my first book
8:35 p.m. - 05.08.02
since i have been in first grade i have wanted an automatic tape-recorder implanted into my head.
my thoughts have been racing since then. i wanted to write my first book in first grade, and i started to. it was called 'what should i do.' it was to be about trying to keep my family together, trying to make my dad feel important, because he always seemed so sad, trying to make my mom believe that i would finally be able to clean my room corectly (still haven't gotten there, sorry mom), and what i should do with a group of boys who kept trying to flip up my skirt on the catholic playground; plus, i had a crush on two of the boys, and was confused wether they liked me or hated me.
i remember when i stopped writing the book. one of the boys gave the most popular girl of the class a big valentine and not me - he never flipped up her skirt. the other boy pulled my chair out from under me, called me stupid and ugly, and cut my hair with saftey scisors. he did not come back the next year - we all heard he was sent away to where 'troubled kids' go. dad told me sternly not to lie about him, and don't let mom feed me stories.
i thought mom would be proud. we had just started going to counseling (just mom, my bro and me - dad kept drinking) and i was just starting to learn about 'the alcoholic family.' i was just starting to learn how it was good to talk about stuff. then i told mom about the book i was going to publish. she warned me that i should not get 'so absorbed' or 'obsessed' in it.
i hate when i get like this ...
i wanted this entry to be 'stream of conciousness' and to say what ever was on my mind. and there still is a ton on my mind -- but now that i wrote what is above i feel the same sense of tiredness in boredom and anxoisness to get away from this damn computer and go to sleep.
but i have always wanted to keep going - so i will keep going.
i'd like to write about the sailor - i don't know if i really have to right now - although i pray for his saftey now that he is on active duty for the war.
i need to write about dave. come to think about it - i've hardly ever written (much less confronted) the mistakes we both made 4 years ago when i left him.
i think i need some cigarettes, another hour of thought and music, and another entry.
my first book - 05.08.02
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