Diary Friday

Okay, so I’m gonna stick with the junior year in high school because … well … it’s all just so ridiculous. Wildly in love with someone from afar. I’m picking a couple of entries from December of that year – preparing for Christmas, etc. I was crying with laughter reading some of this. I sound like such a moron.

The first paragraph of the first entry is just so unselfconsciously insane that I am still laughing about it.

DECEMBER 17

Today I’m going Christmas shopping with Mere, then sleeping over. I can’t wait. On a wild impulse, I’m wearing my high-tops. I’ve got to get all my presents today. Probably take a McNugget break too.

[There’s just too much that’s funny there to even break it down. It takes a “wild impulse” to wear high-top sneakers? I still wear them on an almost daily basis. What the HELL am I talking about?]

Oh yes, I’ve got to tell about yesterday. I went to school, blah blah. Then came French. [French was one of the two classes I shared with my Prince Charming. Hence – my entire life revolved around French class and gym] He was in the room before me. I came in and he was just wandering around. [What? “Just wandering around”? Why does this make me laugh??] He saw me come in and he spoke to me. I didn’t have to throw a question at him. He said, “Did you go to the concert?” “Yes.” I smiled over at him. He said, “Better than the school one, huh? What did you think?” [Oh, stop fishing for compliments, jagoff.] Ah – oh – ee – ah [What the hell is that? Am I making each vowel sound?] I was tongue tied. How would I say, “God, you are a great sax player”? Well, that’s just what I said, “God, you are a great sax player!” [Hahahahahaha So obviously I found it very easy to say “God, you are a great sax player” The thing that is funny to me here is that I seem unaware of the humor in my wording.] I asked him, “How much do you practice?” He shrugged. He’s really sort of modest with compliments. “Never. I never practice.” [Uhm – maybe we should say FALSELY modest with compliments.] He said, “I swear I never looked at that music until last night.” “Right. Sure.” I said sarcastically. He grinned at me and I said, “Wow, though. You were really excellent. You really got into it, huh?” [Good for you, Sheila. Giving the boy what he wants to hear. You were a generous soul and he did not fucking deserve it. Onward.] He laughed and shrugged again, and that was it.

You know what I’m gradually realizing? [Oh God. Not a realization.] I look back on 7th and 8th grade, even as far back as 6th grade, and I look at the guys I had crushes on, and they were all such babies. [Uhm, yeah. That’s because they were 11 years old.] Boys were so young and immature – scrawny little bodies – but I thought Andy – who was about three feet tall – I thought he was the best thing going. [hahahaha He was three feet tall because he was ELEVEN. Mkay? This is Andy of the famous spitball Valentine. LOVED him.]

After History I go across the hall to Chemistry and as the room empties, I always see DW coming down the hall to his locker after Physics. I stand outside the door just to see him. [hahahaha] I don’t think he’s aware that I watch him — If I thought he was aware, I’d never do it — but it’s a perfect spot to just look at him. Oh, I’m awful, I know! But — [here comes the realization] it occurred to me one day as I was just standing there, looking at him getting his books [Sheila, why do you think he is not aware of you when you are basically just standing there, watching him??] — he’s so tall and lean – with broad shoulders – this isn’t some 11 year old kid I’m in love with. [yeah, because that would be freaky.] What I’m really thinking is – when I was 11 and was in love with Andy – he seemed perfectly grown up and gorgeous to me. But we were both such children. I don’t know what I’m trying to say – I’m not trying to say that DW and I are adults, blah blah – but just looking at him in that moment, it came to me in a flash – I don’t know — I felt in wonder of his humanity, his body (please don’t get the wrong idea) – the way he moves – and how he’s not a kid. Neither am I anymore. [Actually, that’s a pretty cool realization. To have that moment when you realize that you’re not a little kid anymore.] God I feel like a kid sometimes.

Diary, I really don’t understand “growing up”. Does anyone ever grow up successfully? How the hell is anyone supposed to go about it? I think I have this thing of always being conscious. Sometimes it’s wonderful. I mean, the beauty of life and the world is always amazing me. Now — I always notice sunsets and trees and I wonder “How could I have even lived 15 years without knowing that those things were there?” But – I do have the need – I want to know who I am. I can’t just live, you know – day by day – I can’t just be. [I still can’t.] I have to know and consciously grow – that’s what I want, but how? I want to be like Jimmy Dean. [Live fast, die young, Sheila?] I don’t want to just wander around [like DW in French class??] – I don’t want to just live. How do I get conscious?

Who is DW? Does he ever think who am I? (Not me, Sheila. But him. You know, does DW ever think – Who am I?) I think of myself at 25, 30, 40 – How am I going to change and become an adult? [I still wonder that.] I know that I can’t feel like this inside when I’m 30. I’m so hopelessly young. But then again, at times, I feel — not adult – but sort of pleasantly content at being a teenager. It’s so interesting. I have a unique – maybe not, but it’s a nice thing to have – talent for being able to step back out of my own shoes, and look at my life – never me for some reason though – but suddenly at times – brief flashes in the weirdest places – when I feel like the all-American teenage girl. I don’t feel like that inside – but sometimes I get an outside glimpse. I think of liking DW and all that stuff. I’m rambling. I’ve lost track of what I was saying.

Everything is so confusing. I have to become an adult. How do I do that? It’s fun, though – being a teenager – being capable of liking someone the way I like DW.

Diary, it’s weird. I won’t be satisfied with just gazing from afar from this time. I want more. I HOPE I HOPE he wants more too!!!

DECEMBER 18

[I am putting this in here because I just can’t get over the GIFTS I am giving people. It’s such a time-machine moment.]

Christmas shopping yesterday was crazy. My Christmas spirit feels seriously bruised. I had to get everyone’s present yesterday because Betsy’s having a Christmas party tomorrow. I look back on yesterday and it seemed fun, but while it was going on I was crazy. It seemed a monumental task. I had so many people to buy for. But I did so well. I got everyone presents and they weren’t desperation presents either. Mere and I shopped from 11:30 to about 3:00. We ate at McDonalds. It was fun! Okay, my gifts:

Jayne: Yentl album

Mere: Adam Ant album – homemade card

Betsy: Lionel Richie album – a card that says “Friends are flowers in the garden of life”

Kate: a stuffed animal seal, a rainbow magnet that says “This day is made for you”, a little shiny black box with a design and a card that says “Thank you for being a treasured friend” [Sheesh – why did Kate get to receive 2,000 presents and I only got Betsy and Mere one a piece?]

J.: a stuffed animal bull (our private joke), a journal, and a Baryshnikov card

Beth: a beautiful mug with dolphins on it (Beth has a love affair with dolphins)

April: a shiny silver and sparkley blue notebook – a tiny purple Chinese lantern, a Charlie Chaplin card

Christmas shopping is wonderful once it’s all over. [Those presents absolutely KILL ME]

Just watched Animal House. Talk ab out feeling like a teenager. Wow. I watched that movie and all I thought of was Travis, Matt, Bobby Records, Josh L. — they could have written the script – it was so like them. The toga party part could have been taken right out of our toga dance. I CAN’T WAIT. We have such a wicked school. I really like the kids.

[Sheila, calm down.]

DECEMBER 20

[I hesitated to include the first sentence of this diary entry because even I, with my passion for self-exposure and self-deprecation, found it a bit too embarrassing. But then I decided: what the hell.]

I could very easily fall in love with a statue. I could. I already am! Michelangelo’s David. Oh, it is so hard to believe that he is not a real flesh and blood man. God, he is wonderful.

Lately, I feel so strangely emotional. [Honey, you are and you always will be “strangely emotional”. I am now writing to you from TWENTY YEARS IN YOUR FUTURE and all I have to say to you is: Get used to it.] We are studying the Renaissance in English and they had this slide of the David standing there – and I just felt my heart beat faster. The beauty of the art. I wish I could see it in person and the Sistine Chapel.

God, what a day. Today is the kind of day when all you can do to retain your sanity is to sit back and just laugh. Life is a joke. Life is one big fat joke. [Now don’t get bitter] Why do I take it so seriously? [Again: see note above about “get used to it”]

Chemistry was a riot. We had a quiz yesterday. Diary, 99% of the class failed. One person passed, and that person got a D. It was probably the funniest thing that’s happened to me in weeks. I honestly think this should tell Mr. Amoeba something. I got a 7 out of 19. Mere beat me by 2 points.

Mr. Amoeba was actually nice to me today. I had fun pretending to be a diligent student, asking questions, looking perplexed. [Oh man. I’m such a bitch! hahahaha I was ACTING. Amoeba was one of those teachers who needed students to be confused, and lost. He loved it when the whole class didn’t know what he was talking about. The only way to get ahead in that class was to consistently say stuff like: “I have no idea what that means … could you explain it more?” He had no respect for kids. That was really what was going on. Can you tell I despised him?]

Last night was Betsy’s party. Oh, it was so fun! All the best buddies were there. We call ourselves a clicque. For some reason yesterday I was just fizzing and bubbling over with energy. We all got over to Betsy’s and Betsy put on her Grease record. [Record!!] We all were dancing – it was so fun – I felt wonderful and funky and jazzy [Oh. My. God. SHUT. UP.] Then we put on the Beatles. Mere and I sang harmony. Beth kept saying, “How do you do that? Is it 2 notes above or below?” Then we all sat down to open presents. Very disorganizaed. [I just want to say one thing. I love my friends. We are all still the best of friends. Beth. Mere. Betsy. I just love the image of all of us – age 16 – having a little Christmas party for each other.]

I think I honestly like giving presents better than getting. I LOVE I LOVE to give presents. I had written little letters to everyone. I love making people happy. It is hard to write how much I love someone without sounding sappy. Kate said once, “It’s easy to lie on paper.” Isn’t that true?

Actually, I’m the wrong person to have a diary. I can easily record a day’s activities but when it comes to describing my feelings about DW or a serious thing – my mind’s blank. Well, not blank – my heart is screaming and throbbing – but the words just don’t come out of me. It’s frustrating sometimes. Like on Dec. 17 – I knew what I was feeling – but I just couldn’t explain it!

I think I know now what I was trying to say. I feel it whenever I look at DW. Like once in Project Adventure [this was our gym class – an awesome Outward Bound type program] – we had this whole awful day of physical challenges. Climbing ropes, pull ups, balancing, jumping — I was waiting in line to do something and I glanced over at the pull up place. DW was about to go. Then he started – He did about 30. I mean, he’s not a muscle man – but he’s strong, he’s masculine – [he’s not 3 feet tall] – he’s a man physically, even though he’s 17 – He could carry me on his shoulders. His strength appeals to me. Wimps don’t do a thing for me. I’m a wimp. [hahaha.] I did about an eighth of a pull-up – but then we had to climb the ropes. I have no upper body strength. None. I have never ever been able to climb the damn ropes. While I was waiting in line for the pullups, I glanced over at the ropes – and DW was climbing. There are 2 ropes hanging, you had to hold onto each, and climb up. And I watched him climb the ropes. It “turns me on”. [Ha. Love the quotation marks. I was still a little girl] He is so desirable to me anyway but to see that he is strong … Anyway, he was way up in the air – I could see his belly button – AH! [or should I say: “ah – oh – ee – ah …”] His face was straining in determination, his arms were shaking with the effort, his teeth grit together – I doubt I have ever seen anything so beautiful in my life.

He looked so manly. Oh, give it up. Why can’t words be my slaves? [Because of a little thing called the 13th amendment]

His personality is what I really admire [you know, his “modest” personality] – but suddenly his physical traits were screaming at me and I love him. I love his face, his body, everything. He’s not JW – who’s like Mr. America in a really ikky way – he looks like he has big muscles – huge ones in his arms so that he can’t even put his arms down at his sides – he’s got these rounded buns that make me kind of sick [jeez, Sheila … don’t hold back!] – His body doesn’t do a thing for me. It’s superficial.

But DW?

I cannot stand myself anymore. My feelings feel like they’ve been pent-up for years and suddenly they’re loose but racing and tearing around inside me – bumping into each other – no way out. I wish I had a vent for all this. Thank you, Diary, for listening to me, but after all: you are only a book. You are not a tall strong senior with dark hair, glasses, a baggy Oxford shirt, Levis, and a wonderful sauntering walk.