7/28/98

it's late and i went by my gym which is called the 24 hour gym but it turns out they close at ten so i came home and had a beer. i talked on the phone with my girl for a bit, i felt lonely, i wanted to say something sweet, i was afraid she would take it wrong, i bit my tongue. i've been thinking of my options all day. when i feel this way i think of my options. they always seem better. and i suppose it's better to focus on what you could do than what you could've done. i talked to my girl on the phone. she's dropping my class. she says she feels awkward in it. i said oh. i said i would tutor her individually. she's not happy with her score. she had great expectations. i said i had so many dreams, i had so many breakthroughs! she's not happy with her score. she works so hard. she doesn't want her daddy to call her a failure. she justifies herself by saying she just wants to have enough money to own horses and a ranch far away from the city. but it's not the truth. i think she just wants to be successful so that daddy doesn't have to point out the bums in the bars anymore and say, don't be like them. they're full of regrets. she doesn't want to be full of regrets. she works hard. it won't be enough.

i've felt lonely today. been lonely. it's getting late and i'm having a beer. i'm mildly hungry. i had so many dreams, i had so many breakthroughs! i thought about clair today, and usually i don't but i was out with my friend last night and he was ruminating on his ex. but what i remembered about her was the last time i sent her a story. i sent her 'a life without consequences' which i think is a pretty good story. and she wrote back saying, yeah, she liked the story. she thought i needed to work through my anger towards my father. and i was so upset. i don't care enough about my father to work through my resentments towards him. it took me three months to write this story. 13,000 words. you try to string together 13,000 words, it ain't easy. she didn't get it. what about the fucking story. don't tell me i need therapy. what about the story. what about the fucking story. it's like, what if you built this house. and you spent all your time and money and you built this house. and you showed it to someone for the first time and they said, you have to stop running. you need to talk to your parents. and you're like, hey you jackass, look at my fucking house. isn't the construction great! notice how the wood melts into the planks, piece by piece. but they don't notice that. they say, you got to stop running. it was one of those moments where i never wanted to ever write again. those times are more and more common. some times david bowie changes my mind.

i've felt lonely today. i tried to work on my screen play. i lost my passion for it very quickly. it sounds good but i can't get it on paper. i'm only good at writing about myself. i don't have much of an imagination. i'm settled, i have my routine. i'm thinking about atlanta. my house is never messy, it's never quite clean. i was clean once, for a bit. i don't get letters. i got three emails in the last week, two were from companies. my girl tells me i'm too emotionally distant, says i can't get close. i give her all this stuff to read. i tell her everything. i tell her i tell her everything. it's not enough. she's right anyway but why would anyone bother to notice. i tell her i'm not worth that much thought, save it for the test. save it for the big bad world and save it for daddy 'cause the big bad world is gonna peel you like a banana and eat you like a pear. what act are you on? when is your play gonna close. my girl made me think of sleeping with john kim and giving someone everything. but i can give. i give when i love someone. i never show up at the airport without flowers, you know.

i have two hours tomorrow to get to the east bay. i have trains to catch and buses to ride to the end of the line. i've got a schedule to keep and no time for sad poetry or feeling sorry for myself. does a story need to know where its going. does a joke need a punchline? i had so many dreams, i had so many breakthroughs! she wants to know a secret. and i thought i told her my secrets. i told her about high heeled transvestites, men in nurse outfits, glitter filled clubs and plays of lies. i told her about whips and chains. i didn't tell her about being fucked in the ass but it wasn't what she was asking. she didn't want to know that. she wanted to know a secret. you know what i mean. a secret. she didn't want to know you slept with another woman. she didn't want to know if you're a fag or a dyke. she wanted to know where you buried the bodies, what do your demons look like, what's your worst nightmare. what went wrong that time. what happened there, there. it took me a week to realize what she was asking and what the answer was. that's when i decided not to answer the question. because i had been trying to answer the question. now i know i can't. i know that pandora's box and i'm not opening it because once you open it you can't get the demons back in. that's it. i know it's better to deny it out right. and when you talk about it you better show your teeth and laugh. laugh over every beating you've ever took. it's all you can do.

in recap: i have two hours tomorrow to get to the east bay. today i was lonely, and hungry. i told my roommate i wanted potato chips. we exist in relation to one another. who can help it. i taught a class tonight, my girl wasn't there. i'll teach her something in her own time. i tell her not to be so hard on herself. a successful person is someone who is happy. don't you want to be happy, i told her, don't you want to be successful. just be happy. just bare your teeth and smile.