in the spare bedroom. I'm not sure, but I think
Scott is going to ask him to stay with us for a few days. He's
temporarily jobless and doesn't have a place to stay since he left
Pam's. I hope he does stay.
Nothing to say. I
have run out of material ... there is nothing left to write about.
I wonder what it
will be like, living with TWO men for the next couple of days? If
Grandma V. could only see this ...
Scott, Randy and I
drove down to Burien to see Bill Vernon - we stayed long enough for a beer
and a couple of lines - and now we're home and waiting for the most
recently ingested drug to take effect (a microscopic amount of that
mescaline). Life is just one continuous high, ain't it?
1. Five months
non-communication between Dad & I
2. Haven't seen
Gram and Gramps since November
3. Need to lose 20
4. Haven't sent
Dick a letter or $ yet
Scott and Pam's
divorce announcement appeared in the Seattle Times tonight!
I've been combing the Vital Stats page every night, waiting for it, and
tonight it finally
showed up. It was officially final two weeks ago, of course, but seeing
it in print is somehow reassuring. Somehow it seems more "legal" now.
Why am I so burned
out tonight? Work wasn't any more tiring than usual, but I feel really
worn down. Scott is taking a quick shower and then we're going to go
out and grab a bite to eat.
Owe letters to:
Sparky, Michele, Melinda, Tammy, Marie
Today I've been
thinking about: the dream I had last night, when we all put the funny
white powder in our coffee and were instantly able to read each others'
minds - and how uncomfortable it made me feel, because Scott could see
every terrible or embarrassing thought that crossed my mind, regardless
of how desperately I tried to hide what I was thinking. I had never
felt so vulnerable and EXPOSED. I wonder what it meant?
I've also been
thinking about: possibly moving to Portland in two years, when Lusk
Metals opens its Oregon branch and Scott is named General Manager ... a
possibility that isn't much more than a possibility at this point, but
nevertheless is something to think about.
At this point I'm
certain of a future with Scott, including marriage and children and all
the other things that go with. At 21, I suppose everyone is
"certain" of something or other.
Bill and Carol are
over ... coke, pot, too many cigarettes, conversation, music in the
background. Scott and Bill are comparing military experiences; Carol
and I are inattentive and quiet. Comfortable. I like these people. Some
of Scott's aluminum/drug buddies leave me cold, but Bill and Carol are
genuinely likable. Everyone is sniffling. It's getting late but you
just want to go on forever.
of me says - don't
feel guilty about the things you do. You only live once ... your turn in
the world is too
brief for recrimination. You won't be 21 forever, so live it to the
fullest and don't regret anything.
part of me says
- The things you are doing are wrong.
You're letting yourself become of the world instead of building up
treasures in God's kingdom. Whatever happened to the old,
Christ-centered Terri V.? Where did she go? Is she still in there
somewhere, buried beneath all the temporal ... ?
RANDOM THOUGHTS ON
A SNOWY NIGHT IN MAY
This is the
beginning of a poem:
Before the heart of the world turned
The rest of the
words haven't come to me yet.
Owe $5.32 to
NEED FOR MY
CAR: Wash (exterior) -- Wax -- Vacuum & clean
(interior) -- Registration -- License tabs -- drivers seat --
transmission (?) -- oil light -- new mats -- carpeting on top of dash
Books I'm ordering:
Thesaurus, Rhyming Dictionary, 5 blank books, Time-Life Cookbook,
Now it's midnight
and we've been doing coke with Bill & Carol for hours. I don't
know how in the world I'm going to get to sleep tonight ... getting up
for work tomorrow is going to be abysmal. Every nerve in my body is
quivering. I'm racking my brain, desperately trying to think of a way
to get out of going to work tomorrow. A car accident? Death in the
family? Appendicitis? It would have to be something BIG and something
believable - but nothing plausible comes to mind. Howard would never
Beans. Acid. Vodka. Beer. Mescaline. PCP. Hash. Cigarettes. All the
garbage I put into my body. Why do I do it? Why does anyone do it? Good
God in Heaven, why do you let your little people play with drugs ... ?
Perched on the
counter with my meager lunch of two chocolate chip cookies and a Pepsi
on ice ... halfway through one of my more nerve-wracking days at
Ridgway. Only three more hours and the day will be over and the weekend
will begin ... thank God. I felt so rock-bottom horrible yesterday
morning, after our late night coke binge the night before, that I did
stay home from work (I used the vague & flimsy excuse of a
sudden "family illness"), and I've been on tenterhooks all day today,
waiting for Howard to come down on me. I've been absent so much lately.
Fortunately he hasn't said anything yet, and if I can just manage to
stay out of his way this afternoon, I'll be home free.
We've got to pick
up Brittany & Mindy at 8:30 tomorrow morning, and Scott has to
do some "running around" tonight that may or may not include me, but
other than that there are no plans for the weekend.
Almost 9:30 -
sitting in bed with Scott, watching comedy specials on TV (Steve
Martin, Best of Saturday Night Live) - trying to go up, but
feeling more run-down than usual. I don't know why. I worked hard today
... I typed 20 purchase orders and a handful of Carton Form Orders,
straightened out and re-filed all the Carton Item Cards from G to K,
typed several letters and memos for various people, put together a
machinery quote for John Rea, etc. etc. - but that kind of work isn't
physically exhausting, by any means. So why am I so run-down?
Who cares. I'm just
so relieved that it's Friday night, and that I have a whole long
beautiful weekend to relax! ... and I'm relieved, too, that Howard
never made a big scene about my absence yesterday. If anything, he was
friendlier towards me than usual! I guess I went to bed last night all
wound up in knots for nothing.
afternoon, and we are all cooped up in the bedroom together - Scott,
Brittany, Mindy and me - because a man is cleaning the living room
carpet (after a minor mishap this morning resulted in an overturned
potted plant). A whole afternoon confined to a room with two restless
little kids has left my nerves dangerously frazzled.
physically, for the second work day in a row. Yesterday it was a
hangover and lack of sleep, today it's some kind of cold or flu. One of
the kids must have screwed around on the thermostat on the waterbed
last weekend, because when we got up this morning the bed was freezing
cold - now my muscles ache from it. I've got
another fucking cold and sore throat, on top of everything else ... I
can't seem to get my body to cooperate lately ... if it isn't one
thing, it's another. I ate a couple of beans this morning and they're
keeping me alert enough to answer the phones and type at work, but as
soon as I get home I'm going right to bed with Vicks on my chest.
Still fairly "under
the weather" ... the sore throat has given way to a racking cough, my
nose is running like crazy, and I feel like I have a little fever ...
but I feel GOOD, emotionally. And not just the usual "Friday-afternoon-thank-God-the-weekend-is-here"
type of good, but a crazy, irrational buoyancy. Scott is going out for
drinks with one of his customers tonight, but it hasn't even got me
fazed. I'm actually looking forward to time spent alone tonight!
FOR TERRI V.'S FUN & EXCITING FRIDAY NIGHT!
home at 5:00
Change into jeans and blouse
Pick up apartment - make bed
Put laundry in
Home ... wearing
scruffy jeans and one of Scott's shirts, barefoot, hair in rollers,
stereo playing, sun shining on a cool evening. Rhonda just called and
sounded lonely, so I told her to come over. Scott should be home in the
next hour, and he said something about maybe bringing Bruce and Tom and
some booze to watch the Sonics game on TV. A party ... whoopee?
The coke just
didn't do the trick tonight. I wailed through almost half a g. and
finally gave up. I guess I'm just too run-down from the flu this week.
Reading old journals, sipping a beer, waiting for a knock at the door.
After having read
where I was a year ago, I guess I'm pretty damned lucky ... sitting in
my beautiful apartment with the sun shining, playing my favorite music
on a nice stereo loud enough to shake the people in the next building,
waiting for my friends to come over. The ultimate irony, as it just
occurred to me, is that now Rhonda is the one living with Mom &
Dad, and I'm the one who is out on her own. I guess
that everybody gets a turn sooner or later.
Waiting for Scott
to get out of the bathroom, and then we're going to take a ride over
the bridge and get half a g., just for the hell of it. I'm still sick.
My cough is racking, choking, rasping, gut-squeezingly painful ... but
at least the worst is behind me now & it's only a matter of
ditching the cough. Sunny, quiet, lazy day.
Back at home ... we
went to Bruce & Craig's instead, had a nice little ride in the
sunshine, felt good. Scott's going back again in a minute ("as a favor
to a friend") but I don't have the strength to do it all over again.
The sun is just too fucking hot & bright for a sick person to
bear! I look and feel lousy, and the fact that it's a gorgeous day just
makes me feel unbearably grumpy. Sunshine and a hacking cough do NOT
Slightly buzzed ...
sitting on the couch with an anemic screwdriver and a box of throat
lozenges, watching a beautiful sunlight, listening to Scott &
Bill (G.) talk about tequila and Bill's pizza restaurant and drugs.
Peaceful. Wish I didn't have to work tomorrow, but that's nothing new,
is it? Summer is almost here and I'm itchy for a vacation. Thinking
back to those long, lazy three month summer vacations between school
terms ... weren't those the days?? Nothing to do but sleep late every
day and sunbathe and read until 2 a.m. every night. At the
time I always seemed to be depressed because of the inactivity, but I'd
KILL for a little of that "inactivity" now.
Guess I should call
Mom - Mother's Day and all.
emotionally ... my throat is still raw, and I sound ragged on the
phones ... but my spirits are up, at least. Today is another gorgeous,
sunny day. From my perch here on the kitchen counter I can two guys in
cut-offs tossing a frisbee back and forth in the fields across the
road. I'm wearing a pink cotton skirt and a light, pink-striped top,
and I feel pretty. That always helps my mood. I wish I had a couple of
lines, but I've got to wean myself off it. Too expensive, and
who knows what it's doing to my body.
The apartment is
cool and dark and neat ... a breeze is blowing through the open patio
door. Scott has a sales meeting tonight so he won't be home until late.
I think I'd like to go somewhere after work - I've got a full tank of
gas and a little money - but I'll wait and see how I feel at 5:00, I
Fairly drunk. Just
drunk, nothing else. God, I haven't been like this in eons. I'm not
sure I like it. Alcohol (all by itself, without a little c. to energize
me) makes me feel sloppy and out of control, and I don't trust myself.
Thursday lunch quickly
Haven't written in
you, Journal, for a couple of weeks, and I'm SORRY! No excuse, really,
except that life has been very full lately, and sometimes it's easier
to just live it than write about it. I always regret it when I lapse
like this, but that's just the way it is. I have a lot to tell and I'll
try to do some good catching-up when I get home today ... but right now
it's time to head back to the office.
HOT. Almost 80
degrees today, sweltering, stuffy, uncomfortable. My nose is burning
from the first cocaine I've had in days ... last weekend was one of the
most mind-boggling five days of my life, drug-wise, that I've ever had,
and I've been cooling it since then, trying to get Terri's poor little
bod back to normal. I'll talk about it later. We're on our way to Pizza
King for dinner and a beer and there's no time.
Randomly on my
All the world is
tanned and beautiful, and I look like an albino ... staying at Randy
Taylor's house last weekend: Bruce, Pat Love, acid on wheat bread, hot tubs,
water beds with mirrors on the ceiling and the craziest weekend ever
"The Acid Weekend"
... my white shoes are falling apart, and I'm thinking about getting a
new pair tonight ... Scott's surprise gifts last weekend - two sexy new
bras (one black, one white) and two new negligees (one blue, one white)
... The Moody Blues concert last Friday ... Toot turning from a kitten
into a CAT, right before our eyes, and waiting for "Bob" to be weaned
so we can bring her home to join the family ... our on-again, off-again
roommate Randy, and Scott's mom calling this morning to say she's
flying out to live with us ... new summer hours at Ridgway - getting to
work at 7:30 in the morning and getting out at 4:00 ... my hair grazing
the middle of my back ... a haunting new song on FM radio that I've
only heard three times - I don't know the name of it or who does it,
but the refrain goes, "Don't ever wanna lose ya"* - knowing that it
will always bring Spring 1979 to mind ... the gas shortage, and waiting
in lines to fill up my tank ... meeting Dan F, DJ from KING-AM, at the
Redmond Post Office, and finding out that he lives in our apartment
complex ... new pen pals Charles C. (another Sparky??), Mala K., Betty
V., Bonita A., and more to come ... Scott's new haircut, and me teasing
him about it ... a madly-scribbled note on a Black Angus coaster on a
drunken Friday night ... two clams fighting over breathing holes ...
life, going on and on ...
I'm so happy.
Tomorrow is the first day of June 1979, and the sun is shining, and I'm
21 years old and pretty and talented and I have the greatest boyfriend
in the world. I have a tolerable job and a beautiful apartment and my
drivers license and a car, and the best thing of all is that there's so
much more ahead to look forward to. Scott and I will move into a house
in the fall, and within the next couple of years we'll get married and
we'll have children and I'll write books and poems and live happily
Geez ... I'm not
optimistic, am I?
Gotta go. More
tomorrow, if I get a chance.
First day of June,
and it's got to be in the 80's, at least. Beautiful, hot, clear, sunny.
Scott gave me a couple of toots to take to work and I'll probably do
them in a minute, but first I'm busily shoveling several pieces of cold
pizza into my face ... lately my appetite has been just enormous, and I
always seem to be hungry.
Looking and feeling
good today. My hair turned out OK, I'm wearing my two-piece rose
colored dress and the new shoes I bought last night, and I feel
attractive. Besides which, it's Friday and I only have two more hours
to work and then the weekend will be here again. I wonder what we'll be
doing tonight ... ?
weekend come and gone and today it's back to the old grind once again
... absolutely ravenous, waiting for my leftover chicken to warm up ...
now that summer hours have started at the office, the morning seems
interminably long. Scott and I partied heavily on Friday and Saturday,
mostly at a few nearby taverns that have become our favorite haunts -
The Towne Crier, The Irish Rose, The Somewhere Else, Pizza King. Last
night we were going to go the drive-in and see "The Exorcist" - we even
went so far as to buy tickets and park in the theater - but we were
just too burned out and we left before the movie even started!
Buzzing like crazy.
Just spent a nerve-wracking fifteen minutes trying to find you,
Journal, and now I don't have a damned thing to say to you. I
feel: tense ... high-strung ... cranky. I have the motivation
to write something, but basically have nothing to say. Cocaine makes me
sweat and grind my teeth and sniffle a lot ... it hardly seems worth
it. Parts of me are starting to hate the stuff, but I can't leave it
alone. Neither can Scott. If it made me feel wonderful I could
understand it, but more than half the time I feel like absolute shit.
It doesn't figure, does it?
Just did my last
toot. C.C. is on his way over - it's 8:15 now - dumb old Beach Boys
record on the stereo. Gray, cloudy, shitty night ... and all I can
think about is C.C. getting here so I can put more of that fucking
white powder in my nose ...
All three of my
"current roommates" - Scott, Randy and Ray McGowan from next door
- are sitting in the living room, passing a joint around,
talking. I'm in the kitchen with my back to the three of them,
thinking, trying to scribble a couple of pointless letters, fighting
that horrible end-of-the-coke feeling. The apartment is hot, smoky and
over-crowded. I need a bath and a four year vacation from cocaine.
Now I'm sitting in
bed, freshly showered, shampooed, shaved, powdered, manicured and
nightgowned, watching "Vegas," waiting for Scott to leave the guys in
the living room and join me here in the bedroom so we can do a last
toot and slip into sleep.
Randy has been
staying with us, on and off, for three weeks now ... and while Ray is
between houses, we've somehow inherited him, too. One sleeps in the
guest bedroom and one sleeps on the couch, depending on who gets "home"
first. At first it drove me crazy - no privacy, all the phone calls,
all the noise and intrusion - but Scott keeps assuring me that it's
only temporary so I'm bearing up. Sort of.
And now I'm sitting
in bed with my "family" (Scott and Toot) ... Ray and Randy, ever the
night owls, have left to find something "better" to do, and we're
sitting in the seclusion of our bedroom, doing toots and watching TV,
smoking and relaxing (or trying to: cocaine isn't exactly conducive to
When it's good,
good - I write like crazy and think clearly and feel tremendously
motivated, and I can drink like a fish all night and never get the
least bit drunk - but when it's bad, it's the pits. But ENOUGH about
I had an
interesting thought while I was taking my shower - the beginning of a
poem, maybe? - "To find yourself, you must first be lost." It's
probably been said many times before - I don't claim sole authorship! -
but it's a start, anyway, and I can work on it and expand it.
Question: Would it
work out if I try to fix up Ray and Rhonda this Friday night?
Am I going to feel
rotten in the morning again?
Too buzzed to write.
event worthy of record ... Scott and I became adoptive parents again
today. "Bob" has joined our little family. We picked her up this
morning and I love her already! She looks a great deal like Toot, but
she's less volatile, less frantic.
Waiting for Rhonda
to show up ... buzzing like crazy, looking reasonably good. We're
double-dating with Rhon and Ray tonight. God help us.
Sick and tired of
too many people in this apartment!!
Sunday night - LATE!
Geez ... almost a
since I wrote last!! I'm getting pretty lax, aren't I? Bad sign ...
my handwriting shows, I'm really in no condition to write anything in
my journal - good old c. all evening long, and I'm just cooking.
I feel great but my handwriting is a mess. All kinds of stuff whirling
around in Terri's brain ...
1. Almost midnight.
2. Standing in the kitchen, freshly-showered, bathrobed, flushed,
twitching, full of energy.
3. The trip to Portland w/Scott this weekend ... great fun! Just got
4. A call from Rhonda tonite, out of the blue ... she's got a new
boyfriend, some VIP at KJR radio, and she's head over heels.
5. Wrote five letters tonite - Dee Dee, Beth May, Clifford, Dick, Tammy.
6. My new car!!!!!!!! (a '79 Chevy Chevette). A
gift from Scott.
7. Scott's mother staying w/us.
More tomorrow maybe?
Me during our first house-hunting trip to Portland.
I didn't realize it would take me another eighteen years to get there.
Age 22 ~ Summer 1979
Never mind ... ! I've
fucked up again and I'm too ashamed to write about it! In three hours
I've either got to call Howard with another implausibly phony excuse,
or else I've got to look spritely and lively and ready for work. (Sure.)
4:30 in the morning
and oh my God I'm still sitting here on the kitchen counter, every kind
of high, 2-1/2 hours until it's time to report to Ridgway Packaging ...
and I am scared shitless!! The coke supply is frighteningly low, so
I've kinda painted myself into a corner, haven't I? Somebody ought to
shoot me before I hurt myself.
'Bout an hour ago
we had no plans ... now we have too many. Mom is expecting us, and so
is Bill. Hmmm. Sitting on the counter. Randy and his mom are talking in
Seems like I've
gone into another of my periodic, unexplained writing slumps ... can
never seem to find the time or the motivation to scribble a word or two
anymore. I don't know why. With Scott's mother staying with us the past
two weeks, I've taken pains to keep this journal - along with any other
personal writings - out of sight, stashed under the sofa or in a
closet. Afraid that she might pick it up some day when Scott and I are
away at work and she's here alone in the apartment. And then when I
don't have my journal handy, I tend to forget about it. That's maybe
one reason I haven't written. Another reason ... laziness? Lack of
interesting material to write about? Lack of free time? Too coked up
all the time? Not coked up enough
reason, I feel bad about the lapse. I always do whenever this happens.
A huge chunk of Spring and Summer 1979 is going to go unrecorded, and
I'm not happy about that. I know that right now I'm living a very
important and special part of my life, and for my own sake I should be
keeping track of it.
recrimination ... and on to a quick word-portrait of where I am
& what I'm doing at this moment. A stuffy, humid evening in
early July ... 10:00 p.m., July 8th. I'm sitting on the bed in a woolly
bathrobe, clean hair pulled back into a ponytail, freshly manicured and
feeling clean. Scott is just out of the shower and sitting beside me,
naked, clutching a magazine, gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, a
cigarette burning in the ashtray beside him. The TV is on across the
room - "Prime Time Sunday Night" with Tom Snyder - but neither of us is
paying attention. Very warm in this room, although this was a generally
overcast day ... a light sweat is breaking out on my nose and chin.
My "word portrait"
was interrupted for one reason or another. Now it's Wednesday night
and, of course, the buzz is on again. Isn't it always?
I want to write but
I don't know what to write about. So many things have happened in the
days and weeks that I haven't written, and it would be impossible to
catch up now. So maybe just a quick run-down on the bigger things ...
my feelings on the more important subjects in my life in July 1979:
This apartment is
my home. For a long time I wondered if it ever would be, but it is.
This is where everything is for me.
Sometimes I love it
and sometimes I hate it. I'm torn ... part of me would rather not work
at all - I hate the regimentation - but I would probably go crazy
without a certain amount of "schedule" in my life. On the minus side, I
hate the condescending attitude of some of the men in the office. A
receptionist is just an extension of the telephone to them, more or
less. On the plus side I'm good at my job, I love talking to people on
the phone, I like being in charge of my own work schedule.
I weigh 140 lbs.,
which is the heaviest I've ever been. My clothes don't fit and I feel
dowdy in public. I haven't tanned at all this summer and I'm white as a
sheet. This is all bad. HOWEVER, my hair is growing quite long and I
love it. Besides, Scott thinks I'm beautiful and that helps.
Happy. Stable. More
or less secure.
The most important
topic of all. Describing him to a stranger, I would probably say
something like this: medium height and weight. Thick, sandy colored
hair, fairly short. Neatly cropped moustache. Startlingly blue eyes,
very beautiful and intense, long lashes, arched brows, gold rimmed
glasses. Quite attractive, not only in appearance but in demeanor and
attitude. Words to describe him: self-confident, self-assured,
confident of his abilities. Arrogant, stubborn, argumentative.
Knowledgeable - retains information and uses it to his best advantage
later. Social. Approachable, easy to talk to, articulate. Monopolizes
the conversation sometimes, but never to the point of being a bore.
Impulsive, but with a streak of prudence that eats at him sometimes ...
recklessness vs. restraint. Easily absorbed. Capable of utter
concentration, irritated when interrupted. Strong. Not easily swayed.
Not easily moved by tears, hysterics. Not prone to emotional outbursts.
Tender. Prone to guilt. Aware of responsibilities even though he
sometimes ignores them - hence the guilt. Sentimental. A romantic at
heart. Respects women on the whole, me in particular. Tolerant of
faults. Impatient with slow changes. Sensual, atmosphere-aware.
The rhythm of
living beats in this man, and he celebrates every day.
slightly overweight but not enough to matter yet. Large breasts, thick
waist. Long, thick, straight brown hair. Blue-grey eyes. Light clear
complexion. Fairly pretty when she tries to be. Introspective, familiar
with workings of her own mind. Intelligent, although she doesn't
utilize it to the fullest. Rhythmic. Artistic. Religious, deep down
inside. Aware of God. Sensitive to moods and feelings of other people.
Intuitive. Creative. Idealistic. Easily swayed, easily manipulated. Not
entirely honest. Indirect. Emotional - given to violent outbursts.
Guilty. Irresponsible. Careless - "looks before she leaps."
Inconsistent. Sensual, pleasure-oriented.
myself through this day at work ... totally burned out from late-night
tooting and talking. Tonite we're doing more of the same, but on a
vastly smaller scale. I've been in a good mood, though, and that helped
a little. A salesman from Pacific Iron & Metal came in to talk
to David K today - Bruce G - and later in the afternoon he called and
asked me out. That raised my self-esteem about ten notches. Then when I
got home and told Scott about it, it turns out he & Bruce have
been BUDDIES for quite some time!! Scott got on the phone and pretended
to be really pissed. "Hey, what're ya trying to pull, hitting on MY
WOMAN?" he snarled at Bruce. It was hilarious.
thirteenth ... good thing I'm not superstitious. I just ate two
chocolate eclairs within the space of about one minute.
I've been scouring
this apartment for my journal for an hour now, and of course now that
I've found you it's impossible for me to write anything that makes
sense. Isn't it always the way? I'm embarrassed about the way my
writing looks ... I'm embarrassed also, thinking that anything I write
at this point will sound like Dr. Seuss at his worst ... when in fact I
feel MENTALLY as sharp as ever and desperately desiring to have a good
"write" in my journal, but PHYSICALLY incapable of writing anything
that won't embarrass me in the morning. But fuck all the
emotional/physical/paranoid stigma!! I've been having FUN tonight, and
I feel like writing about it!
Scott called me at
3:00 at work and told me he would be home at 9:00 because he had big
dealings to take
23, 1979 9 p.m.
Scott is on his way
home from Burien ... I THINK ... I HOPE! ... and I am perched here on
the kitchen counter, waiting patiently. A new desk sign is sitting
beside me on the counter, "Terri V. - Receptionist" - a Blue Oyster
Cult album is on the stereo, previously played a million times -
waiting for Scott and the half a g. of toot he promised. I
"entertained" Toby for over an hour while he waited for Scott to show
up, but the business deal failed to materialize and, like dominoes, we
have all been knocked over and left flat.
Maybe after a toot
I'll be able to write more.
So much on my mind.
We've been having a virtual heatwave the past week or so, and although
it seems to have broken somewhat today, it's still too warm, and I feel
hot and cranky and totally devoid of energy. We met Craig at the Pike
Place Market downtown and picked up a g. - just got home with it and
it's already half gone. Don't really feel much like writing, though. I
owe letters to Bonita and Sparky and Roger and Sue P., but in my
present frame of mind my penpals are more a burden than a blessing.
Friday afternoon (lunch)
Waiting for my
hotdog to finish broiling ... sipping a beer. Cloudy, overcast day. Not
particularly looking forward to this weekend. Scott is leaving on a
fishing trip with his Lusk Metals buddies & co-workers, which
means that I'll be left behind, alone here in the apartment all night
Saturday and all day Sunday. Shit. I'm hoping that Scott can get a g.
for me - so I can numb my sorrows! - but it's not looking too likely.
I flash hot and
cold about the prospect of being alone all weekend. Scott told me about
it on Monday, and I've been vacillating between dread ("What
am I going to DO all weekend?")
and almost-anticipation ("A
whole weekend to myself, to do whatever I want.")
Sadly enough, it mostly depends on my drug supply and what he can come
up with for me.
What happened next is both
embarrassing and infuriating for me to remember. I
got drunk and goofy the night Scott was gone and made a pass at one
of his friends at a party. When Scott got home from his
fishing trip, his friend told him what I'd done.
Scott went ballistic. It was almost the end of our
relationship. What infuriates me about the whole thing, even
so many years later, is the fact that he'd been sleeping with his
ex-wife behind my back, off and on throughout the year, yet he
still made a big deal out of my comparatively minor
something really awful happens to me, I go into a state of emotional
shock and can't really write about it for a week or so. That's the way
I am now ... numb. Shocked. Frightened. My heart is split
into a million pieces, and as much as I want to write about it -- as
much as I need to write about it -- I can't. Scott and I are through,
and there are no words to describe how my heart feels right now.
Thursday at work
sneaking in a word or two as I sit here at my desk. So much to say. So
much on my mind ... I'm going to short circuit from mental overload.
Scott and I may or may not be back together. It's too soon to tell ...
but then, I haven't even had a chance to write about us breaking up,
around on figurative tip-toe right now.
Wendy's chili is bubbling in a saucepan on the stove ... Toot is
intently watching my every move from her spot on the floor, hoping a
stray chili bean or two might fall her way. It's cloudy and cold today
- the mood at work is tense and irritable. Pete and I were talking this
morning, and he made the comment that everyone at Ridgway is in a bad
mood this week. He's right - everybody is
touchy - but I hadn't noticed it until now. I thought it was just me.
This has easily been one of the hardest weeks I've ever lived through,
and it has left me drained. I'm so thankful that it's Friday. The
pressures between Scott and I, combined with the sour mood at the
office, have really been a strain, and I need two days of rest and
relaxation if I want to remain sane ... !!
I'm still pretty
much in limbo as far as Scott and I are concerned. On Monday and
Tuesday he told me that I should start looking for a new place to live,
because the relationship was over as far as he was concerned. Later he
relented somewhat and said that I can stay until he goes to Portland,
but that I am definitely not going with him. He doesn't want to get
married again, he doesn't want any more children, he's not looking for
another long-term relationship, and we are the wrong people for each
other. All things he said during the two day siege. It was the most
horrible 48 hours of my life. I can't even begin to describe how I felt
... devastated, destroyed, ripped apart, humiliated and scared to death
... but the worst part is that I deserved every word of it. I earned
every bit of it. I was totally dishonest with him and I humiliated him
in front of his friends ... eventually I will tell you specifically
what it was I did ... he was more that entitled to
cut me off.
The past couple of
days things have been more or less back to normal. We cooked steaks on
the grill last night, showered together, sat in bed watching TV, made
love, said "I love you" ... all the little things ... but I sense an
undercurrent of something, and undoubtedly another confrontation
Scott is at the
Lusk Metals inventory.
Early Saturday evening
Scott his taking
his shower ... I'm waiting for Harris and Marsha to come over so we can
leave for our evening of drinks and dinner. I'm happy tonight ...
Dying for a
cigarette, but I've turned this apartment upside down and can't come up
with one. AARRGGH! Seems like the only time I crave one is when I don't
This weekend was
strange - late partying on both Friday and Saturday nights, and staying
in bed all day Saturday and Sunday. A regular night owl, right?
Saturday night with Harris and Marsha was pretty wild. We ate dinner at
The Butcher, then went to The Towne Crier for one dance, and then came
here to our apartment and partied until dawn. Total craziness.
Feeling a little
"punky," as Scott would put it ... I think my period is preparing to
start, and I feel slightly depressed and hollow and unaccountably sad.
Today at work Jerry Foley and I had an unpleasant scene: I forgot to give
him a phone message for one of the girls in the plant, he hopped all
over me for it, I told him to stop "harassing" me, he threatened to
report me to Howard ... I ended up bursting into tears. The guy is a
real jerk and no one at work gets along with him, so I shouldn't feel
singled out ... but the timing
was just bad, I guess. I took it to Howard, so things are straightened
out with my boss, but it's going to be a LONG time before I'm civil
toward Jerry. The whole episode was so ridiculously petty, but who
knows ... maybe I needed the emotional release.
Scott and I are good again. Last night I had a terrible dream -- the
same old dream I've had since childhood, about Grandma and Grandpa
dying -- and I woke up when it was over, crying and trembling and
scared ... but Scott was laying there next to me, so I reached over and
wrapped my arms around him and held him until the fright was gone.
I desperately want
to write, but I can't. I keep flying back and forth.
Took a shower and
washed my hair ... I feel a little calmer, anyway.
Cloudy and cool
today ... delicious relief from the hot weather. Waiting for my
hamburger to broil ... mentally kicking myself for leaving my paycheck
sitting on my desk at work ... now I'll have to drive back to the
office to retrieve it, then all the way back here to the apartment to
leave if for Scott, and then finally all the way back to the office. My
gas is low and it's going to be a tight squeeze timewise. What a hassle.
vaguely depressed the past month or so ... nothing seems to be in
control anymore. I feel sloppy and guilty and harried all the time
Scott is in
Bellingham for the night.
And tonight he's at
a poker game at Ken W's. I'm feeling lonely and depressed and angry
with myself for my social condition. Lately I've been so
down-in-the-mouth about the whole condition of my life, I can hardly
stand to look at myself in the mirror. Everything seems so pointless.
I've been grappling with the idea of death and the impermanence of
things, and I wonder, Why bother? Nothing lasts.
Watching the late
news ... sitting in bed with my wet hair wrapped in a towel, buzzing
slightly from the c. that Scott brought home. He also brought Bruce
home with him ... they're out in the kitchen talking, but I've chosen
to hibernate. I cooked him a huge chicken dinner with the works,
expecting him to be home at 6:30 to eat it, but it was nearly 10 before
he finally got here.
warmed-over Oriental rice and beef chow mein from last night's dinner,
now heating in the oven. Another in a series of cloudy, foggy, grey
days ... the type of weather that I love, a prelude to autumn ... but
everyone else grumbles about. The apartment is fairly neat from a
frenzied bout of housecleaning during yesterday's lunch hour ... a pile
of one day overdue library books at my elbow ... the stereo playing
softly in the living room ... my paycheck on the counter, waiting to be
cashed. I'm in an unusual mood, not particularly up or down. Scott is
taking me shopping after work to buy some new clothes - sorely needed.
I haven't the faintest idea what to get. I'll just have to wait and see
when I get to the store.
Scott's left wrist
is broken after a night of drunken debauchery last Saturday ... I'm
bruised and scratched EVERYWHERE from that same night.
Thursday after work
Home from work ...
perched on the counter with a toot and a can of Squirt, listening to
Scott make business calls in the living room. Glad to be home. Today
was one of the dullest, slowest days I've ever spent at Ridgway, and I
spent most of the afternoon drinking coffee and reading old "People"
Fun calls today:
Peter Carlander, late afternoon - "Are you as cute as you sound?" ... Rod Markel,
early morning - "Hi, accident-prone!"
purchases yesterday: two narrow, button-front skirts, one navy blue and
one brown. An off-white, long-sleeved blouse, and a long-sleeved,
maroon print dress. Everything fits fairly well - the brown skirt is a
little snug around the waist, but I need to lose weight anyway so this
should be incentive. Today I wore the blue skirt and the blouse and
actually felt well-dressed for the first time in months. If Scott can
work it out financially, he'll give me another $100 this weekend so I
can pick up a couple more things ... maybe another dress or two, and a
couple of blouses. (And another pair of black pants, since I MELTED
mine with a too-hot iron yesterday!!) I'm so fucking tired of looking
like a slob around the office, compared to Patti and Max.
Sad news - last
week we learned that Dick F. is dying of cancer. He's working half-days
now but they say he only has six months left.
People Who Are Mad
(Or Mildly-Disgruntled) With Me Right Now:
1. Jerry F.
3. Bill ("Pizza King") G. & assorted friends
He's bringing me
another plate, isn't he? (Nope.) (Yep.)
Beginning to feel
really buzzed. What nice toot. Scott and I had sworn it off, once
again, but it can definitely become addicting - not necessarily in a
physical way so much as a mental way. A few days without it, and it's
all we can think about. Going out to a movie or bar-hopping just
doesn't seem like much fun without it ... we just get sloppy-drunk and
stand around in phone booths a lot, looking for drugs.
I hate to see this
weakness in me, but I already have so many other weaknesses that I
don't know how one more could hurt.
5:51 a.m. Alarm
goes off. Scott lumbers out of bed, showers, makes coffee. I snuggle
under the comforter for a few more minutes.
a.m. I crawl out
of bed. Visit the bathroom. Blow-dry my still-damp hair; brush my teeth
and wash my face. Saunter out to the kitchen and pour myself a cup of
coffee, black and bitter. Back to the bathroom to set my hair with
a.m. Scott is
dressed in jeans and sweater. I'm puzzled, because I know he won't be
working today (his wrist is broken). He is in a buoyant mood. Kisses me
on the cheek, says "I'll be back in 20 minutes!" and bounds out the
door. I carry my wicker basket of cosmetics into the bedroom, turn on
the TV ("Not For Women Only" - today's subject is step-parenting), sit
on the bed and begin the familiar process of making up my face and eyes.
a.m. I am
finished making myself up when Scott comes back, carrying a box of
Winchells Doughnuts. We eat doughnuts and drink coffee for a few
minutes, then I must dress.
I am dressed - new blue skirt and blouse - and I look nice.
Scott presses me against the wall and kisses me, hard. I take the
elevator down to my car. It is cloudy, overcast and beginning to rain.
I drive to work, singing along with the radio.
am at work. Take the cover off the typewriter, turn down the
thermostat, pull up the blinds. My "In" basket is depressingly empty
... this will be another slow day. One letter to type for Dave K.
(Jerry at Puget Sound Refrigeration). I am too embarrassed,
in my obviously-new clothes, to go get a cup of coffee, so I sit at my
desk and begin a letter to Clif. Dave gives me a $10 bill and asks me
to pick up some stamps for him at the Post Office.
Patti comes up to relieve me while I go to the P.O. I walk down to my
car, drive the 4.3 miles to downtown Redmond, pull the Ridgway mail out
of Box 875, stand in line to buy stamps.
a.m. Back at
work. I open, sort and date-stamp the mail, and then walk down the
hallway to distribute it.
a.m. - Noon.
A three hour stretch with relatively little to do. I answer the phone.
Finish my letter to Clif and envelope & stamp it. Type a
corrected Form Order. Several Purchase Orders. File posted
acknowledgments, posted Form Orders. Doodle. Start letters to Sparky
and Karen. Watch the clock. Pass out job applications to people who
I hop into my car and drive to Herfys in Redmond to pick up lunch for
Scott and I. Patti and Max and Freda and Pam have gone to Black Angus
together for lunch, and I try not feel left-out. It is 12:20 before I
buy the burgers and make it back to the apartment. Scott is on the
couch, surrounded by papers and notes from work, the new white
telephone sitting next to him. We eat, talk, kiss. I leave at ten
minutes to one. Check the mailbox - no mail yet.
to 4:00. Back in
the office and bored again. I drink a lot of coffee and read back
issues of People magazine. Answer phones - Peter C. calls, one
highlight. Buzz W. is another - "You're a sweetheart," he says, and I
say "Thank you!" Scott calls, still in a perky mood, and says
that he has a little c. for when I get home. No mail, he says. I
doodle, read, yawn, talk to Pete, Patti, Pam, Dave.
The mail is all stamped. I cover the typewriter, close the blinds,
gather up my things, put the phone on Night Bell and walk out to my
car. Semi-heavy traffic on the way home. I sing along to "Don't Ever
Wanna Lose Ya." Today I choose not to drop off the mail, come straight
approximately three toots left, and while I'm still a little buzzed and
things are quiet here around the apartment, I believe that I will
"scribble madly" for a couple of pages and bring this journal to a
somewhat frenzied end. Tomorrow I'll go out and buy a new one -
probably after work, and probably at 7-11 or Pay 'N Save, and hopefully
I will be more consistent about writing in the next one. I really
despise my inability to stick to it and write something, even a
paragraph, every day. During my last year at Highline, when I was
taking the creative writing classes with Lonny Kaneko, I became really
adept at journal-writing, and I was proud of myself - that year is
meticulously chronicled, and I get immense satisfaction out of reading
it. This year, tho, I became lax and lazy and lost the motivation to
write, so this whole notebook is disgustingly inaccurate and spotty.
And the things that hurts about that is this year has been one of my
best. It was my first year with Scott, for one thing. Whether there
will be more years is a question for the future, but the point is that this
was worth recording & I let it slip by. So many things have
happened that I'll forget about, and I should have been wise enough to
preserve them on paper.
recrimination. On to better things.
It is August 30,
1979, and autumn is approaching. For me, fall has always felt more like
a beginning than January does, and I cherish that. I look forward to
fall. I welcome it. I guess that it's a good time to move on to a
brand-new journal and begin all over again.
Something that I
think about - what will happen to my journals after I've died? Who is
going to read them? Or will anybody ever care enough to bother? Are
they going to wind up in somebody's attic (a son? a daughter? a
grandchild?), yellowed and mildewing and forgotten? Will they be
destroyed in a fire, or tossed into a garbage bin in the year 2057 by
some distant descendant who doesn't want a bunch of ratty old notebooks
cluttering up her garage .. ? Curious to think about such things and
not know the answers. My fantasy is this: that a grandchild or
great-grandchild, late teens or early 20's, sensitive and intelligent
and romantic by nature, someone who remembers me only as a withered old
lady, or maybe doesn't remember me at all, discovers the carton filled
with old journals in an attic one day and begins to read them ...
Home from work, and
now I have a whole beautiful three day weekend before I have to face
the typewriter and the telephone again. George let us all leave an hour
early today (3:00). Next week we go back on our regular working hours,
which for me will be 8:30 to 5:00; that means I can start sleeping till
7:30 every morning again.
Scott is sitting in
the living room with Ray. I'm here in the kitchen in a Highline College
T-shirt and ratty pair of jeans, doing a couple of toots, sipping a
beer and trying to get my thoughts organized.
Making myself too
fucking dizzy. Scott is in the shower and Mike is on his way over with
a six pack.
He still isn't here
and I'm dying for that beer ... all kinds of shit dribbling down the
back of my throat, and I am definitely over-buzzed. I've gotten to the
stage where it doesn't even feel good anymore.
Winding down a
lovely three-day weekend. Feeling like I should write something,
anything, but I'm so damned lazy anymore that writing is an effort.
Doing anything, for that matter, is an effort. I'm pitifully out of
shape, just on a physical level. But beyond that, my brain
is out of shape. I never get enough mental exercise these days.
But I'm not in a
bad mood, despite the gloomy way I sound. This was a neat weekend -
relaxing, rainy, spent a lot of time alone and a lot of time with
Scott, both. I'm not exactly looking forward to going back to work in
the morning, but on the other hand I'm not dreading it, either.
Scott is in the
kitchen (with Randy, this time), taking care of "this and that." I'm
here alone in the bedroom, watching a hilarious re-run of "WKRP In
Cincinnati" (my current favorite TV show). Just washed my hair and did
my nails - layed out my clothes for tomorrow morning (new brown skirt,
tan blouse) - and am now trying to wind down enough to go to sleep.
I've spent so much time this weekend in this bed that I'm not concerned
about how much sleep I get, but rather that I sleep soundly. (Quality,
not quantity.) My dreams lately have been strange, involved and
Waiting for Scott
to bring my last toot in to me. I've got about a quarter to take with
me to the office, which has me feeling strangely exhilarated.
I hope I'm not as
drug-oriented as I've let this journal sound.
I suppose that I
might as well finish everything up tonight, as far as this journal is
concerned. I've got a fairly nice buzz on, I'm in a fairly good mood
... and I'm running out of pages!! Tomorrow I'll pick up a new notebook.
Brief synopsis of
the weekend: Friday night, buzzing out of our heads, Scott and I headed
down to The Towne Crier in Redmond (I drove) for a few beers and to
listen to a band called Barney Armstrong. Somehow or another we struck
up a conversation with two guys at the next table, Brad and Dick, and
they ended up coming home with us for late toots and beers until dawn.
Saturday was a day of recovery ... I never even got out of my bathrobe!
Early bed, TV and a nice chicken dinner.
Sunday, Scott went
to the Seahawks football game with a customer and then out for an early
dinner, while I stayed here enjoying the rainstorm and a corny old
Jerry Lewis/Dean Martin movie on TV. Sunday evening was, once again,
early dinner, bed, smoking pot and watching TV.
Today was "Labor
Day" in every sense of the word. I thoroughly cleaned out my clothes
closets and drawers and threw out all the old ratty things I know I'll
never wear again. We had planned to cook ourselves a big turkey dinner
tonight, but that fizzled out when our appetites "disappeared."
At this point in my
life - threshold of Fall 1979, 21 years old - I don't even know what's
important yet. I have priorities, of course, and a couple of
near-future goals, but they don't amount to much as far as a "life
plan" goes. I just sorta drift from one life situation to the next,
absorbing the changes as they come.
I have absolutely
no idea where I'll be one year from now ... who I'll be, what I'll be,
where I'll be living.
The future is one
big, fuzzy, uncertain void. I hope that I'll be happy. I hope that
Scott and I will still be together, harmoniously, in one context or
another. Of course I hope, most of all, that we'll be married, but
having him in my life in ANY capacity is what counts. I hope,
also, that I'm still working at a job I enjoy ... if not at Ridgway,
then perhaps someplace comparable (and maybe better-paying?) I hope
that I have found some new social outlets ... maybe a close girlfriend.
On a peripheral level, I hope that I weigh 15 or 20 pounds less and
that my hair is waist length.
But ... speculation
doesn't really get you anywhere, does it? I've already said this, at
different times and in different words -- I'm unhappy with the
sketchiness of this journal -- I hate the fact that there are whole
giant chunks of my life in 1979 that have been left unrecorded. I
realize that I'm not the most important human being who has ever walked
the face of the earth, and that the world is going to keep on turning
even if I skip entries in my silly little journals ... I don't mean to
sound so self-important. The person who cares the most about this
journal - and all the ones that have preceded it, as well as all the
journals to follow - is me. I'm the one who gets pleasure most out of
reading them. That's why I'm the one who suffers when I don't record
things consistently. And that's why I want to make a conscious,
deliberate effort to write something,
at least every-other day, in my next journal.
Now it's 11 p.m.
Scott is still out in the kitchen with Randy, but now Toby has joined
them. I'm totally buzzed, still here in the bedroom. Fortunately we've
got some good pot, so I should sleep OK tonite.
Hope I do better next time.
I Listened To During This Journal:
You Write Her Off" - McGuinn, Clark & Hillman
"Music Box Dancer" - Frank Mills
"Fade Away And Radiate" - Blondie
"Just When I Needed You Most" - Randy Van Warmer
"Knock On Wood" - Amii Stewart
"The Logical Song" - Supertramp
"Roxanne" - The Police
"Hot Stuff" - Donna Summer
"Love Is The Answer" - England Dan and John Ford Coley
"Don't Ever Wanna Lose Ya" - New England
"Don't Bring Me Down" - ELO
"My Sharona" - The Knack
"Hot Summer Nights" - Knight
"Sad Eyes" - Robert John
"Does Your Mother Know?" - Abba
"Drivers Seat" - Sniff and The Tears
"Hey St. Peter" - Flash In The Pan
"I Do The Rock" - Tim Curry
"Lovin, Touchin, Squeezin" - Journey
to throw a rock?