The Sheila Variations

Diary Friday

I found this this morning and read it, amazed. I have no memory of any of this.

When I was in college, I had a job at a pizza joint called Pit 'n Patio. It was in walking distance to the beach, and it was a MADHOUSE. There were lots of CRAZY regulars. Oh, and the place served beer - which meant you had to deal with lots of carding of underage kids, and also had to serve up beers to vaguely homeless beach people who would pay for their beer with PENNIES. Counted out on the counter.

I wrote down stories from "the Pit" in my journal. Apparently, there was one regular (and I am kind of remembering her now) - who was 85 years old if she was a day, a small wrinkled crone in a housedress, who would come in every day and have a beer or whatever. Her name was Martha. I was fascinated by Martha. Obviously (judging from this entry in my journal) I grilled her about her life when it was slow at the Pit. I have no memory of interviewing her so rigorously. But obviously I did.

The stories! Who did I think I was, at age 19, in my grimy apron behind the pizza counter? Studs Turkel?

To the people who balk at "TMI", who don't like it when people over-share, all I can say is: You really might be missing out on something pretty extraordinary!

AUGUST

Martha -

One daughter - Pat - who has 7 children - and a great-granddaughter - a baby - who, whenever she sees Martha, runs to her, arms out, crying, "Ma! Ma!"

Pat is a nurse at South County Hospital and loves it. Martha asked her if she ever had any regrets. "Not one."

At first Martha begged her not to be a nurse, but a schoolteacher - anything but a nurse because Martha had experienced so much sickness in her life.

She nursed her mother for 3 years alone - who had cancer. None of her other relatives wanted to do it so she did the best she could, not knowing anything about cancer. Her mother got to be skin and bones. They took off one breast, and lots more ... Martha had to bear up alone. She was not in a good way either.

She didn't cry for days after her mother died. A few nights before her mother died, the two planned out her funeral. Her mother said, "Don't put me in navy - or brown - or black. I want to be in pink orchid." And she was - in a pink dress with ruffled sleeves.

The undertaker was a friend of her mother's, and in spite of her being so thin "he made her look beautiful - like she was 18 years old." She had long long hair and he had it all softly waved. Her coffin was grey velvet with pink taffeta insides. She had her rosary in one hand and someone brought her a dozen roses and said, "I want her to have one in her hand" - so the undertaker slid a red rose in her hand.

Martha could not believe how many people came. "She had so many friends ... but I didn't know that many!" People streamed in - and the friend undertaker told Martha to go home for a while "or there'll be one more coffin here" and he stood in the line for her. He told her that by the end he thought his legs would fall off so many people came.

Her mother was 70 when she died.

Her mother was English - her father Scottish - her great-grandmother Irish ... her father was very stern. Her mother got all of her teeth taken out on one day and was in so much pain she couldn't function. Her father came home and there was no supper fixed and he got so angry at her. "Why did you have them all taken out at once?"

And Martha remembers saying to him, "Don't yell at her - she's in enough agony." She was only around 7 at the time. But he still didn't let up.

Her and her husband - both from Pawtucket - were going to take a trip overseas and move to Florida, but he had a heart attack and they were too afraid to be away. He had 3 heart attacks - the last one killed him.

Listen to this story: He died on the toilet seat at night. Martha was asleep. She woke - he wasn't there - and she found him on the toilet seat - slumped over with his glasses all crooked. She described it so vividly. I felt tears in my eyes. I think she absolutely went into hysteria. She rang the alarm and everybody came running.

A male nurse, a friend, lived nearby, and Martha said to him, "Could you please come and see if my husband is dead or alive?" So he went and felt the pulse in his neck and wrist and turned to Martha and said - I'm sure gently - "Martha, he's been dead for hours." And she had been sleeping. She was in shock - so much so that this nurse held her tight in his arms in the dining room and said firmly, "Martha - cry. Cry. Cry. You have got to cry."

And she told me that she totally soaked the front of his shirt. "I'm getting your shirt so wet." "I don't care. Just cry."

Her daughter is the joy of Martha's life. She sounds like an angel. She does Martha's laundry and every Friday takes her out shopping and out for dinner at the 108 House, and then for a long long drive all the way down to Galilee and all the seaports. On Sunday she always has Martha over for supper and another drive.

When Martha has teeth out and is in great pain, Pat stays overnight with her to help her and make her mashed potatoes and ground-up hamburger.

When Martha and her husband were gonna move to Florida, Pat begged them to stay. "You're my only mother and father ... I need you to be nearby so I can help you if you need it."

I just wanted to get her story down. I think it deserves telling. And Martha deserves to be remembered. So brave and so alone.

"It's terrible living alone. It's so lonely."

"What a life I've led. So full of sickness and death. I didn't want Pat to have to face it too. But she has no regrets. She loves it."

I told her I had just had an extremely scary dream that I had cancer and I had to face death at midnight and I was suddenly so so so afraid of dying I couldn't even think about it (a fear I never really knew I had) and she said, "Well, I broke your dream, honey - cause I talked about cancer. If you have a dream about something and the next day someone talks about it, that means the dream won't happen. So I broke the dream."

Let's see: her mother was so full of cancer at death they had to drain all her blood but she turned black - but it was an open casket so they had to put it back in.

She and her husband (Eddie) used to really raise hell when they were younger and go out drinking and dancing.

One day Martha came into the bathroom and saw Eddie standing there with two things hanging down from his nose and Martha said, "Eddie - for Pete's sake - blow your nose!" And they wouldn't come out - so Eddie took pliers and tried to yank them out. Turns out they were polyps, and he began to bleed profusely. The polyps went all the way back into his head.

Martha miscarried into her hand.

Actually, as the more pathetic it gets, the funnier it gets.

Poor woman!

Diary Friday: going to church in Ireland

In honor of the upcoming Easter weekend, I'm going to post a couple other excerpts from my travel journal, of our time in Ireland as a family. I am 13 years old at this point. We were on Achill Island for a bit, off the west coast of Ireland, and we were there for Easter. Going to church was a huge deal.

But I'll back into it with a couple of the previous entries.

Please keep in mind: 13 years old. I now think of it as "post-Skyward", but still: 13.

I am in IRELAND, and here is what I choose to write about.

WESTPORT, IRELAND

These are some of the fashions here: tight jeans and black and gold leather pumps, grey pinstriped blazers, tube tops, jackets that go below the hips, mini-skirts (black velvet), dotted white tights, red velvet crushed boots, Adidas sneakers, tight-tight-tight spray-painted-on jeans are EVERYWHERE. No one has baggies. [Ed: I am assuming that I am talking about baggie jeans here, which were all the rage in the States at this time. Thank God that trend passed.] They also love bobby socks here, especially with mini skirts. No one has top siders or loafers. [That whole preppy thing was OUT OF CONTROL at my school. I never got into it, so I am sure the lack of top siders on the Emerald Isle was quite a relief.] The girls wear maroon, silver, yellow leather pumps. They seem to be very influenced by the English [Ed: Uhm... what, Sheila? You're 13. What are you talking about??]. All that punk stuff started in England, and it seems to be very big here too. [Oh please, shut up.] Tight jeans are the thing to wear here. White sneakers (yippee) are also popular. Minidresses too, like I've seen in Seventeen. All the girls wear kilts, bobby socks, and black leather Mary Janes shined like a mirror.

ACHILL ISLAND, IRELAND

The towns over here are not towns. Just villages on hills, with like one store and a butcher. The people seem really nice, though. Two boys on bikes literally led us to our B&B. This B&B is called Connaught House. CONNAUGHT, MUNSTER, LEINSTER, ULSTER, MEATH.

My room has a wonderful view of fields, little houses, and then the ocean. There are lots of peat bogs here, and we might be able to cut some peat!!!!!!! [Wow. You're a geek.] Soon we're going downtown to look around. But I don't feel like it because I am SO COLD!!!!! IT'S FREEZING!!!!!

Later:

The walk was ok. It certainly warmed me up. We saw a field of sheep and the babies were the cutest things I have ever seen. All white, with black heads. Siobhan "baaahed" at them all. [Siobhan was 4. The image of her, in Ireland, is a favorite family memory.]

We might go to church tonight but I don't want to because everyone here dresses up SO much for church and all I have is this plaid skirt that looks like it comes from the 50s. And all the girls wear Mary Janes and I only have my saddle shoes. [Saddle shoes? What are you, Lucy Van Pelt?]

I wonder how Mere and Betsy and Beth and Kate are. OH I MISS THEM SO MUCH!!!!!

Just thinking about living on this island makes me sick. No t.v., one school, not knowing about fashions. [Oh my God, that is so embarrassing. NOT KNOWING ABOUT FASHIONS? This from a girl wearing SADDLE SHOES??? I am so sorry, lovely people of Achill Island, for my judgment.] All they have here is Irish knit sweaters and skirts. I mean, clothes aren't everything but I want to know something about what is in and what isn't. [Okay, this is getting even more embarrassing. This is awful.]

Our house has the most WONDERFUL living room [I sound schizophrenic. Achill Island BAD, oh wait a minute Achill Island GOOD] with a fire, the softest fur rug in front of it and a HUGE tv. [Hm. I seem to recall you mentioning in the paragraph above this one that the people on the island didn't HAVE tv. Hmmm.] We watched "David Copperfield" all afternoon, and now we are going for a drive up a mountain. This is a very mountainous island.

The old couple who own the B&B are so nice. The old man is so funny, so nice. He said to my father that he looked like Kojak from behind. He has been to America and he said that the sand in Florida was so hot that you could "fry a rasher on it". He also asked us if Rhode Island was very close to Houston!!

[For some reason, the first line of this next entry made me laugh OUT LOUD when I was reading it this morning.]

ACHILL ISLAND, THURSDAY

Last night we watched "Father Damien - the Leper Priest" on TV with Ken Howard. He is SO good. I had already seen the movie before though. [That's the kicker. I had seen FATHER DAMIEN - the effin' LEPER PRIEST twice???]

Today we are going to visit a man's peat bog, and then we are going to look up some old crosses, etc.

I washed my hair this morning, and washed my face, and rubbed in face cream and put on mascara. [Extremely important to list my morning skin ritual, apparently.]

I am getting really sick of the same old breakfast every day. But Dad says that there is this coffee shop in Dublin called Bewley's or something where they sell delicious donuts and jelly pastries, etc. [Sniff, sniff. Bewley's ... one of my favorite pitstops ... now no more ...] My mouth is watering already!

Tomorrow we're going to church.

I should have brought my curling iron.

Diary Friday

What is clear to me now from this journal entry is that one of the things that is actually going on here, although I never say it, is that I am in love with three men at the same time. I never recognized it - because basically I am thick as fog usually - but that is what is happening. Yes, it is possible. Maybe you need to possess an abnormally large heart to achieve such a thing, or a willingness (overall) to let life get chaotic. Both are true for me. I'm not gonna lie. I am not fickle. These three men are giants in my own personal lexicon to this day, and while I have never been a date-r, or someone who was out and about with a million different men (I'm pretty steady and focused) ... it just so happened that on this one 48-hour period in question ... all three men from the past year converged into my life at one specific time.

I put this up today because of Michael, who has pestered me lately until I respond, until I am involved (he WILL. NOT. BE. IGNORED) and while it can be annoying, it also makes me feel cared for. Like it matters. He will not let me hide. He lets himself get upset with me. He wonders where I am and why I am not "there". Grateful, grateful, grateful.

I put this up today because the other men in the entry - referred to as "P" and "M" are, forever forever, men in my heart ... but it is Michael who is the one who is still in my life. I mean, in a real and friend-y kind of way. And isn't that insane. I mean, it is to me, because I feel like I never would have guessed that at the time, but then when I read this crazy journal entry, I think: Yes. Of course. I didn't just guess that that would be the case ... it is there, tangibly, in the words I chose to describe what was, relatively, a casual encounter with him.

What strikes me here is the unbelievable intensity in which I appeared to be able to operate, on an everyday level. I am gobsmacked by my own endurance. And not just that ... but how I used a journal back then, to work things out, to hash out issues, to really TALK to "someone" (a blank book), and try to figure out what was going on.

I no longer use a journal in that way. I barely keep a journal at all.

In this entry, I describe a 48 hour period during the very end of my time in Chicago. David has always said that he felt my life was a "literary conceit", that things line up for me in a neat psychological way that seems unusual to him ... and here it is obvious, in full force.

It was May. I was auditioning for grad school in June. I had a feeling I would get in, and that would mean I would have to move to New York. In August. Everything felt tremulous. On the verge of huge change. I loved Chicago. Chicago changed my life. Saved it. The thought of leaving was absolutely terrible. But I just knew it would happen.

I was recovering from a failed love affair with "P" - but I wasn't recovering very well. I am amazed at how haunted I sound in this entry. It gives me a chill. I would remain haunted by him for years. Haunted still? Well, well, I just have better coping skills now. I see him every now and then when he comes to town, and it's fun and good to see him, I still have one or two pretty bad moments during those times, it seems unavoidable, but philosophy returns in a matter of days, and I can incorporate the loss back into my understanding of life, and that's just the way shit goes down sometimes. Man up.

But at the time of the journal entry, the wound was fresh, and I could not get over it. I wasn't so much sad as baffled by what had happened. It confused me more than anything else.

Meanwhile: I had been hanging out on an almost constant basis with "M", a boy I had met and dated (loose term) from almost my first month upon arrival in Chicago. So we're talking years. By the time of this entry below, we had been going strong in our particular insane vein for four years. I've written quite a bit about him in the past. I cannot describe it except to say: it never had a label, sometimes we saw each other a couple times a week, and there was one time when we went nine months without seeing each other (and I didn't miss him) ... and yet we always kept revolving back to what we had created. I always knew I would hear from him again. He was a crazy man, wild, grumpy, immature, fun, and strangely deep. He was so relaxing for me - or that's how I remember this time anyway - everything else was so crazy, but I could relax with him. Turns out there was a bit more darkness in the scenario which I had forgotten - we had had this huge awful fight at a terrible bar called The Gingerman Tavern and I had vowed never to speak to him again ...which I actually stuck to for about two or three months. He would call and I wouldn't answer. Stuff like that. I don't remember much of this, actually. Strange.

Then there is Michael.

Timing-wise - this diary entry is in May. Michael and I had dated in the autumn of the previous year, and then sort of drifted apart. Nothing bad happened, no falling out, just ... we were at different points in our lives, there was a significant age difference (although it's not significant at all now - but six years was HUGE back then - I was like Mrs. Robinson, for God's sake, sneaking my underage boyfriend into bars so we could go to Trivia Night, and helping him do his laundry), and so we let each other go on our separate ways.

I hadnt held on to Michael, which I think is one of the main reasons why we are such good friends today (but what a bittersweet lesson to have to keep learning ... but that is definitely the theme of my life ... I am a master at this, and should give seminars ... and if anyone says "if you love something set it free" you can expect to be punched straight in the throat by yours truly) ... and was not haunted by him or missing him at the time of this entry. I was far more taken up with the spectre of "P", he was on the forefront, because I sensed I would be moving, and that would make it REALLY be over. But I was definitely missing "M", by then too, because he was the one who - through playing pool with me, driving me around at breakneck speed in his car, climbing through my window at three in the morning, and deciding to order us fast food at 4 in the morning - helped me forget all my troubles.

Into this wilderness stepped Michael. And click click click some things clicked into place. Not with "P", but then, that situation would never "click into place". It was meant to be a mess, and it is still a mess, frankly. I just cope with it better now.

These three men who are all in this entry below I refer to as my "triumvirate". Long-time readers will recognize that. And here they all are in one place (well - in my journal) at the same time. It is rather odd and unsettling to read.

This entry's intense. Much of it makes me laugh out loud.

I was approaching a huge change. I knew I was going to move to New York, even though I hadn't been accepted to grad school yet. But I just knew I would get in ... and that the Chicago phase was about to end. That freaked me out to no end.

In the entry below, only Michael gets to keep his own name. He's earned that. I think he expects it too.

MAY 15

I have FORCED myself to continue forward with my plans, even though I'm apathetic, a huge part of me doesn't want to leave Chicago AT ALL. A huge part of me wants, at least, to be near P. I can't let it go. I can't.

[Then, in the middle of this text, I have written - and I have NO IDEA what it means: "Hello you monkeys and lovers and lovebirds and shriners." Seriously - THAT LINE shows up right after "I can't let it go. I can't." hahahahahahs Shriners?? WHAT???]

But I have to. Or, I certainly can't abandon my plans. I could not live with myself. I am already trying to prepare myself for the wrench of leaving. Also ... about P. It's done. It's over. But in my heart it is so not. I live for word of him. My heart beats faster. But - like a steamroller - I keep making plans, taking the steps, 1-2-3 - without even really thinking about it. Forcing myself. And now I am flying to NYC in June for the audition. I'll deal with the move when it happenns. Listen to how I talk about this - as though moving would be bad.

However, I think I am a pretty evolved person. I think my understanding of and feeling for the shades of grey in life is pretty deep. I understand how good and bad can be mixed. A "good" thing can happen and a really 'bad" thing can be attached to it. That's life. That's being an adult.

I have a problem with the word "happy" anyway. I always have. Happiness, for me, is encapsulated in a moment. Not meant to last. The first glimpse of the skyline as I run around a curve in the lake ... sitting in the sun on my front steps drinking coffee ... dancing on P's feet in the hot darkness, his arms tight around me ... driving with Ann with the windows down singing the theme song to Greatest American Hero at the top of our lungs ...

Moments.

When I feel a burst of contentment ... Happy? I can see clearly (now the rain has gone ...) I don't say "I'm happy". I live in shades of grey, despite all the hyperbolic stances. So I am preparing myself for this wonderful move - and preparing myself for the grieving I will do. Grieving for my life here. But what's weird is - as of now - I am only thinking about the bad side of it. I can't get to the place of excitement, ambition - I don't feel it yet.

I just had a chilling thought.

5/15

[Looks like I put the pen down - because of my 'chilling thought' - went off, did something, and came back to the journal later on the same day ... to write the following:]

Capture my heart and then bite it in two.
I won't forget.

MAY 16

I had to put down the pen. It's too awful. The chilling thought I had was this. It just occurred to me: what if that is going to be my life from now on. Not being able to "get to" excitement, in any pure or unabashed way - but knowing I have to keep forcing myself to make plans, care about things ... force myself to go on living.

Once again, things shift so that the fantasy world is more potent and real than reality. Ann and I talked about that - the times in your life when your life is what you fantasize about.

"There were a couple of months when I couldn't even read books because they couldn't hold my interest like my own life could," said Ann.

She's right.

I cannot picture being in that state again.

I felt it briefly on that frozen day when I had 3 auditions in a row. I revelled in my own life on that day. I revelled in being myself.

I am being too dramatic. I am talking myself into a depression. There is no need to do that. My emotions need fluidity. I do not want to petrify. That is where bitterness comes in. Also, it will kill my acting. [I am really working things out here in writing.]

When depression hits - I go with it. What the hell. I am really sad that this abyss is between me and P. I am devastated that we did not get a chance to add a bit of light to the universe. And I am still overwhelmed by a feeling of wrongness. This is wrong wrong wrong. But mostly I just live with it. I bear it. Somedays I can't bear it. I don't judge myself.

This is why I cannot go to see his shows.

He blots out the sky for me. I get lost in his shadow.

A couple weeks ago I was called in to read for Suburbia - one of the hit shows in Chicago right now. The show is a smash and they're looking to extend it so they were reading for replacements. I would kill to play that role. Despite my huge problems with the script itself - I think I could make something fabulous out of that part.

The audition was on a Saturday morning. I had kind of a weird day - full of serendipity. It was a grey day. Drizzly. I dressed totally Generation X for the audition. Plastic barettes, corduroys, etc. I walked to the Theatre Building - with Liz Phair blasting in my ears. Much wind. Light drizzle.

Walked into the Theatre Building lobby and couldn't see clearly because it was dark after being outside. I sensed a group of waiting actors in one area, so I walked over there, my eyes adjusting. The first actual face I perceived was Michael's. He was sitting down, grinning up at me, wryly - waiting for me to see him. I remember the moment - I was walking with purpose - striding really - and then I saw him. There was that audition-going-on hush in the air so I didn't make a sound - but my heart leapt out of my chest at the sight of him. I have MISSED that boy.

So as I circled aorund the row of chairs between us to get to him, I mouthed silently, "Oh my God!" - my quiet ecstatic reaction to seeing him. I haven't seen him in months. We've talked a couple times on the phone, we always say "Let's get together" but it never happens. I certainly don't want to get into a situation where just meeting for a coffee is a huge fucking ordeal. He knows where to find me if he wants me. We're friends. I think we could be great friends. We had a real connection - that is still apparent. We are not estranged. [Hello, Jane Austen.]

I wanted to dance and sing at the sight of him and I would have if we hadn't been in the cathedral atmosphere of an audition. We had to contain ourselves. He was happy to see me. He played it pretty cool, but I could tell. We were very in sync that whole day. He stood up to meet me and he actually looked kind of moved. It wasn't a simple "Hey, great to see you" - for him or for me. Something happened between us in Ithaca and we both recognized it. We had a fabulous hug amidst all the actors on the floor, filling out forms. We were holding onto each other and he wouldn't let me go. He's Italian. So not Irish. We both were whispering into each other's ears, "It's so good to see you! Oh my God it's so good to see you!" We moved ourselves out of the group of actors so we wouldn't disturb anyone and we basically said "Hi!" ecstatically for 5 minutes. There's something about him that makes me laugh.

After we both auditioned - we hung out for a bit.

I said, "Did you watch our boy on the Oscars?" ("Our boy" means, of course, John Travolta.)

Oh, wait - before this - I said, "Oh! I'm in a show now." He immediately was so excited for me. I love actors. I love my actor friends. Everyone gets so excited for each other. He leapt on the news.

"Really? What?"

"Oh, Michael. It's a Bailiwick gay pride show and it's called Lesbian Bathhouse."

(It is so hard to tell people what I'm doing. "What show are you doing?" "Oh, it's a sweet little romantic comedy called Lesbian Bathhouse." I told M - he actually just called me, story at 10 - anyway - I said to him, "It's called Lesbian Bathhouse." There was a pause, and then he said, "Lesbian Bathhouse? What. The. Fuck." That is generally the reaction.)

But anyway, Michael and I laughed about Lesbian Bathhouse - and then he said, "I always knew you were gay" and I just BURST into laughter. First of all, I was so damn happy to see the boy I couldn't keep the smile off my face. Also - he just goes right back into our little drama - "I always knew you were gay". I love that he thought I was gay at first, and that held him back from making the first move.

Then - I brought up the Oscars and John Travolta. He said, "Of course I watched it."

I said, "I was bummed he lost. How are you doing with it?" Kiddingly serious with him. [John Travolta was his childhood hero]

He said, "Yes, he lost, but ... he looked cool though. Don't you think? Didn't he look cool?"

He is like Christian Slater in True Romance saying that he would fuck Elvis Presley - and only Elvis Presley - no other guy - but he would fuck Elvis. So anyway, as Michael spoke - he kind of became a 14 year old girl right in front of my eyes. He went off into Travolta Dream Land - he kind of stuck his hip out, standing there like Michelangelo's David, a little sexy flirtatious pose - and as he said, "He looked so cool" - he, without thinking about it, started playing with his nipples. [I AM HOWLING right now!] Laughter flowed out of me - unstoppable. I had to say it: "Michael, look at you. And you think I'm gay?" Michael said, "For Travolta, I'm gay."

Here's a serendipitous thing: the 2 of us were both happened to be wearing our Ithaca "uniforms". We basically wore the same clothes every day in Ithaca - and there we were again, on this day so many months later, happening to be wearing the same clothes: I had on my flannel shirt which I bought in Ithaca - he had on the tan corduroy jacket which will forever remind me of Ithaca. He slept in the damn thing, for God's sake. And he told me later - that the Suburbia audition was the first time he had worn it in MONTHS. It was the first spring-ish day - he put it on - and who does he run into on that day but me. And I was wearing my flannel shirt, brown corduroys, and my plastic barrettes.

I sat down to fill out my form, I glanced over at Michael, and he gestured at his jacket like, "Look what I am still wearing."

My audition went really well and they invited me to come see the show that night. They invited Michael too - so we made a date to go together to the show and it was just what I needed. I was in a funk.

The night before Jackie and I had gone to see some improv - and I don't remember why - but I left without saying good-bye to M, who had performed.

Why do I act so weird? I felt so weird about how I acted. He was talking with some people - but he totally knew I was there - we had talked before the show - and then - I just had an implosion and I left without saying goodbye to him. I reverted to my weird behavior.

Then - even weirder - I got home - I walked home thru the drizzly night and I felt so confused at my behavior. I suddenly, also, got this very desolate feeling - and I realized how - without M right now - my romantic life would be at a standstill. He is it. If he goes and starts dating someone else - and I am not his girlfriend and I have never been his girlfriend - not really - then I'll be stuck. However, I am his friend and I should have at least said goodbye or good show or something. That was just plain rude. And my behavior freaked me out. Why am I freaking out? M and I had really got into a nice groove (before the eve of the Gingerman) - but I hold back. He holds back.

It's probably for the best.

But I felt all itchy and edgy on that walk home. I felt sudden panic, too, when I entertained the thought of M getting involved with someone else. I becamse super-conscious of how tenuous it all was - how nothing holds me and M together - nothing. I mean, I have always known that, but I was very uncomfortable about it, suddenly. My heart sank at the thought of losing M. Where would that leave me? He's all I've got - and what we've got is so transient - it has no weight at all. [Speaking with the 20/20 of hindsight, it most certainly did have weight. Things are not always what they seem, my dear.]

Let me say one thing: this has been a very tough winter and spring for me. I have been lonely, sad, depressive - and M has helped me a lot. He has gotten me thru - just by his presence, his kisses, his company. He has helped me bear the sadness - these have been the darkest hardest months for me - and I de-focused all of that all over him. [Lucky him.]

But then - after all that - I left the show last night without saying goodbye. What is that about? So - weirdo that I am - I paged him when I got home and told him I loved his show, which I did, and that I was sorry I left without saying goodbye. He is a fearless giant onstage - he is one of the most exciting performers I have ever seen.

But look at me: I see his show, I don't speak to him afterwards when he is right there in front of me, and then I page him from 3 blocks away. I am crazy right now. I am not behaving in a rational manner. It is all P's fault. I have lost my balance completely.

I went to bed that night - quite uneasy. I got this weird feeling. This weird doomed span-of-time feeling, as in: Maybe this will be my life. Maybe this is it. This peripheral relationship will be all I am capable of. This is it.

And then who did I run into the next day at the audition? But Michael.

A guy who got under my skin, despite all my baggage from P. A guy I could care about, and did care about. This guy who showed me I could care about someone else right after P. The guy who held me down when he kissed me, making me take it, making me stay still, and be in the present moment with him. It was a very significant experience for me. I was all "oh my heart is dead" and Michael randomly showed up last fall and showed me my heart was not dead.

Bringing him coffee in the morning
Trivial Pursuit
Our first kiss - on the living room floor of the drug-addict gay guy they were staying with
Kissing under the waterfall
Breakfast all day long
Talk talk talk
Our fights on the sidewalk
Dancing with him - we loved to dance together
Standing on the porch at night, watching him walk off - the dark trees, leaf shadows, the quiet, the country sounds - assailed by the sweetness of life - my country boyfriend walking away
Falling into his eyeball
Driving around - Laurie driving, Pat up front, me and Michael in back, his head on my lap
The guttering candles at he and Pat's damp dark place - the sound of the river below - the shadows of the leaves
laughing HYSTERICALLY
Joe Daily and my cobalt blue bra [I can't even get into this ... it's too funny and too weird ... the landlord, the angry letter Michael wrote, and my random cobalt blue bra sitting in the middle of the room at a crucial mortifying moment ... too much to discuss ... so funny though]
WINE TASTING MAGIC
The Haunt - that was an underage dance club - I danced on a platform at The Haunt
Oh and that was the night that Laurie cried - she cried at the Haunt. Michael called it "random crying". He said, "I have no idea what's going on with you, Laurie. This is just random crying, as far as I'm concerned." Laurie called him a "goober" and a "wanker" because he did not validate her "random crying".

So anyway - I ran into Michael that very next day at the audition - after my uneasy doom-filled night, all worried about my non-romance with M, and also how weird it was that after all this I didn't feel comfortable talking to M after his show ... and Michael and I had a date for that night to go see Suburbia. It was the perfect medicine. Serendipity. M. doesn't have to be the only guy in my life.

But listen to this craziness - I walked home from the audition. It was about 5:30 pm. I was going to meet Michael back at the theatre at 8 or whatever.

The night before I was all anxious that M. had taken on a boyfriend role in my mind - and I didn't like that, I didn't like having to double-think how I interacted with him - so what did I do? I fled into the night, only to page him from my house three blocks away. I was freaked out at how he had become IT. I don't want him to be IT.

But then ... who did I run into the next day? Michael. Showing me that no, M. is not "it".

It was like: all of these people in my life ... it's almost like I have created them. I have made them all up to serve certain personal purposes.

So I walked home on Southport. Still buzzing from the encounter with my young-buck hot ex-boyfriend Michael. I felt so good about it, and I felt good about my audition and how well it had gone. It had already been a great day and I was looking forward to going to see the show that night with Michael. Michael came out after his reading - I had waited for him. He came over to where I was sitting and said, "I have to hug you again" and he just burrowed himself into me - it was so sweet. He hugs me like he means it.

What I liked about my behavior that day (as opposed to the day before when I blew M off after his show) was how open I was to Michael. I was happy to see him and I let him know. I felt young and unjaded. I lit up at the sight of him. Openly. Trusting he wouldn't get scared and reject me. All was okay.

I need to strip myself of my layers of protection. They isolate me. I no longer want protection.

Hurt me - love me -- Life's too short to miss out on any of it.

And of course - as I walked by the Starbucks by the L tracks - I ran into M.

The whole day I felt like this sorceress. Like I woke up and thought: "Hm. I feel like M is the only man in my life at this moment and I don't like it. I wish I could run into someone who makes me realize that that is not true." And then POOF! "Here's Michael. Hm. I feel very badly about leaving last night without saying goodbye to M. I wish I could run into him so that I can make it up to him." And then POOF. "Here's M."

I was approraching Starbucks on the east side of the street - and then I saw, rounding the NW corner of that intersection - a figure with familiar insane hair and a familiar technicolor coat. I didn't even have time to process the coincidence. After all, I basically knew I was going to run into him. Didn't I? It didn't surprise me at all.

I called out his name. The figure stopped and looked in my direction. He's so scruffy. He's a mole. He didn't see me - I saw him look around - then give up and turn to go to his apartment. So I called out his name again, and this time waved and started towards him. He saw me. Cute smile. He's so cute and awkward. He stood there, gangly, untethered, waiting as I crossed the 2 streets to get to him. At one point, I felt goofy so I did a slow-mo run - and I could hear him start laughing.

He had gone out to order lunch. He had a jar of pink lemonade in one hand. He had clearly just woken up and was getting ready to go to work. We stood there and talked for about 5 minutes. I can't even really remember what we talked about. His show, I told him how good I think he is, I told him about my audition, he told me about his show, and that was it. He went his way, I went mine ... but that weird edgy feeling that had been palpitating around my heart from the night before was gone. I had made my peace with him. It was important to me. He means a lot to me. It's not his fault I'm leaving soon and having a nervous breakdown about it.

Michael and I had a great time that night at the show - there was a distinctly date-like aura over the evening, but we've been through so much together somehow that we are comfortable with all of that. It was great to be with him. Fun. We were giggling like teenagers. He was also ALL OVER ME at ALL TIMES. I like him because he's unafraid, and totally masculine. He's meaty and physical. I am not. I want to be - but whatever, instead I ignore M. and flee into the night, instead of doing what I want to do which is pull him into a corner and hump his thigh. I'm so careful with myself physically - especially if I feel like I could ever be hurt by that person. But there was Michael, playing with my hair, untying my shoes, putting his arm around me - fun, playful, annoying me - not being careful with me. Not being careful with me. I appreciate that.

We were sitting in the theatre and he took my arm in his hands and peered closely at my fingers. "How're the warts?" [bwahahahahaha. This makes me laugh!! When he met me - I had this freakin' awful outbreak on my poor fingers. So attractive, right? But still: my warts took over my life during our entire relationship, which occurred directly in the aftermath of the P breakup. I am convinced that it was because of the stress of the P situation - everything in my body went haywire. I stopped sleeping, eating, I dropped to a size 2 for the first time in, like, ever, my skin changed, and I had warts on my fingers. So there are pictures of Michael and me, in Ithaca, doing whatever - playing cards, reading, and you can see the band-aids on my fingers. Romantic! But it was funny because it had been months - but there was Michael, picking up my hand to peer closely at it.]

Michael's all in my space. I like it. We flirted like maniacs - but because we've already basically had a relationship - there's a different feel to it. It feels safe. The currents run deeper.

As we walked to his car (he has a car!) - he kept hugging me and wrestling with me and whirling me around - I joked at one point, "Hey. Learn boundaries." That kind of pseudo-therapy talk always made Michael laugh so hard. He said, "Fuck you. I can't have boundaries with you." While he's pulling my hair, and grabbing me by my belt buckle, pulling me to him.

We had a ball during the show. We had issues with the production - and with the script - we both felt like we had done great in our auditions, so we had fun, in that bitchy actor way - whispering criticisms to each other. We talked at intermission, getting into it - and of course, all we were doing was telling the other one that they were MUCH better than the actual actor playing it on stage.

Oh, and he laughed openly at my plastic barrettes and called me a "kinder whore".

I feel pretty when I'm with him. Weird. I had that feeling with P, too. P made me feel like I was the inventor of beauty and mystery and sex. Like I was Cleopatra. It's not quite that intense with Michael - but when he looks at me - I just feel the appreciative imprint of his eyes. I feel seen. I wonder if I make him feel the same way. Or is all of this talk, as M says, "a girl thing"?

Oh, and Michael calls me "dude" - the whole "dude" thing was an Ithaca phenomenon - and we all caught it. We all referred to each other as "dude". All of us. We said "Thanks, dude" to the cashier at Ben and Jerry's. Men, women, didn't matter - all were "dude". So he called me "dude" on the way back to the car - and I said, "Dude! God! I forgot about that!"

Out of the blue - in the lobby of the theatre - Michael said very hostilely, very confrontational, "So ... have you seen that 60 year old guy you were in love with?"

Every time Michael references P - he makes him older. So P. is 60 now! I couldn't help but laugh - at the surly attitude, too.

I didn't ask him about his ex-girlfriend - although I wanted to. See? There's the main difference between me and him. I don't ask something if I might not like the answer. He asks.

I want to be more like him. He's not passive-aggressive either. He's out there. Revealed.

But that, so far, was that. It's okay, though. I don't want another peripheral guy. I want a boyfriend.

P and I recently talked a little bit - he's reading Mating now - on my recommendation - and I think that maybe that book plus my letter are the sources of the new look in his eyes recently. A deeper understanding. A kindness. A patience with me. An ability to deal. He doesn't try to jostle me into the way it used to be. We cannot go back.

I have this vision of myself coming back here. 5 years from now. 10 years from now. Whevener. And I can see myself going to see his show - sitting in the back - not letting him know that I'm out there - and I have this feeling - I just KNOW (it's more than just a feeling) that, whatever else may change, our connection won't.

Quantum mechanics at work. 2 alternate separate yet very similar lives travelling along at the same moment. The Double Life of Veronique. We wil not see each other for years. And I can see me - 5 years from now - being really into a certain band, a new book - or, less obvious - I'll be experiencing a sudden random surge of interest in - oh, I don't know - Brigadoon - It doesn't even really matter what it is - and I know that the following will happen: I will be in a big Shenandoah phase, a big Seven Brides for Seven Brothers phase - and I'll sneak to the back of the club to see him play - and during the show P will reference Shenandoah, or Brigadoon, or he'll do a medley from 7 Brides - Whatever. I know that this will happen. [And it did. Again and again and again. Still does.]

Even when we are separated by miles and years - the connection will remain.

Love never dies.

Not really. It's like matter. It cannot be destroyed.

A connection like that - when it happens - can't be erased. You can pretend it is erased - but that would be all it was: Pretense.

We will go on, totally separate, more and more separate every day, but that silver cable will remain.

Nothing gold can stay. Right?

Diary Friday

Member Diary Friday? My desire to "do" Diary Friday comes in waves. Sometimes I am drawn to the high school journals, sometimes to the junior high school journals (even more mortifying) and sometimes - rarely - I am drawn to later entries, when I am a grownup (supposedly). This one I have posted before - and it is not from high school.

I'm going on a private writing retreat this weekend, where I will have lots of space and time for contemplation ... and those journals from my time in Chicago as a woman in my mid20s have a lot to do with what I am working on these days. So, in honor of my own needs, and what I want to focus on ... here is an entry from my time in Chicago.

It is fascinating to me how little I remember about certain things ... but thank God for journals (or - sometimes it's a blessing and a curse. Sometimes things should be forgotten) - but in the case of today's entry, I am so glad I wrote it down in such detail (even though I started to feel anxious just reading it. Holy crap.) But there is quite a bit here that made me laugh out loud, and also that made me filled with this weird fondness of remembrance. Like: wow. How on earth did THIS all work out? It seems so up in the air during this entry (that's because it is), so anxietal ... and yet it did end up 'working out'.

So the background is - I'm living in Chicago, I've been there for less than a year - and in a production of Golden Boy. I met M. that summer (he probably needs no introduction for regular readers) - he got my phone number - and we went out. Sparks flew immediately. But ... were we dating? How could I even tell? We didn't go out to dinner or to a movie. We met up at pool halls and bowling alleys. I was absolutely crazy about him ... but I have to say, my emotions were based on very little information (except my pheromonal response to him which was basically like a nuclear incinerator). He drove me INSANE.

Just to skip ahead in the story: M. was in my life in a major way for 11 years. He was one of the steadiest of friends, and my relationship with him ended up being (in retrospect mostly) one of the deepest of my whole life. But to judge from the beginning of it? You would NEVER know that that would be the case. It seemed to be just a case of hormones run amok. Not that there's anything wrong with that - but it still amazes me how connected we eventually were. Like on an ESP level. He crawled through my window every other night one summer because he seemed to have an aversion to doors, doorbells, and calling me ahead of time. He seemed to know what I needed, which naturally would fluctuate from day to day ... but he just went with it. It was such an important energy for me to discover in a relationship. I had never had it before. He is the star of my journals for a good 5 or 6 years.

I guess I had forgotten how unsure the whole thing was in the beginning (which is the focus of today's entry). I am now looking back on it with the retrospective knowledge that this guy would become one of my most important friends ever. But at the time? He was this unknown - and I was completely nutso about him ... in an out of control pheromonal way that made me feel crazy. We went on a couple of "dates" - to be honest I can't remember much - I know it's all in the journals though - and I realized pretty early on that this guy was WILD. This was not going to be a "dinner and a movie" kind of thing. But I was so fine with that - because I was not in a relationship-y place at ALL.

Anyway. My third date with M. was insane - involving a pool hall, "good gumbo", a towed car, and me lending M. 120 bucks to free his vehicle out of the car jail. I didn't know M. that well at all - but whatever, I leant him the money - even though that was probably most of what I had in the bank at that point. And to be honest - there was another layer to it. I had a method to my madness. If I leant him the money - that was a thread of connection between us. He, being who he was, would feel obligated to pay me back. We'd have to see each other again.

Yes, I am tricky. And yes, it paid off. I was no dummy.

I constantly felt overwhelmed when I was with him. I was just so into the guy. But I constantly struggled with the fact that maybe I shouldn't be? Should I not show it? How can I hide the fact that the man turns me into a PUDDLE??? We clicked so intensely on that level that I found it hard to concentrate on things a day after seeing him ... like my job, and answering phones, and everyday duties. We had only been out 3 or 4 times. I was a maniac.

Anyway - this entry describes the night where I went to the improv club where he always hung out (he's an improv comedian) - and he paid me back the money I had leant to him.

I know. A life-altering experience, right? The world shifted on its axis!

Reading this over now, I am amazed I was able to tolerate my own intensity - my God, listen to me! I'm an intense person. Or - I'm a sensitive person. Meaning - a tiny breath of wind could conceivably blow me over if I'm in the right space. Like I said elsewhere - I never (even in all the years I knew M.) was "over" him. I never took him for granted, and I never didn't felt my knees go weak when I laid eyes on him after not seeing him for a day. I also found him to be endlessly fascinating. Just as a human specimen. And he eventually figured this out about me ... and it was okay by him. It didn't bother him. As a matter of fact, the last time I saw him - in 2003, he said to me, "You can't spend your whole life making a study of me." You wanna bet??

But here -in this entry - only the 4th time I was ever in his presence - it was all still totally tippity unbalanced scary ... I read this and felt it all over again.

Oh, and a cool and weird thing: I was re-reading this this morning - and all of the peripheral people in this entry, every single one of them, all of his friends - they are all famous now. Names you would recognize. I saw many of them just win Emmys, and mill about on the huge stage, accepting awards. At the time I knew them, I was just the "hovering chick" of one of their good friends. They were just kids. 26 year old guys who happened to be extraordinarily funny.

But I'm amazed at how I dissect these moments. It's exhausting and yet I very much admire my analysis. I don't know if I would do that now.

SEPTEMBER

Friday ended up being another "no show" night [for Golden Boy - which was not, sadly enough, a hit. Sometimes we played to 5 people. We would cancel shows if less than 5 people showed up. Horrific.] It broke my heart. I felt crushed. After - when not one soul in this huge city showed up - we all kind of wandered around in a daze, comforting each other. I felt like my heart was cracking. Amelia started cleaning the dressing rooms like a maniac. "I need to do this!" Everyone sat in morbid silence. David went home to Maria. Bryan asked me, "Where'd David go?" "Home. After all, he is a newlywed." Bryan got this very stricken lonely expression. "At least he has someone to go home to."

Eventually, it was just a handful of us - Bobby included - sitting around, reading the stray NY Times lying around. Michael came downstairs, took one look at all of us and said, "Let's get out of here. This is depressing."

So we all went out for Mexican.

D.V. was crying in the darkened theatre and nurturing Earth Mother Kenny was sitting with him. We left word where we would be and took off.

We all had margaritas and a hell of a lot of food. We tried to shake the morose mood. The alcohol helped. There was live music. Bobby seemed to cheer up a little.

We (me, Bobby, Paulie, and Kenny) shared a cab home. It was 10:30 or so. We were standing on the sidewalk, waiting for a cab. Kenny glanced at his watch, made an exclamation of surprise - and said, "You guys - you guys -" and then in perfect Poppa cadences and accent said, "Come. We bring him home. Where he belong." [This was one of his lines in the show. Hahahaha] It was hysterically funny - it was 10:30 - exactly when the show would have ended - it also gave me a pin prick of sadness.

The cab dropped me off at home.

I threw on a little black dress, my bleached jacket - and applied RED lipstick, fire engine red. And I was off again, to catch another cab north to the Wrigleyside. [I am amazed at myself. I used to start my evenings at 11 pm. That would be unheard of now. Or - I'd have to be REALLY in love with someone.]

It's funny. I really am like Becca Thatcher now. [That is the funniest reference ever. I was SO into "Life Goes On" at that moment in my life - it was a burning obsession.] I never was before. Nerves would hold me back from action. They never ever stop me from doing something I want to do now. God! Never!

So I was pretty nervous in the cab. For a couple of reasons and on a couple levels. It all goes back to my expectations and worries about how gorgeous guys behave. Especially when you meet a gorgeous guy on his turf. Up until now, I have managed to meet him on neutral ground. It makes a big difference. But I was prepared for the worst. Which is totally strange because M. has exhibited none of the "gorgeous asshole" signs. He has never treated me that way. But still. Here I was - cruising alone to the Wrigleyside (at least I had a mission - retrieving my money - that grounded me somehow. I wasn't going expressly to see him.) [God forbid you should just want to see him!!] So I kept imagining the worst - him being annoyed I was there, him being condescending to me - and I told myself - "If it's like that - then just get my money - and GO."

Thru this whole thing with M. so far - I have preserved my sense of self. Thank God. If there's one thing I need - it's my self.

But he's not interested AT ALL in playing games. In fucking with me. He's into the NOW of it all. What we do and how we are together is just what he likes and wants. Neither of us get freaked out - and it's strange to me and strange to him.

Also - and this is very weird - I have no desire to call him. None! It's very freeing. And - at this point - I wouldn't be surprised if he did call me. And if the desire strikes to call him, I will. But until then - I don't even think about it. I'm too busy. It's just one of those things that IS. Its existence is solid and tangible - and FINE, just the way it is. No need to monkey with it.

I am dropped off at the Wrigleyside [this was a bar - with an improv club on the second floor].

Oh yes - one thing I was rather apprehensive about - but also curious and eager, too - was the prospect of Rob being there. [This made me laugh out loud. I was SO worried about this. Rob was also a comedian - and I think I had gone out on one date with him - the chemistry wasn't there, even though he was nice and funny ... but I was so terrified, on some level, that Rob and M. would start talking to each other, and comparing notes. It's not like I was cheating on either one of them - I was a free agent - but I was so afraid that I would be hanging out with M. and Rob would be there or whatever. It's so ridiculous. Also - no way on EARTH would M. ever talk to Rob about me - even if he knew we had gone out. M. was a gentleman. The soul of discretion. Way more discreet than I was. Anyway - the whole Rob vs. M. thing was tormenting to me - and yet I also totally enjoyed it, I loved the confusion - after 3 years of sterile monogamy.] I actually kind of wanted Rob to be there - the more chaos I invite into my life the better. I want to have adventures. I want my nights to be a series of bizarre encounters, embarrassing sizzling gaffes, of run-ins, of intrigue, of espionage.

So I kind of hoped to see him. See what would happen. Roll with the punches. Embrace anarchy.

I was in a state of alertness. I felt powerful, edgy - but not tense. [Oh, really, Sheila? You're not tense? Okay.] Just ALERT.

The Wrigleyside was wall to wall people. [The place was always pretty much packed 100% with improvisers. It was an insane place. So much fun.] The noise was deafening. I could barely get into the place. Everyone was screaming and roaring and DRUNK. The jukebox was deafening. The bartenders looked frazzled, and were in states of constant motion. I stood there, scanning the crowd, conscious all the while of the fact that I could be being watched - M. could be there somewhere. Where was he?

Also - another word about M. [I have probably written 150,000 words about M. over the years. He is the star of the journals - more so than anybody else - even guys I was madly in love with. Nobody fascinated me like M.] He's not devious - in that kind of self-conscious way. That kind of elaborate ACT that some guys put on and call a personality. (It's always the gorgeous ones, because they know they have power, and they know they will always be forgiven - because of their beauty) Guys like that hold back, they distance themselves, they veil their eyees, they make sure they always look cool and aloof. M. does NOT behave this way. Not once has he pulled a cool or aloof act. He is who he is. He's not tricky. Or cruel. He's honest - but he's not cruel. He's a good person. He really is. [I knew this from the moment I laid eyes on him onstage. And I wasn't wrong.]

Throngs. I started elbowling my way through, looking for him. The place was so packed that I did have a moment of thinking, "What if I can't find him? What if he's already left?"

There's something very precarious and exciting about the Wrigleyside. [Oh God. That is an embarrassing statement. Sheila - it's a BAR. That's it.] It always feels like something is about to happen. And something always does happen to me when I go there. Nature abhors a vacuum - so even those 15 seconds of looking for M. in the crowds felt fraught with expectancy. Any second, some insane person is going to charge over to me and change my life. Demand to know me. Demand to be known by me. Whatever.

Quick, Sheila. Find him quick.

Finally, I caught sight of him [see - it's so silly - but I feel all nervous just re-living this right now!] - sitting over in the corner in the front of the bar - against the wall. Bandana on that gorgeous head. God. He was talking to some people, nodding, listening ... with that listening look in his eyes ... that serious innocent look.

I saw him. I didn't charge right over (as, undoubtedly, Becca would). [HA!!! Becca became my Model for Living.] I did a couple things at once. [Watch how I dissect this. I am giving myself a heart attack here ...] I know I smiled - in anticipation and excitement for whatever was about to come next - I took a deep cleansing breath - to get "cool" - and keep my power.

[Funny thing: I was the one who did the "cool and aloof" thing in this relationship. I totally thought it was necessary - because I felt like M. had so much power over me ... but turns out, it was just me being scared, trying to protect myself - and, on occasion, just being a total ASS. When I look back on this - I think: maybe all those gorgeous guys out there pretending to be cool and aloof - are actually scared little boys inside, trying to protect themselves? Maybe they're just assholes - I know many of them are ... but still ... I find it interesting that I wrote all that stuff about how I liked that M. wasn't cool or aloof ... and there I was, trying to get "cool and aloof".]

But before I did all that - I quick quick quick flitted my eyes over who he was talking to. One person had long hair and I wanted to make sure he wasn't coming on to some girl when I went over. I felt no jealousy or anything like that. It was a totally practical thought. Well, no, it was just a guy with long hair - and I realized that he was basically talking to his fellow team members [Improv clubs usually have "teams" - people who constantly work together. M.'s "team" were made up of the funniest guys in Chicago. Their shows were un-fucking-believable.] Instantly, I deemed it safe to go over. I didn't give it a second thought. Over I went.

I am "specifically brave". M. is Claude Collier, and I am Mary Grace. [References to "Lives of the Saints" - my favorite novel at that time. I adore it still. "Specifically brave" was a phrase used to describe the volatile nutso Mary Grace - a woman who left men in "crumpled heaps" about the town. A real heartbreaker. And Claude Collier was the kind-hearted heavy-drinking INSANE lead of the novel ... an indelible character.]

I have begun to walk through the world - my world - like I belong in it. I have forever tiptoed thru my life - apologizing left and right - for merely taking up space. No more. I belong here. This is MY world.

My heart was POUNDING. [So much for being "cool"!!] I elbowed my way towards him - he still hadn't seen me - he was talking and listening - talking vigorously with 2 others - the big big black-haired guy with glasses from his team (very very good - they're all very very good) - and the long-haired boy. And here I come! What's it gonna be, M? Scorn or pride? Are you gonna blow me off or welcome me? I love this shit.

His face makes me laugh.

Then he saw me - and his face totally lit up in excitement and joy. [Seriously: I re-read this this morning and sighed in relief. I'm reading about my own damn life - but I didn't remember any of this ... and I found myself thinking: "Oh God, I hope he's nice to her. She sounds so fragile to me!" Yeah. That's yourself you're talking about, Sheila.] Any anxieties I may have had just dissolved when I saw how happy he was to see me, and how open and welcoming his face was.

He had this huge smile. "Hey! Hi!"

"Hi, doll."

"I didn't think you were gonna show." he said.

I held out my hand for my money. [HA! Nothing like cutting to the chase. I have never been a "romantic" person - and I appreciated M. because ... he didn't try to romance me. Romance kinda makes me itch. I love LOVE itself - but romance? I can barely keep a straight face.] He reached into his shirt pocket and slapped me a wad of cash. He looked so happy to see me.

Guys can be so different when they're with their friends - and I did not encounter this - he was the same person.

I interrupted the guy conversation - just by walking over - and M's face lit up in recognition and we had this whole exchange with very few words that ended with him giving me a bunch of money. His 2 friends had no idea what was happening, who I was [I hadn't formally met any of them yet - although I had seen them perform a bazillion times] - or why M. was paying me. The 2 of them sat back - staring at me with curiosity. Also staring at M. With this look of: "Who is she? What is happening?" I glanced at them - and their faces were so expressive I started laughing.

I really think that - outside of improv - they lead - well, M. said it - "lame circles" of lives - they hang out at the Wrigleyside and get drunk. [And now they parade up and down red carpets on both coasts, clutching trophies, giving soundbites to entertainment reporters. Amazing!] And here I come - this brand new face - a GIRL too - they're such a macho group, no women - they were staring at M. sending him eye-telegraphs: "Who is this? Who is this? Who is this?" I felt like a celebrity.

I think M. was mostly relieved that I had shown up so that he would no longer have to be under the burden of debt. He fumbled so quickly for the money. "I even kept it in another pocket - separated from my other money - cause otherwise I'd just spend it."

A. - the big black-haired guy - when M. finally introduced us, he said, "Hi. I'm A., and I'm an 8th of a ton." - this was a phrase much repeated over the night. But anyway. A. was the most blatant starer. Once he got over the surprise of this chick in a black minidress coming straight up to M. and being paid - he was full of questions. He wanted to know - and instantly - exactly what our entire story was. He bombarded me with questions.

How did he come to owe you money?
How did you guys meet?
Where was the car towed from?
What? Now - how?
What? Tell me it again?

He kept saying, "Now let me get this straight. You leant this man money?"

A. contemplated the entire situation very seriously, checking me out the whole time, trying to get a line on the whole thing, glancing over at M. to see how he was behaving. The other guy - J. - proceeded to sing a song very loudly, right in my face, trying to get my attention. Then N. came over - he's another absolutely talented guy on the team. He and M., for me, are the best. M. loves N. so much - it is obvious every time he mentions him - Just the thought of the guy makes N. laugh. "The guy inherently knows what is funny." said M.

So M. introduced us (he actually was very good about introducing me this time - he did it right away) - I shook hands all around. I had a moment of awkwardness. Now that I got my $ - should I leave? [Can you imagine how rude and weird that would have been? But that's my dysfunction. I don't tolerate awkwardness well. If I feel it - I disapear in a pouf of smoke. Leaving confused men behind me, going: "Where the hell did that girl go?" Thank God M. was patient with this weirdness of mine.] Does he want me to leave? [Yeah, that happy expression on his face says: "Please leave, Sheila." Sheesh. I was retarded. Or maybe just a quarter tard.]

But then I thought - Fuck it. I'm staying. I ordered a beer. I told M. that no one had shown for our show. His reply: "Ouch." We talked about his show - it had gone really well. M. and N. sat and discussed it - and it was wonderful to listen in. They're so fucking good at it - they respect the form so totally - and they respect each other - they're all about structure - they know that structure serves them rather than limits them. They work together. They talked - about split-second missed moments - and also times when they read each other's minds.

M. loves N. It's obvious onstage and it's obvious off. He trusts him totally. "I knew you could see what I was doing." I drank my beer. I didn't say a word. They were all very welcoming to me, though - very inclusive. Even though there wasn't a woman in the bunch.

M. informed us all that for the next 5 days he was going to be going through an intensive detox. [I'm laughing out loud. Even though it's not really funny] He said, "No drinking, no smoking, and no eating. Just drinking water" and taking this herbal medicine he's really into. "My body needs a purge. It really does."

I said, "Why? You don't feel good?"

"No, y'know? I don't. I'm wrecking myself. So I bought all these herbs from my acupuncturist ---"

A. interrupted. "Your what?"

"My acupuncturist."

"YOUR ACUPUNCTURIST?"

"Yeah, my acupuncturist."

"You have an acupuncturist?"

M.'s eyes can be so serious, so inward-looking. And also, open. He's apocalyptically sexy, I think. [Ha! He's so sexy it's like the end of the world!] We all sat there and discussed acupuncture, making fun of it. The whole thing was like a comedy routine - M. being serious, all of us busting on him. M. is very into it, and would seriously defend it. N. thinks M. is crazy - as far as buying all those herbs goes. N. said, "Fine, if you want to get taken by some pseudo-guru in Oak Park ..." This made M. laugh. God. The laugh. [See what I mean? Overwhelmed by him.]

M. was dreading not smoking. A. started calling M. "Johnny Detox".

At one point, I was standing up against the wall - and A. and M. were both on bar stools. I was drinking my beer, cool as a cuke. There was a lull in the conversation. M. glanced at me, and then didn't look away. He was just STARING at me. With something very kind in his eyes. Something soft. A. was alert as an eagle, watching the whole thing.

M. said, "You're beautiful, you know that?" Reached out and ran his finger along my jaw. Slowly. Then he said to A., "Isn't she beautiful?" He looked back at me, cupped my chin and jaw in his hand. "Isn't this a beautiful girl?"

The whole thing - the action of it - the tenderness - was almost too much to deal with. I couldn't respond. I just stood there and took it.

A. said, "She's blushing."

I was. My face was hot. But weird. I felt beautiful for the first time. Cause of how he was looking at me. [And that's love, folks]

M. kept touching my chin - my jaw line - ran his finger up my jaw bone - ear to chin - said to A., "Look at that. God. Look at that." [I have no memory of this. It's like I'm a racehorse he's assessing or something] I felt mortified - but also GREAT. I didn't move. I just let him examine my jaw to his hearts' content. I was totally alive in this moment. [That sentence chokes me up.] That moment: his touch, the look in his eyes, the sound of his voice, A. watching ... Believe it or not, M. was not intoxicated either.

Eventually I got me a bar stool. M.'s eyes kill me. Gotta say it. He was very into detox-ing and kept talking about it. He was dreading it but committed to it. He has this admiration for his acupuncturist - "a phenomenal man" - and suddenly - I wasn't paying attention - M. nudged me and gestured to a plastic cup of liquid put down in front of me. He said, "That was sent over you from Nancy." ! [I think that Nancy is ... actually, I have no idea. It has something to do with that Rob person. But I don't know why I wrote an enormous exclamation point there.] I stared at the drink blankly. Sniffed it. Sure enough - it was that same drink she had sent over the night I met Rob. Holy shit. [so dramatic - ha - I have no idea why it's so dramatic]

Meanwhile, M. became seriously intrigued by what was going on - interested and confused by me - "You know Nancy?"

I nodded. My face was hot. He's got eagle eyes. I avoided him - looked around for Nancy - and there she was - at the other end of the bar - smiling and waving Hello to me. I smiled and waved Hello - but I didn't see Rob with her - however, I suddenly felt very very peculiar. It was a huge gesture on her part - ultimately friendly, I believe, but it had the strange flavor of: "Remember Rob? Remember Rob, while you're over there talking to M." And I know that it will get back to Rob that I was at the Wrigleyside with M. [And this I remember: yes, it did get back to Rob that I was "hanging out with M". Next time I saw him, Rob was all: "YOU LIKE HIM BETTER THAN ME!" I finally had to be blunt and say, "Yes. I do like him better than you." Strangely enough, even after that, Rob and I remained friends. Funny funny guy who looked just like Montgomery Clift. Scary good-looking. Hysterically funny.]

So that was bizarre and gave me heart palpitations.

The evening raged on.

At some point I found myself laughing absolutely hysterically with A. He was roaring - he asked me all about myself - what I did - I mentioned Golden Boy - he said, "Hey, you guys got the Critics Choice, didn't you?" I said, "Yup. Didn't bring in an audience though." At one point I told him to fuck off (I'm so shy) - and we made each other laugh.

M. was totally the same person in the bosom of his friends as he is alone with me. Me being there didn't cause him a conflict in his personality. He doesn't split himself like that. He is who he is - with no pretense. In a kind of fearful way, I expected him to be totally different with his friends. Guys do that. And suddenly you feel like an orphan if you're going out with a guy like that. But I should have known better. M. wouldn't be like that. Pretense doesn't fit with his personality.

I had somehow gotten quite quite drunk. All of these people, including the bartender, bought me drinks. I only paid for one beer. So the drunkenness snuck up on me. And that drink from Nancy - sweet as candy but lethal - pushed me over the edge. When I came home I lay in bed, and the room whirled about me. Anyway, I sat on the stool - feelin' sexy, and carefree, and enjoying life. Next to big galumphy M.

Oh - I caught a snippet of a conversation - they all play basketball together - a raging argument occurred about some play - some controversial game they had had - much dispute. M. kept saying, "I totally dogged you. No question about it. Yes, what you say is also true. But STILL. I dogged you." M. then told this story about when he was in high school, playing basketball, and being courted by colleges - all of these colleges vying for him - I started to listen very carefully - watching his face very carefully. He doesn't talk about himself a lot. So I fill in the blanks.

Or, wait. No I don't.

I accept the blanks.

[Sorry, but I think that's a bit profound. And THAT is why we lasted so long.]

I'm very intrigued. Very moved by him. Crazy, huh. My talent for obsession. [Some things never change.]

M. was standing against the front window. I was sitting, talking to A. There was a pause, and M. said, very pointedly, "Nice legs." My crossed legs in the black tights. "Nice legs." he said again. Then to A.: "Aren't they nice?" [Again, with the racehorse assessment behavior.] Poor A. Trying to be like, "Yes. Nice legs." and still be polite.

We still, though, by this point, had had no real physical contact. It is uncanny. Whatever it is between us is all right. I think, too, in looking back, that I went into that bar - with my paranoias - afraid he'd blow me off - that the whole thing would be a smouldering agonizing event full of hot silences and twitchy neuroses (a word: when have I ever experienced this with M.? Never.) So anyways, I was so determined that the night wouldn't go like that that, at first, I think I was giving off the vibes of aloofness. Not cold aloofness - I'm never chilly - but behind my little wall. My casual "Hey, what's up" wall. I would have loved to just fall upon him and hug him - but I felt the need to not do that. At first. However. I think he wanted to hug and kiss me - it was all over his face when he first saw me - it was in his body language, how he said, "Hey!" He's very unconflicted, and unafraid. So I ended up being the one discouraging him touching me, discouraging him warming up to me. At first. Because it's scary to be on someone else's turf, so completely. But - as usual - I was the one with that attitude. Not him.

So he didn't lunge at me - not for a while - but at the first opening that I gave him, the first softening up of my body language - he did. Then he was hugging me, and yanking me to his side, and all that. It was like we were both feeling each other out, protecting ourselves, circling around each other ... reading subliminal messages, all the while just wanting to hug each other.

Hugging and kissing can be quite complicated (at least if I'm involved in it). [HAHAHAHA]

So we were all talking in a big group. M. said something - the conversation swirled on - but I stopped to ask M. something about his comment. He leaned forward to hear me better - his forehead wrinkles in thought, his serious blue eyes - those listening eyes full of light - intense - and suddenly - with our tiny one on one exchange - he took the sky diving leap. He came across the crowd and wrapped me up in his arms. [Thank GOD he was strong enough to deal with me. I was a mess! So afraid! He could handle it. He also didn't take any of it personally. He knew that my weirdness didn't mean I didn't like him. He knew it meant just the opposite.] He squeezed beside me on my stool - engulfing me in his big eyes. Announced, "Ah. This is much better." Kissed me on the forehead for a very long time. Incredibly sweet. M. noticed A. watching this whole thing. Grinned. I informed A., "I'm good gumbo." (I was drunk.) M. threw back his head and laughed - then bellowed to the entire bar, "YES, BOYS. THIS IS GOOD GUMBO. SHEILA IS GOOD GUMBO. MM-MM." Smacked his lips.

A. was baffled by the dynamic between M. and me. Kept asking us questions.

Oh, this was really funny - M. wanted to sit on my lap [which is so ridiculous - the guy had to be 200 pounds - ] - so we worked it out - he draped his body on my lap - in a way that we could have our arms free, to drink our beers. We weren't kissing or anything, just hanging out, sharing space, being totally happy with it. A. checked the both of us out - looking from M. to me and back. Finally A. said, "Do you guys want to ... talk to each other? ..... Or anything ... like that ...?" [A. was such a funny person. Still is.] It was like A. was giving us suggestions for behavior - trying to help us out - because we hadn't said 2 words to each other in the whole time I was there. It appeared to A. that we were sitting there silently - which was true. But M. and I exist on another level, an existence level, a telepathic level. What you see with us is NOT what you get. [I had known this guy 2 months as I wrote this way. Amazing the confidence with which I believe all of this. And even stranger: I was right. I wasn't just a stalker crazy girl projecting stuff onto this guy ... He really was all that. Hmm. Weird.]

But A. was making a joke - seeming kind of - concerned - anxious to help M. and me interact with each other.

M. and I said, in response, simultaneously: "Oh, we're fine."

M. then said, "That's not what we're about."

And I said at the same time, "We don't really talk."

Which completely threw M. into a tailspin. It was hilarious. I felt that M. and I were saying the same thing - but suddenly M. pulled back from me and said to me, "What do you mean? We talk." He was annoyed. Defending himself as though I were saying something bad about him.

I said, "Yeah, we talk - but it's not like I know one damn thing about you or you know one damn thing about me. That's what I meant." (A. is watching this whole thing like a ping-pong match.)

M. had perplexity and seriousness in his eyes. "Well - I think we exist more in the present."

And I said - because I didn't want him to feel defensive - we are in agreement - I said, "I know we do. I love it."

He gave me that look he had given me that pool playing night - that searching piercing look - trying to see into me. Then he stated, "You're lying."

I said, in the emphatic way that I have - "M. I am TOTALLY not lying."

It was important to me that he knew it. Because that living in the present thing is EXACTLY what I value in him - and what I need right now. I don't want it to be anything else.

He kept giving me that searching look - and then apparently was satisfied that I was telling the truth. He said, "Okay." Then he yelled, "So don't give me that We Don't Talk crap!"

And at that point, I believe he took my entire nose in his mouth. We were back to normal.

I said, "So what are you gonna do during detox?"

"Sleep."

The stopping of smoking is the most incomprehensible thing to him. Even more than the drinking. "I can't imagine not smoking, Sheila. It's gonna be so fucking hard." This detox is inherently temporary. I asked him if he had any desire to quit permanently. He said he did, but not now. He can't fathom life without cigarettes. He also knows, though, that he feels like hell most of the time.

A. said something to M. that gave me a chill. He said, "You realize, buddy, that we aren't gonna see 30."

M. balked at that and started talking feverishly about acupuncture and herbs and energy systems. He has the constitution of a 60 year old man. That's when A. said, "Herbs won't do it, Johnny Detox."

They're a scary crowd. On the edge. In their 20s. Reckless. Out of control. They love each other dearly - and deal with each other on a very honest level. But they rage. They rage. On the edge.

M. was going to go home and go to sleep, begin his Detox hell. He is crazy. But he is cute cute cute.

I am drawn to him in such a STRONG way. His face just kills me.

He told me about setting the money aside in his room for me. "I had to keep it separate from my other money - Like: This money is NOT MINE."

He said, "I told you I was good for it, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you told me."

He gave me a massive hug which nearly cracked my ribs. He looks at me with friendliness and no fear. Maybe a little bit of confusion. But ultimately warm. He likes me.

He kissed me. His friend of the present moment. And then he went home to bed. And I caught a cab and went home. Drunker than I realized. I realized my drunkenness only when I got off the stool.

But it was a fun night.

Really fun. The touch of his fingers on my jaw bone. No pressure though. I'm, by nature, a hyper person. But I am comfortable with this non-hyper thing that we are inventing for ourselves. And so far, it's all been okay. I would not be surprised if more adventures were to come our way - but I also would not be surprised if I never saw him again.

Diary Friday

Two entries from my junior year of high school (I posted them 3 years ago or so -but I thought it was time to unearth them.)

The second entry, reading it now, made me laugh so hard that tears streamed down my face. It's about one of our teachers who used to give us all nicknames. I am howling reading them. I am so glad I wrote that crap down!!

Once again, my junior year was when I was WILDLY AND PASSIONATELY IN LOVE ... with a boy who sort of liked me. He liked me as a person, not as a girl, which is devastating (devastating then, devastating now). It took me an entire YEAR to realize that he liked me as a person, not as a girl. Bummer.

In the first entry, my mother gives me some AWESOME advice ... (which, of course, I blatantly ignored for the next 20 years of my life to increasingly tragic results. Sorry, Mum!! Shoulda listened!)

Also, Meredith: In writing about Mr. Butler, I STILL felt punching the air - like I did so many years ago in the high school cafeteria. How I hated that man!!

December 2

Thank God the week is over. And tomorrow -- I shall be in NYC with Drama Class and Mere and Kate and Beth. ["shall"?? Who are you, Elizabeth Bennett??] I really need this break now. I can't wait! The city just excites, exhilarates me. I can forget about stupid Chemistry and stupid school.

Oh yes - I finished my paper for English. I am so proud of it! I worked really hard on it - 12 typed pages. Last night I got 4 - count them - 4 hours of sleep. [Can a diary "count"?] I typed and typed - my back still aches. I got up late and had to dash out without breakfast. I got to school - I felt so weak and light-headed - J. told me my face was stark white. My stomach gnawed painfully - I must have looked gorgeous.

Once again - French picked me up. [Shorthand translation: HE was in my French class, so I got to be in his presence; hence, the "pickmeup".] French comes at a perfect time for me -- in the middle of the day. Project Adventure days [a gym class that HE was in with me] are heaven. First period just sets me off in a good mood. I don't have to struggle on to get to period 4. [Okay, Sheila ... so ... you might want to look at your propensity to WILT when you are not in the presence of the guy you love. Not a good habit to get into.]

He has no idea. [THANK GOD.]

I came home today and thought about him really intensely. [hahahahahahahahahaha The image of that] I didn't think about us [There is no "us"], or asking him to dance - but I thought about him. He's a person. Why is that so thrilling to me? I just look at him - hair combed, glasses - Mum said to me, "I think at the dance, you should wait for him to ask you. You've let him know, don't push it. But also - you don't want to take away from his masculinity, his maleness." It sounds sexist but I know what she means. If he does feel something, then I want to give him a chance to do something about it first. I hate being such a dreamer. I'm gonna be crushed someday. [Yes. You will. You will be crushed over ... and over ... and over ... and over ... ]

I think humans are beautiful. Aren't people beautiful? I imagine his growth [as in height? or his soul-growth?] and his teenager-hood - He is a teenager. Just like everyone else. He has up days, down days. I don't really know what I'm trying to say but -- I know that when he looks at me, I feel in awe of nature for just creating life. Individuals. Created out of the stuff of nature. Atoms. Molecules. And him -- I mean - who is he? What is it like inside his head? Does he have questions or fears about sex? Is he a virgin? Oh God I don't even want to contemplate that one. I wonder if I look as virgin pure as I feel (and am!!!!)

I think the masculine race is wonderful.

[Race? Ah well. To a 16 year old girl, boys sure are a different race.]

December 3

Dance tomorrow night. I am not going. I wouldn't care about it if he weren't there. [All eggs in one basket. A basket who liked me as a PERSON, not as a GIRL. Not a good idea.] That was the reason I went to Homecoming and it was going to be the reason I went to this one. He is now at Harvard representing some little country and debating. [This must be Model UN. At least I hope it is. Otherwise I have no idea what he was up to. "Representing some little country"?? Unofficially? Or ... hahahahaha] I WISH I WERE THERE! I'll have to get April to tell me all about it.

Next week - the 15th - the band puts on their annual Christmas concert in the gym. Of course I planned on going. Now what I didn't know was that he is in the Stage Band and -- he has a solo where he stands up alone to play. J. says he really gets into it, leaning into the music. I can't wait!

I have too much homework. I feel extremely close to a mental breakdown. [hahahahahahahaha.]

Every night I stay up until midnight. Chemistry is plaguing my life out, no thanks to Mr. Amoeba Man [the teacher, a man we all despised]. I really am teaching myself Chemistry. History is so boring. Mr. Butler is really sexist. He openly tells the girls in our class he doesn't think it's right that girls wear pants. "Oh, Kelly, you look very pretty today. It's a shame that girls wear sweatpants nowadays." Kelly has gym right before History. Asshole. I mean, he's a nice grandfatherly sort of guy, but he condescends to the girls when they ask questions, and treats the boys like members of his team. It gets a bit much!! [I'll say. Fuck HIM, Sheila, fuck HIM. Don't give him another thought. Not worth it. He was actually NOT a nice grandfatherly type. He was a dick. Anyone who treats girls in their class the way he treated us girls is a dick, I don't give a shit how old he is.]

First period studies and gym are heaven. Studies -- of course we never study! Studies are not there to study in, are you crazy?

Kate, J., April and I sit at one table and cry with laughter for forty-five minutes. It's a blast!

Math is crazy. Mr. James is crazy. He throws chalk and erasers at people. He threw a pencil at me - it hit me in the tooth. [I CAN'T STOP LAUGHING] He gives everyone nicknames. He calls Kim Gately - Rusty. (Think about it.) He calls Dawn Wemmer - Sunrise. He calls Tim Devinck - Leonardo. Steve W. has his hair cut really evenly - he is called Bowl. Mark W. has the same haircut, and he is called Bowl II. John Marcus is called Aurelius. Sue Rice is called Corn Flakes. He calls me Marsha. (As in Marsha Malley). Oh yeah, and there's this kid in our class named Tuan Do - Mr. James calls him Don Ho. Sean O'Brien is this kid who looks like a leprechaun, or an elf, maybe. Or the Baby New Year in the Christmas special. Mr. James always calls him Baby New Year, right to his face. "Who knows the answer - Baby New Year?" [Is anyone else guffawing right now? This is all SO inappropriate and SO FUNNY] Everyone laughs in that class so much. The kids who don't have nicknames feel left out. Mr. James is always saying, "Hey, come on, Sean - wake up! New Years is coming!"

I CAN'T WAIT FOR THE CHRISTMAS CONCERT! [I find the lack of segue and the capital letters quite alarming]

My favorite author, by the way, is JUDITH GUEST. [Where the hell did THAT come from?] Oh my God - her books honestly make me cry. It's rare to find a book just as good as the movie or vice versa. But - it runs both ways here, with her Ordinary People. I loved both equally. I bought her 2nd book Second Heaven in NYC. I love how she writes. Her characters are wonderful! I'd love to act in a movie of one of her books. I'd love to be able to have one of her characters and say, "That's my character." If I was a guy, I would have killed to play Conrad!! I hope Judith Guest keeps writing more and more and more and more.

God, this entry is boring. I'm bored just writing it - so I am going back to Chemistry and p⁺ and e^- and moles and Avagadro's number and 6.02 x 10²³ and I can't wait!

Diary Friday

This mortifying entry is from the summer in between my sophomore and junior year. Frankly, I sound bi-polar. The ending just cracks me up. It is 100% sincere.

August 17

I am SO happy! I'm TOO happy! The past few days have been perfect. Before I fell asleep every night, I would think: Wow - this has been a perfect day.

On Sunday, we went up to Jimmy's "Country Club", as we all call it. [Ed: Jimmy was a beloved uncle - and also my godfather. Truly, one of the most memorable characters you would ever meet in your life. He had a house, and in the backyard was a pool and a tennis court. The O'Malleys would convene onto this 'country club' with regularity during the summer. God bless Uncle Jimmy. He was a true original.]

Gerald is getting married!!! [Ed: Gerald is a cousin. He's a big-wig in the US military with kids who are now adults. So basically what I'm trying to say is I am terribly old..]

Last week was freezing, Diary! [I must proclaim "Diary!" just to affirm how cold it was!] It went all the way down to the 50s, and I was pulling out of my winter drawers turtlenecks and flannel nightgowns! But Sunday turned out to be really warm. It was, of course, another gorgeous relaxing day. Jimmy is such a good host, and we all feel calmed down when we leave. [Ed: Tears. I miss him.]

Oh yeah, on Saturday I went shopping - got pants, 2 sweaters, sneakers, and a Police album. The Police are my new passion. Give me Sting. [I demand it. Give me Sting.] So anyway, I brought my tape of it, and I lay out in the warm sun on the thick grass - I mean, the grass is like a blanket - and I wrote my story beside the pool. I didn't feel like going in, but after a while I went to practice my tennis. Jimmy has this machine that is great - it shoots balls at you - so it's really good for practice. Jimmy showed me the stance, and the grip (I think I'm the only person in the world who loves John McEnroe - I DO!) and I hit back the balls until my elbow hurt - my hands hurt too! They were shaking! I rested for a while, then went back to play tennis.

My dad is so funny. He likes to show off to little kids and get them to laugh. He always goes up on the diving board and demands the attention of all in and around the pool to watch his "Olympic Dive", or his "Triple Sow-Cow". Then he'll sort of fall off into the water with his legs all tangled up, or bow-legged. It's hilarious. [I love my father.]

After a while, I got hot, and I dove in the cool blue water. It felt so good.

We were all in there for so long - doing "Fame" jumps off the board - and Peter Pan jumps - we had SO MUCH FUN!

Riding home, Jean and I sang camp songs ("Have you seen Jesus, My Lord?"), and then the rest of the time - me and Brendan - who have both been reading All the President's Men, asked Mum and Dad all sorts of Watergate questions. [Brendan was 13, I was 15, and we're asking questions about Howard Hunt and Deep Throat. Love it.]

The sky -- The sun had just gone down, so behind us there were clouds with the sun right behind it - so the whole cloud glittered and was outlined in silver. The whole sky was clear -- sort of a soft lavendar color with long strips of clouds -- then there was this wicked vision [Ed: The slang of the time! "Wicked" is still used, with regularity, in Rhode Island.] : the sky had turned all shimmering gold and there were dark smoky grey clouds rising above the gold, and clouds below the gold too - so it honestly looked like a lake reflecting the golden sunset - and the clouds looked like the mountains and trees around the lake. Try to imagine it. It was gorgeous!!!

Then on Monday - when I came riding back from my paper route, Karen hailed me from the B's yard, and I ran over to see her hair cut and after she left, Bobby and I sat on his lawn and talked from 5 to 8:30!!! He is SO wicked! [Ed: That is one of the funniest things I have ever read in my life. "He is SO wicked!!"] He is the nicest boy, and he is so honest. If you want to talk about a real teen-age boy [Ed: Uh ... who are you talking to, Sheila? Also - I'm not quite clear what you mean here. YOU are a teenager. Are you a good judge??] -- he is it. He's worried about how he has no muscles. He told me about that. He doesn't like his skinniness. Really, he doesn't look bad though. He is really slim. He tells me everything. He wants to be a doctor. He really wants to fit in and be accepted in high school. He feels shy, though. I can tell him anything too. It's really great!

Mere likes him (she has for 2 years) and I have kept her secret faithfully. But then - I was just lying there - and out of the blue, he asked, "Is it true that Mere liked me?"

I almost had a coronary.

I just went, "Uh ... uh ..." I was NOT going to say anything. He did all the talking.

I went nuts. I just lay there, heart throbbing, lips shut tight for fear that I might spill something out.

I kept her secret! I didn't say a word!

But we had a really good time. He is a very different kid, whether he knows it or not. A good person. Mere deserves that. She really does.

Yesterday was a nothing day, and today was a "teenager day". [Ed: I was always on the outside, looking in at my own life, saying: "Wow, I am so acting like a 16 year old right now...".]

I went over to Mere's, we walked up to the malls - we were like: Let's totally be teenyboppers today - we had lunch at (where else?) McDonalds - and shopped. We browsed through CWT - I LOVE their clothes. Mere got a shirt. We tried on wonderful Lady Di hats. We went to Weathervane [God, the nostalgia!!] -- there's a pleated skirt there that I am absolutely in love with. Then we left and walked down to Richie's House of Bargains [Ed: A record store. It must be said in the Rhode Island accent. "Bah-gnz.".]. I bought another Police album with a breathtaking profile of Sting on the front. . I am hooked. I have this thing for Sting. I cry. Really I do! I saw a picture of him doing a concert with a broken arm in a sling. Oh, break my heart! Sting in a sling! I guess I have this thing for Sting in a sling.

Also, on Saturday I saw that James Dean documentary again. [Ed: Okay - so add him onto the heap. Sting, John McEnroe, and Jimmy Dean.] If anyone were to ask me: "Who is your ultimate idol?" - it would be James Dean. No one comes close. Well, maybe Marlon Brando. But I like Jimmy better. When they started showing all the funeral shots, with the shiny coffin and gravestone -- he was so young, he had so much going for him. Tears streaked my face. I kept whispering, "Why, Jimmy? Why?"

When you think about it, it is heartbreaking.

Diary Friday

This one is almost too embarrassing for me to get through.

When I was a freshman in high school, my parents yanked us out of school - all 4 of us - ranging in age from 14 to 4 - and brought us over to Ireland. I was the oldest. I was a devoted diary-keeper. I read some of this stuff and tears of laughter stream down my face.

April 3

Logan Airport, 10:00 pm It is raining like crazy, and it was lightning and thundering. But Aunt Anne called Aer Lingus and everything is on schedule. I am psyched but I am pretending that I am cool as a cucumber. I'm going to be very adult on this trip. [And then immediately write a diary entry that could not be more adolescent if I tried! Ha!!]

As of 10:00 pm I am sitting in a chair after going through that metal zapper machine (without a hitch, I might add) [I'm surprised your braces didn't set off the "metal zapper machine" - which is called a METAL DETECTOR, Sheila.] and watching all the punk white sneakers stroll by. I am crazy about white sneakers (Rick Springfield, Rod Stewart, Blackie Parrish and Darryl Hall all wear them), a contributing factor to my fondness for them. [WHAT???? What are you TALKING about? White sneakers are "punk", Sheila? "PUNK"? Uh ... Are you sure about that? Sid Vicious is punk, okay? Putting one safety pin through the lapel of the purple coat you bought at Weathervane does not make you punk. Also, "white sneakers" were never punk. Ever. Also, the Blackie Parrish reference is KILLING ME. I suppose the REAL appeal was that he 'wore white sneakers'. Jesus, Sheila, that is just so crazy.]

I'm pretty punk tonight with my jeans, purple coat and safety pins. [NO YOU'RE NOT. YOU'RE NOT "PRETTY PUNK". Just STOP.]

But why am I talking about this??? My family is going to Ireland!!! I am going to miss all of my friends incredibly. Mere and Betsy and Beth and Kate. I've never even been on a plane before and I am stocked up with gum.

I went to a Good Works play last night with Mere, Betsy, and Beth. Brian C. was there. OH GOD. I love those three kids so much! Mere, Betsy and Beth.

10:15 pm [ That time stamp kills me. I started the whole entry at "10:00 pm". I then wrote a couple of paragraphs - see above. Then I state "10:15 pm." It's not like a huge gap, like I wrote the first section at 10:00 am, and the next time I mention the time it's 3:00 pm. Like: a lot can happen in 6 hours that would warrant an update. But I clearly had only been writing for 15 minutes! What is the purpose of listing that "10:15 pm"? Obviously nothing earth-shattering had gone down since I had written "10:00 pm". It kills me!! ]

I am now on the plane all buckled in next to Brendan (thrrrills. he's gonna talk the whole way). I have a window seat, nanny nanny boo boo. (Oh, how adult I'm being.) [This whole paragraph is horrifying to me, on multiple levels.]

We have a really nice English stewardess. I like her accent. She's talking to us. Her best friend's name is Siobhan. Imaaaaaaagine that!

A grease bomb just walked by.

I have never been so frightened. We are going a trillion miles an hour. Don't let me die. We are up SO high! I'm really scared, folks. [Folks?? Who ya' talkin' to?]

1:00 am (6:00 Irish time)
We just had dinner.

Guess what movie they're showing ? FOUL PLAY. Is that a coincidence or what? (I am madly in love with Chevy Chase.)

April 4
County Clare
Watching the sunrise out of the plane windows was gorgeous. All the clouds were pink and orange and we couldn't even see the ocean. And flying in over Ireland -oh, it was so pretty! All of the fields divided by hedges - oh, it was so wild. But I forgot to chew gum on the way down and it felt as if someone was pounding on my head with a hammer. [I'm shaking with laughter. I went to the trouble to buy chewing gum to guard against ear-popping during the plane-landing. And then completely forgot about it.]

We had to stand in line at the Shannon airport and wait around. We got this tiny gold car that is so cute. We drove around those winding streets lined with tall hedges and after an hour or so we found a place to stay - McMahon's Bed and Breakfast Place. It is in Ennistymon. The beds are so comfortable (featherbeds) and Mrs. McMahon is so nice. So are all the people here. They all wave. We unwound for an hour or so and then we went down the street to the Falls Hotel. There we found a river and beautiful waterfalls. Dad took some pictures and then we took off in the car for the Cliffs of Moher. The roads were thin and high and we could look down over the hills and thatched roofs . It was great!

But the cliffs! They were SO incredible. I felt quite nauseous because they were so high. I only went up to this tiny stone castle but Jean, Brendan and Dad went all the way up to the top. It was SO FAR DOWN. I almost couldn't look.

We took a different ride home and on the way back we stopped in Kilfenora to watch an Irish football game. We stopped and we asked this girl if we had missed the whole thing. And she said in her Irish brogue, "No, we've got another half to go." I like listening to them talk.

We watched the game and it was not at all like our football. The ball was round and they dribbled and pushed and shoved. It was kind of neat.

But I was wiped out and slept the whole way home. I went upstairs and wrote letters to Betsy, Mere, and Beth until supper. We washed up and Mrs. McMahon served us soup and lamb and homemade French fries. It was delicious. Jean loved the soup but I didn't, so I drank some of my broth, then we secretly switched bowls.

After supper we went upstairs and we took care of Siobhan while Mum and Dad went for a walk.

I listened to my SK Pades tape and then got into my pjs. ["I listened to my SK Pades tape". Now, I am not even sure what I am referring to here. SK Pades is a variety show, put on by the junior class every year at my high school. It's meant to bond the class together so that they can then face the difficult last year. But it's for the JUNIOR class. I was only a freshman at the time of the trip to Ireland. So ... what I am gathering is that I had snuck a tape recorder into the SK Pades of that year, the class two years ahead of me, taped the whole thing, and then hauled the tape around Ireland with me, listening to it like a lunatic. Please remember, too, that this was pre-Walkman. Or, if there were Walkmans in existence, I sure didn't have one. So when I say "I listened to my SK Pades tape" what that means is that I had a little cassette recorder, and played the damn tape for all to hear, which also means that saying "I listened to the tape" is not quite correct. What it means is "I made everybody in my room at the B&B listen to the SK Pades tape with me." I was clearly insane, and probably should have been in an institution.]

I was the only one who got into my pajamas.

God, I am so tired. I'm going to bed.

All Diary Fridays here

Diary Friday

I am 15 years old here and I have a LOT going on.

1. Preparing for my confirmation
2. "Co-ed cast party" for a school play - co-ed!! What - had I just moved to Rhode Island from Saudi Arabia?
3. Spinning dreams in my head of learning to play the accordion
4. Obsessing about James Dean

It's amazing I had time to eat or bathe.

APRIL

Slept over Mere's. I was exhausted. Mere is teaching herself to juggle and balls were flying everywhere. We watched For Your Eyes Only and The Jerk. Oh, Steve Martin. We woke up - Mere's curls were all tousled, and my hair looked like a mohawk. We all shuffled into the kitchen and had an English breakfast - which was like an Irish breakfast - bacon, eggs, toast - except in Ireland we had sausages. We listened to the radio while we ate, and Jayne came in. She has a cold and had to work the night before. Anyway, we ate, and Mere juggled, and we all talked. [That image makes me SO HAPPY] Here's the plan: Mere is going to become a really good juggler and she'll get a job at the hospital as a clown, and her grandmother has a simple octave note accordian and I can teach myself to play it and we'll be a team. Wouldn't that be neat? [Only if your highest ambition is to be Patch Adams. Sheila, do you honestly want to play the ACCORDION at a hospital? Don't you have enough social problems in high school?]

I bought some clothes that make me look really thin!

And then Saturday at 5:00 there's gonna be a cast party for Scapino. Everyone's gonna be there. That'll be so neat! A co-ed party! [What is this - "Bye Bye Birdie"?] I mean, I've been to co-ed parties, but not real ones with cute neat guys. The only other co-ed party I went to was when I was 13, and we played spin the bottle. Hopefully this one will be different. [Uhm, what's better than spin the bottle?]

Then after the party!! AT 11:30 PM!!! JIMMY DEAN!!!! I can't wait! I have been waiting for this day all week. [The entire week of journal entries is interspersed with such outbursts - because I knew that Rebel without a cause being on TV on Saturday night. This is pre-VCR (at least in my home!). So I was dependent on the networks, I read TV Guide every week - I HAD to - because if I missed something, I would then have to wait another YEAR for it to come to television again!]

Friday
God, I have to do some catching up!

First - cast party. It was great. They had the video of Scapino [this was a play done by the Drama Club. And it was, I swear, amazing - I still remember a lot of it. There were SO many talented people in our Drama Club that year.] Everyone was there! Even Matt M! [He was gorgeous, aloof, and seemed like a grown man even though he was 17. Also: very talented. Still in Ye Olde biz, too, which doesn't surprise me at all.] Watching the video was great. I kept glancing at Matt when he was laughing. He is a breathtaking looking person. And T. is adorable. OK, maybe I do have a crush. Who cares? T. had on a black blazer with a Beatles pin and he just looked so cute. After that, we all had pizza, and then watched Stir Crazy. [HAHAHAHAHAHA OH. my. God. I love that movie!! Makes me laugh just thinking about it.] Gene Wilder and Richard Pryor. What a pair they are. I kept watching T. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, and his face was intent and curious. But then, of course, there had to be a nude scene. The nude woman was dancing all over the screen - and I can't even explain it - we all just sat there like zombies, and all the girls tried to look blase and cool about it, and I whispered to Beth, "Watch the boys." Oh God, it was a riot. T. kept fidgeting and moving around ... Beth and I almost lost it watching how uncomfortable all the boys looked. But it was fun.

Then I went home and sat around waiting around until 11:30 and then I watched Jimmy Dean. Diary, I think he is the best actor in the world. [Woah. But whatever. Dean appealed to me so much at that time in my life because he was rebellious, unconventional, and sensitive. High school felt cruel to me. Especially boys. So a sensitive guy, who could be gentle, and sweet ... It killed me. His work meant a great deal to me back then. Also: I was learning from him. I was already interested in acting, and ... I STUDIED him. I wasn't just a fan. Not much has changed in my life, actually] I am not saying that in a childish way. I mean it: He is the best actor in the world. [Uhm ... Laurette Taylor? Eleanora Duse? Lawrence Olivier? Brando??] I am not saying this in a passionate moment either. [Oh, I see. You are saying it in the cold clear light of LOGIC. hahahaha I love how vehement I am. I'm STILL like that!] I still can't get him out of my mind. His face is magnificent - this is the first whole movie I've seen with him. [Wow. No wonder I was flipping out.] I was even shocked by him. Like - he was unpredictable. I had no idea what he would do next. GOD HE CAN ACT. He blew me away. I mean, I found myself focusing on his every move, every mannerism, gesture, every expression, every fucking word [Ooh, a rare swear from my teenage self!] ... The man was a genius.

There was a scene where he was drunk and the policeman is searching him and he gets ticklish and starts to giggle like a little kid. And I read where he wasn't directed to do that. That was all instinct. All from within him. Man. That blows me away. And just his tenderness, his awkwardness - He portrayed what every damn person goes through so well. I don't know what else to say!

After, I went up to my room and sat like a blob, feeling inside so much but I could never put it into words. My feelings were so excessive. It was too much. I felt as if I was gonna explode! I still can't get over it.

On Monday, we went up to the Boston Marathon. I took Mere. I couldn't wait for her to meet Lisa. [My cousin] We had a great time. Here were the jokes of the day:

-- ... You are so beautiful ...

-- getting the water and cups

-- running across the street

-- Ken and the wheelchairs

-- Hey, she thinks you're cute

-- These people hate us

You see, I hate to let memories slip by. They're precious. I can't bear to let anything be forgotten. [I have no idea what most of those jokes I just listed are.] Memories are the most important thing to me. I never throw anything out. I can't throw out the memory. I need to have all the frayed stories, dried flowers, and folded drawings - they're what keeps me going.

I think Mere had fun. I'm glad. It was fun. [Mere, I wonder if you showed my cousin Lisa how you could juggle??]

This morning, I got up at 8 and it was POURING. That day I went to URI to spend the day with a drama student - you know, go to their classes, absorb stuff. I was really psyched. I was hoping to meet some gorgeous guys. Andrei Hartt for one. [I have not thought of that name since ... the early 1980s. But suddenly his face just popped back into my head. I loved him.] He was in Academania. He was SO talented. SO SO talented. [Was he as good as James Dean though?] Jessica knows him. He wants to be on Broadway but he's majoring in computer science. [HAHAHAHAHAHAHA]

It was a great day but tiring because I spend the whole day just sitting and watching. But I absorbed and learned more than I did in a whole half-year of Drama class. We watched students do really intense improvisations. Some were just -- I don't know what I was expecting, but God, those kids are great. I mean -- really, they are kids, and they were so ... I don't know. They had so much depth and their acting didn't look like acting.

Then on Wednesday - listen to this day:

10:00 - dentist appointment.

12:00 - 2:00 - shopping for my confirmation dress.

2:30 - haircut

3:30 - orthodontist

I did not stop moving the entire day. At least the shopping was successful. I got two dresses! My confirmation dress is sort of a rough off-white material with a white rounded collar and ruffles down the front. It looks really nice on me and makes my stomach look flat and my boobs look fuller. I mean, I look sophisticated. Then I got this GORGEOUS dress. When it's not on me it looks like a maternity dress, but not when it's on me. [Horrible sentence structure. Horrible dress.] I look like a model in it. It's just like Susan's - the one I told you about. [Then there is a small drawing of the dress] And I got beautiful marshmallow pink heel shoes with a purse to match. I look like a successful career woman. [Uhm ... do "successful career women" wear MARSHMALLOW PINK HEELS????]

On Thursday, I babysat from 8:30 to 3:00 and I GOT $15.00! And today I helped this neighboring woman supervise her daughter's birthday party. It was fun. She paid me 6 bucks. [Jesus. What a bunch of cheapskates.] So I made $21 in 2 days!!!! [Wow. I was excited about that. I think you were being taken advantage of, Sheil-babe.]

And tomorrow is my confirmation.

I'll reflect on what that means to my life tomorrow. I'm too exhausted right now.

[The Catholic Church can wait, basically, for my moment of contemplation. After all, I bought marshmallow-pink heels for the big day ... WHAT MORE DO THEY WANT FROM ME??]

Diary Friday: A Chicago Winter

Not really full diary entries, just quotes and snippets and fragments I scribbled in the back of notebooks that I kept during a 4 month period in Chicago. I've posted some of this before. Some make me LAUGH, others make that whole time just spring back to life in a weird way. It was so intense, good lord. It was from a particularly manic winter of my life which I look back on fondly, although it was completely insane and ended up with me making the decision, in around March I think it was - to pick up and move from Chicago and go to New York City. So it was a crazy time.

I won't give too much background - it's funner to post these things without context, I think - except to say that the guy I reference as "M" was my main flame in Chicago, a particularly insane person (the one who would climb through my window at 3 o'clock in the morning) - and he and I had stopped seeing each other for a couple of months - and the details of it all escape me, although I do know that it involved him blocking me out of his bedroom by putting a humidifier against the door - and then me deciding that a good way to retailiate would be to leave a daily haiku on his answering machine. For FORTY DAYS. It was that kind of time in my life. Full of focused and committed frivolity.

Anyway, it appears from the fragments below that M. had reappeared - as he always did, actually - for years on end ... and we had reconnected and were once again thick as thieves. If memory serves, this brief reconnection would be interrupted by a glitch known to me as "The night of the Gingerman" where I refused to speak to him for, oh, 4 months? But again, I'll leave all that unsaid. It's funnier, actually.

Ann and I are obviously up to NO GOOD throughout most of this time, and it is making me LAUGH. We are always scheming and I am cracking up. Most of the quotes below involves the two of us "weaving webs of lies" because you know why? Because it was fun. It is fun to "weave a web of lies".

And the bit about me crying and how M. handled it ... I'm still laughing. It says who he is (and who I am, actually) perfectly.

DEC. TO MARCH

Joe: "Member in Pulp Fiction --"
Ann: "No, see now, that was Sheila."

Ann: "Is that the one where your hair is different?"
Me: "No, that's your fantasy."

Me: "I'm just gonna be myself--"
Ann: "I think you should. Of course, if you need to be married ..."

Me: "I think M. knew he could show up and I would let him know I wanted him to be there --"
Ann: "Or you'd blatantly ignore him like that night at the Wrigleyside."

Fragments from M.'s improv show
"Thank you, Gore Vidal."

"Gash (like a wound) - is offended."

"I wish I was a deformed midget."

1/13
Guess who crash-bang-boomed back into my life this week? M. I can't discuss the chemistry anymore (but of course I still will) - but it just exists. We're friends. M. is my friend. I really can see myself now paging him from a scary L platform somewhere and he'd come and save me. How do I BEGIN? Being with M. - after a year - is so familiar. It's like my maroon sweater or something. Oh, who KNOWS. I adore him. Like this is a surprise. It's a surprise to him, I think.

Mitchell: "Something has happened that I keep forgetting."

Me: "Isn't it great that M. is back in my life?"
Ann: "I think it's totally great, even though you know this is only going to lead to haikus and humidifiers."

Snippets from M.'s improv show
"I usually save an extra seat for the Narrator."

Roy, the Idiot Man-Child from the Service Station

"You're not even a zoologist!"

"Of course, we need to park on a street where there is a raging fire." - Me and Ann

Exchange between casting agent and M.
Casting agent: "The character is constantly getting into situations he needs to get out of. He's also a hopeless romantic. Do you think you can do that?"
M.: "I like acting."

M. to me, when he wouldn't let me drive his car: "There are traction issues that you just can't understand."

Fragments - from M.'s improv show
"Leave some room, John!"

"I like working with pigs!"

"You're gonna have to wear an eyepatch!"

From Vindication:
I have not the constitution, the education, the ability to concentrate. I fear for my sanity sometimes. There are days when I am on the edge of tears. Sometimes I am so restless I do not know what to do. Sometimes I can talk all night, like King George, you know. I am too, too happy, and in the same day I can be sad beyond hope. Sometimes teaching the girls is all I can do. Sometimes I am magnificent at it. Sometimes I do not know what to do with myself, my hands, my eyes. I want to fling myself down on the grass, embrace it, thank it, each little stem of it. I want a beautiful blue dress, shimmery, the color of the ocean. I want to be the ocean and the clouds. No, not the clouds, that is too far away.

"Well, that will make you more three-dimensional." - Me (weaving a web of lies with Ann Marie)

"You sent the man 30 haikus. I don't think he'll mind if you come to a couple of his shows." - Ann

We were all talking about what our "type" was. I had just come back from a weekend with M. I said, "My type of guy punctuates each sentence with a shot of Rumpelmans."

Me to M.: "I have a kinder-whore appeal ... or at least so I've been told."

Joey, talking to the television, as we watched 30something: "These are nice people, Susannah. They want to like you because they love Garry."

I'm forever under lock and key
As you pass thru me

M.: "There came a point when I was - whatever, it was clear to my parents that I had to be having sex by that time - I was 23, whatever - and my mom said something to me like, 'Well, at least you're not having sex,' and I had to say, 'Mom. Look. I'm having sex.' and she said, 'I'm glad you're not having sex.' Total denial. She couldn't even hear what I was saying. I think my mom could walk in on me actually having sex, and she'd be like, 'I'm so glad you're studying!'"

From the party 12/10
"These Oreos are insanely delicious." - Joey

"You just never know what will happen with broccoli." - Me

"I just kicked a pig." - Ann

Heard simultaneously by Ann:
Me: (with a mouth full of food) "I have an eating disorder."
Mitchell: "I can honestly say I've never slept with ----- oh, wait --- yes, I have."

George and Ann, providing dialogue to an old movie, with the sound turned down:
George: "That's why your dancing frustrates me - because I can't move!"
Ann: "Well, don't you think I understand that? I mean, look at my eyebrows!"

Ann: "I was thinking about your life the other day ..."

2/20
Me: Hi, honey.
M.: Hi, spanky.

Jackie: "The symptoms of this disease are: trouble with social skills .... long legs ... developing breasts as a man - and small tightly formed gonads."

2/24
M. calls my house - Jackie picks up.
Jackie: "Hello. Tony's Pizza Palace."
M.: "I'd like a Sheila to go."
Jackie: "And what would you like on that?"
M.: "Nothing."

2/23
Me: "I have my period."
M.: "What else is new."

Me to M. (and I was dead serious): "It would totally not surprise me if I disappeared into a white slavery sex ring at some point."

Me to Mitchell (about M.): "Isn't he so sweet?"
Mitchell: "He is. He is sweet." Long pause. "He's a lunatic."

Mitchell: "The improv jam is pushing all my buttons."

Mitchell to me: "If you say 'improv jam' one more time, I'm going to scream at the top of my lungs."

2/26
Crying in M.'s arms - it was, God, 3 am? I said later, "Sorry for crying like such a werewolf." Not aware that werewolves were big criers. But anyway, I couldn't stop. It wasn't sadness, though. I had been so wound up for about a week, and then I relaxed with him, and started to cry, and then I couldn't stop. For about an hour. Poor man. I kept saying to him, "Don't be scared - the tears are good tears ... I'm happy ... I'm so happy ..." He had a cigarette dangling from his lips, he was holding me, and he said, drily, "I hope you don't mind if I just take your word for it that you're happy, okay? I mean, you're fucking crying ..." "I'm just happy, M, I'm happy ..." "Okay, okay, you're happy. Christ."

1/13
7 a.m. Jazz Bulls. The place closed its doors at 6 a.m. M. was working - so there was grey weird light seeping into the basement windows. Everything looked weird. Pre-dawn. It felt like we were the only 2 people on the earth. M. said, "You want some coffee before you go to work?" "You mean ... go out?" I didn't think there'd be time for that. He scoffed at the "out" question. "No - I can make you coffee here. You want some?" "God, yes." I hoisted myself up onto the bar and sat there as M made a pot of coffee. His pants were totally ripped by that loony Christine bitch. I loved watching him shuffle around dealing with filters and coffee and water. He was adorable. All the while we were talking about us. I told him how comfortable I felt with him. At one point I fell into a depression, having to go to work after being up all night. I said, "I can't believe I'm going to work right now."

He was standing with his back to me, pouring coffee. "Cream? Sugar?"

"Just black. And strong. And please don't say 'You like it like you like your men' or whatever. Everyone says that."

He poured sugar and cream into his own coffee, handed me mine, which I began to devour (it didn't even make a dent in my exhaustion) and then stood there, stirring his own coffee. We were lost in our own thoughts. He was deep in contemplation. Turns out, it was about me - but I didn't guess that in that moment. He was just pondering me, perched on top of the counter, pale, sipping the coffee he made for me, in the dawn-lit bar where he works, half an hour away from having to go to my job.

He turned to stare at me, still stirring his coffee. He looked at me for a long time. Contemplatively. I didn't ask what he was looking at me like that for. I just looked back at him. Then he said - slowly - choosing his words - or, no - not choosing his words - M. doesn't really do that - but slowly, as though this idea had just occurred to him and surprised him: "You must really like me."

That is SUCH a funny moment if I really ponder it. I've known this guy for 3 years, and now he says, in a tone of awe, "You must really like me!" It was so sincere. I started laughing. "Of course I like you. What are you, a moron?" Laughing at him. "You didn't know that I like you?"

"Well - no - I mean, I know you like me. But, I mean, you must like me. You've gotten no sleep because of me, and you're about to go to work - I mean, there's not too many people I'd do that for." (He didn't say if he'd do it for me or not.) "I think it's rare."

I felt like I should say something, but I didn't know what to say. M. sensed that in me, because he said, quickly, reassuring, "No, I mean - it's cool - that you like me - I mean ... I guess I just didn't know." He went back into contemplative stirring-coffee mode.

"Well, now you know." I said.

We drank coffee, not talking, the air clear between us. Both of us thinking. About the other. He gets shy. Like he doesn't want to say too much, or ruin anything.

He said, looking down into his coffee, "I feel like there's not a word evolved enough for what we are."

Fragile moment. I didn't speak. I let it hover. He had more to say. I knew it. He said, "You have always struck me, from the very beginning as ... someone who ... wanted to different than what you are."

That was an ambiguous thing to say. I saw 2 possible interpretations - or, no, actually - now I see the 2 interpretations - but this is how I took it at the time: Sheila, you have been trying to be something you're not.

So I felt a little chilled by that. I pursued it. "What do you ..."

He meant what he had said - but it wasn't the negative interpretation that I put on it. He meant that: I'm not satisfied anymore with being unhappy, repressed, uptight - and I am determined to get over myself, and get better, push through these barriers I have up.

I did not know that he had perceived that from the beginning. I remember him saying to me on a tequila-soaked summer's eve, when I was all upset and weepy, "Your journey ... has just begun." He knew. How did he know?

He explained what he meant: "The first time we went out ... " (neither of us know how to define this whole damn thing - we have no words - there are not words evolved enough for what we are) "Well - I told you this - you were so - " (he stopped talking, and then kind of hugged his arms around himself, put his head down - to show how closed I was and uptight) "And I wasn't -- sure how to handle it ... I wasn't sure if you ..." (unfinished sentence, wincing expression, awkward, shy) "But then ... you kept ..." (stopped himself - and smiled - and I knew what he meant. I had kept calling him, kept making myself available - he didn't say it in a mean way. It's the truth.) I said, grinning, "I kept coming back for more, huh." "Well ... yeah ... so I figured ... Okay ... This person is ..." (all of this accompanied with those subtle facial expressions and hand gestures he does - we transcend words - the expression and the gesture he made conveyed my whole life: pushing through, frustrated, upset, sick of being upset ... wanting to be happy. He saw all that?) I nodded in agreement with his interpretation of me. He said, nearly unable to get it out - too awkward and vulnerable, "So ... it's kind of cool, Sheila ... to see how you have progressed. It's ..." He stopped. It's like I was inside of him. Like he could hear those words "how you have progressed" and to him they suddenly sounded patronizing. But no. They were not. I said, softly, "It is cool, M. It is cool."

Diary Friday

Yet another entry from my junior year in high school for Diary Friday: My junior year: an unrequited love with the passion of a thousand suns blossoms for a guy named David. It's funny - he was Band President and the other day at 30 Rock I was in the drugstore, in line, and there were all these high school kids in line, too - being loud and goofy (I actually heard one of them use the word "nifty" - and NOT with ironic snark-quotes around it - they actually thought that something they saw was "nifty". Brill.) - and they were all wearing bright blue T-shirts declaring that they were the members of a high school band in Oklahoma or something like that. I tried to read the shirts closer - but all I made out was: Band 2008 - and they were all just so cute and excited and, yes, being obnoxious, but come on, they were 15 years old. And David popped into my mind, from high school. Suddenly in high school I was all about going to all the band concerts because HE HE HE would be there!!! Naturally, nothing ever happened with David. But he took up an entire year of my life.

JAN. 2

J. slept over last night. We had a really good time talking about - what else?? We looked them up in yearbooks of long ago. [Long ago! hahahahaha 2 years before?] My, my, they both have improved!! We looked at all the 'senior guys' of last year - Matt B., Josh L., Bobby R., Matt M., John A. - we speculated on "who has and who hasn't." Yes, I know we shouldn't but I am curious and I do wonder. [Sheila, your diary doesn't JUDGE you. Not for curiousity about sex or anything else. Calm down.] How does it happen? (Wait) What I mean is - I know that some kids have slept together but how do they lead up to it? Are they drunk? Is it in a car? (Blah) How will it happen with me? I hope it's not like [then I drew an arrow up to where I wrote "Is it in a car?"] I think I have good judgment and I know what I want. Dolores gave me a Playgirl for my birthday with Harrison Ford on the cover. We looked at that for a while and I'm sorry but it is disgusting! Yuk!!! Those men are so gross!! I have made up my mind to remain a virgin. (Well maybe not - but still!!!) Some of the stories they have in there - I feel so so soiled after reading them. I'm scared, Diary. Does everyone have oral sex? Has everyone been doing that all this time? Euuu! Sex, to me, has always seemed so natural and beautiful [you coulda fooled me] (I mean - the way I thought it was supposed to be) - just a joining of two people who really love each other [ah, your 4th grade sex-ed class did you well!]. But the people in there do all these gross things with each other and I try to imagine myself - I just can't. I'm afraid. I'm so naive. Oral sex? I'm scared.

Also though, I was just browsing through the magazine just now - the pictures I just flipped by - those don't 'do' anything for me [hahahaha, I love how now I'm talking like a sexual woman of the world. "Yeah, that doesn't do anything for me ..."] - all the guys are ugly anyway - but the stories - so explicit! I felt myself drawn in - I wanted to read more - I couldn't pull my eyes away. A lot of it is gross and unintelligent but some of it ...

After I put it away I turned on my radio to "Every Breath You Take", turned off all the lights in my room and lay on my back on the floor. Of course David came into my mind and I thought about him - not gross indecent things [what??? "Indecent"? Who are you, Mullah O'Malley?] But just generally - I pictured him kneeling beside me on my floor and leaning over to kiss me. I'm sorry but to me, holding hands and gently kissing seems more romantic than that stupid oral stuff. [hahahahahahahahaha]

Maybe I'm a baby. I haven't even been kissed yet. So how do I know?

But reading those stories, I started to feel sort of hot, and I thought about Dave. [And that, dear Sheila, is the whole point of erotica. The end.] I threw the magazine in my drawer and picked you up to write this down. Normally I'm not so perverted. I don't like feeling so perverted.

You know what J. also said? "You know, if something ever happens between us - I mean - Don't you think it might shock them over how passionately we feel towards them already?" "I know! I know! He has no idea of the extent. I'm glad. I wonder what he'd do if he read my diary." "Well, Sheila - if I ever read some guy's diary and I found my name in every entry, everything I've ever said, every single move I make - I think I'd be frightened off." "Me to. It's weird how they just don't know. I'm glad he doesn't."

I am too. Maybe he does get the picture, but is shy or doesn't know what to do about it. What am I supposed to do?

[One quick note: I love how the song I chose to listen to in order to go deeper into my "perverted" feelings about David is the ultimate creepy stalker song. Hahahahaha]

Diary Friday

It is time now to return to my junior year in high school. I have tried to put it off, but I can no longer do so. I am 16 years old. I am so in love with a boy named David that I sound like a raving lunatic in my diary. The whole thing is unrequited - we didn't date or anything like that ... My love for him was based on stolen moments in class and in the hallways when David revealed himself as the kindest man on the face of the earth. Or so he was to my eyes. I LOVED HIM.

FEB 11

Diary do I have a LOT to tell you. OH GOD! My happiness mug is full and overflowing! This happiness scares me [as well it should, because it is based on a delusion, Sheila. But let's move on.]. So much has happened to me. [My last entry in the journal was the day before. hahahahaha] I don't know where to start. All right - it's gonna work with me and David. If all goes smoothly and I don't botch it up. [That makes my heart ache. How willing I am to take full responsibility ... it'll be my fault somehow.] It's going to work! OH DIARY I'VE WAITED SO LONG! [There is not a font large enough to replicate that sentence] Finally. Oh I'm so happy, Diary. It hasn't happened yet but I have a feeling it won't be long. If not this week, definitely at the dance. Oh I feel like a tragic hero. My arrogance is my tragic flaw. [I love that!!] But I'm so happy.

Let me start from the beginning. Last night, we all went to the game. J., Kate, Mere and I. It was a long confusing night and I'm still sort of mixed up. Of course Dave was there looking positively gorgeous - positively gorgeous. [Why say it once when twice does just as well?] Oh Diary I can't stand it.

We all sat down to watch the game. I kept my eye on David as he walked back and forth from the lobby and gym. I love how he walks and I love his tan sweater. I love watching him do everything. There was this little kid - around 4 years old - he was like hyperactive - he never stopped moving - but he was breakdancing and doing all sorts of wicked things [ah, the days when "wicked" was adjective enough!] - Dave was watching him, talking a little bit to him. Little people with big boys - Oh I could die. It's so sweet.

During the whole game, at times he would glance up my way [Sheila, you're in the gym. It's a huge building] but me THE DOPE would immediately look away. This happened a few times. I just froze up. JERK!

Then the Varsity games started. With his wild funny announcing - I watched him do it, all leaned over and into it.

During the V game, I went down to talk to Mr. Hodge who had been giving me significant glances across the gym. [Mr. Hodge had known me since I was 5 years old - the Hodges are old dear friends of the O'Malleys - and now he was my French teacher.] We were standing right near Dave, but we talked about him anyway. Mr. Hodge said, "I can see the vibes in class and I would say the vibes are favorable." Eeeeeeeekkkkkkkkkkllllllllll [My writing then descends into feverish scribbles] He said he can see Dave pacing himself to walk with me. Funny - I thought it was me who did that. He also said, "Seriously - I think he knows something is there. I think he can see it." Can he? What does he see? I kept glancing over at him, face intent on the game.

I'm being tortured.

Trav and Cris came in - they were talking awhile to Dave. I was clutching Kate's knee. For some reason, them talking to each other, shaking hands - Suddenly I said to Mere, "Let's go say hi to Trav!" [And a year later, in my senior year - Trav became my first - sort of - boyfriend. So there's all this swirling stuff going on here.] Perfect excuse. So we went down there - I chickened out about 5 times, then I just walked over saying, "Hi, Trav!" I look back on that and it was a dumb move!! I didn't say a word to Dave, although that's my only reason for living lately! [Calm down. Thanks.]

Well, we were all just talking and Dave came over to our little group - Trav, Cris, me, Mere, Kate, and J. and said, "Here we have the entire core of the SK Drama Club." And - I DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING! I COULD NOT SAY A WORD! Oh, I could kill myself!

Later - we were all back on the bleachers and Kate said, "Sheila, he really wanted you to reply - I could see it." "OH I BLEW IT. I BLEW IT!" Why do I freeze up? [I have no idea, but get used to it. You'll be doing it in your 30s as well.] What is my problem?

For the rest of the night, Dave was talking to Meg O'Leary. [Which is so hysterical - I have no memory of her, but apparently the fact that she was talking to HER warranted the underlining.] At first I was full of despair but Kate said, "Sheila - he has no reason to be jealous of Travis so you have no reason to be jealous of Meg." Was he jealous of Trav? I mean, he did walk right over - AND I DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING! [Yeah, we heard you the first time.] Oh, it probably looks like I like Trav. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO [Yes. That's it. Just random "O"s unfurling across the page in desperation.] If only I had said something!!! I'M SUCH A JERK. [I want to intervene and tell myself to stop being so mean to myself. It's killing me to see how I do that.] Dave is so cute. What if he does like me -

BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE!

After the game, I had made up my mind to say something to him. But - I couldn't approach him. It was awful. He was alone, getting together his equipment - but - Oh! I'm such a wimp. I was standing so near to him - trying to open my mouth.

J. is mouthing hate messages across the gym to me - ordering me to DO IT. [I am laughing out loud. I love my friends.]

So I looked at him and our eyes met. I smiled and said, "Hi, Dave." And Diary - Oh he didn't even say 'hi' back. He just gave me this little tight smile. [Ouch. I'm feeling that all over again.] My heart sank. I practically fled to my friends and announced that it was all over. I WANTED TO LEAVE. Oh God- I was so miserable. He hated me! No one believed me that he didn't say anything. Mere said I probably murmured, "Hi, Dave" into my collar [Mere - HAHAHAHA I love you! You totally busted me!] but I didn't! J. told me to try again, but I knew I couldn't go back over there to say anything.

Besides, he has disappeared into the school. J. practically screamed, "I've got to put my flute away! Let's go to the Band Room!" [David was Band president. Hence, J.'s brilliant plan.] So we rushed off into the hall.

Turns out he was just putting back the equipment in a storage room. While he was doing this, J. and I both took inordinately long drinks of water. With perfect timing, just as he closed the door, we straightened and started walking back too so that he was right behind us. He started crooning in his low low voice, "Head for Busch Beer ..." I turned around to grin at him - no reason - just a starting point. He looked down at me and said, "What ... do you hate me, Sheila?" (J. then shot out the door into the gym and ran away from us. Subtle.) This (what he said) took me by surprise, so I said very sincerely, "No! I don't hate you!" (Not hard to be sincere there.)

We were now out in the gym and - he said - "Oh, so you just dislike me, huh?" "No! Dave - No! I don't!" I was just standing there. Now I think back on it and I'm glad I didn't treat it lightly, like, "Oh yeah, Dave, I despise you" because when I said, "No I don't, Dave!", he said to me after a pause, "Well. That makes me feel really good."

Diary - I swear to God if my life had depended on it - I could not say anything. Oh poor Dave. My jaw just dropped - I turned around - Mr. Hodge was right behind me, leering at me. [hahahahahaha] Leanne came over to talk to me - Dave was LOOKING at me - but - Oh God my tongue became a shag rug. I wonder if he was watching me as I tore over to J., Kate and Mere. I looked pretty suspicious. I threw my arms around all 3 of them, cried "MY DEAR FRIENDS!" and kissed each one of them. YIPPEE! [Meanwhile, you just left Dave there hanging ... but it's okay. You're 16.]

While we were waiting for Mr. W. to pick us up - I was a spaceshot. I sat on a table and I just was floating around! In the car on the way home I kept saying, "Oh, please, somebody bring me back to earth!" Kate said, "No I don't want to."

But - this scares me. It IS working. IT IS.

Oh God. What do I say to him on Monday? I practically admitted out loud that I really like him.

Oh DAVE - DAVE!!!!!!!!! [That last "Dave" is actually underlined 7 times - and the exclamation points cartwheel off down the page, sometimes showing up upside down, sideways ... I cannot control my own punctuation.]

He said, "That makes me feel really good."

!!!!!!!!!

All Diary Fridays here

Diary Friday

Let's get mortified, shall we? This diary entry describes a Hawaiian dance in my sophomore year of high school.

Fri. Jan. 21

Tonight was a Hawaiian dance. I tell you, I was not looking forward to it, because the last dance was a disaster area. I didn't go Hawaiian, but I did borrow a lei when I got there. It wasn't even half-way full, but practically everyone was Hawaiian.

Travis had on a grass skirt made out of garbage bag strips. And Joel had a grass skirt and man-hole-cover sized glasses. Betsy had on a long wrap-around skirt with huge blue flowers, and the DJ had on all white, a white top-hat and a white ruffled suit and this blue light was on him, so he sort of glowed. And he took requests so I asked for Devo, The Clash, J. Geils, Adam Ant, Loverboy.

(I love that I listed all of the band names. Total time-travel hilarity)

God, I love music!

And when he put on Stray Cat Strut, I did my tap dance. (Oh my God, I sound like such a geek. You DID YOUR TAP DANCE?? And then you WONDERED why no cute guys asked you to dance??? Meredith: if you are reading this, you will know exactly the tap dance I am referring to.)

All those great songs - I go WILD. We all do. We SWEAT! (Right, Beth?) It is so fun. The minute I hear the beginning notes of "Jerkin' Back and Forth" or "Rock Lobster" or "Workin' for the Weekend", we all race out onto the floor, going INSANE. I dance until my throat is dry and my legs ache.

I'm not fooling myself. I had an awful time. I loved the music, but John was there. (hahahahaha "I danced until my legs ached! I had an awful time!" Also, when I read over this this morning, I thought: who the hell is John? And then - I remembered. Some guy I had a crush on, who said about 3 words to me, and I convinced myself it was true love.) I saw him come in and I felt sick to my stomach. I couldn't take my eyes off him and then Betsy grabbed my arm and said sternly, "Forget him, Sheila!" (And here I am, 280 years later, and I still find myself in situations where my friends have to speak to me sternly, and say stuff like, "Forget him, Sheila!" Such as we are made.)

Betsy went on sternly, "He has on a girl's headband. Please forget him."

(Best putdown ever)

Then we walked off, arms around each other, and for a while I did forget. (Little did I know that I eventually would forget so completely that I would read over this entry decades later and think, dimly: Who the hell is John? Ha! Revenge.) I talked to Mr. Hodge, and some good songs came on, and there were some songs that Mere and I had to make fun of. We would strut around, eyes closed. (Uhm, girls? That's how you make fun of the songs? You strut around, eyes closed? I'm not sure I get the joke.)

Oh, and a TV cameraman was there for some reason, and he was filming us, and he took close-up shots of me charleston-ing to "Goody Two Shoes" (How unbelievably embarrassing. CHARLESTON???), he also filmed me and my friends going WILD to "Rock Lobster". He filmed all of us going "down ... down ... down..." onto the floor. The entire gym full of kids falls down onto the floor at the end of "Rock Lobster". Anyway, I asked him later what the film was about, and he said that it was for a special on teenage alcoholism.

What? I said to him, "I'm not drunk!" And he laughed and went, "I'm not going to say you are."

John was dancing with another girl and when he knew I was nearby he kissed her. (Uh, Sheila, are you sure of your facts here? Are you sure that it was because of YOUR hovering presence that he kissed her?)

So I'm really proud of the way I handled myself. I didn't look at him, or look jealous, or even acknowledge him, and I danced like I never danced before. (Flashdance?) I feel like I looked pretty bubbly, with my mini skirt, sweatshirt, tie, white tights, and skips, (HAHAHAHA. My TIE??) and with my - ahem - peripheral vision I knew he kept looking over at me. My heart cracked in two and all I wanted to do was sob, but I danced and laughed - Man, it was hard work. I wanted to cry. I HATE MYSELF FOR LOVING SO MUCH.

So I acted "up". I was crazy. I felt insane. I had no control. After cavorting madly to show John I didn't give a fuckin' shit about his buns, I went over to sit down cause it was a slow song, and Patty sat beside me and said, "I'm really sorry. I tried to warn you, but I feel bad for you." I said to her, "What has it been? 3 girls in 2 months?" And she said, "Well, just be glad you weren't one of those girls." I nodded.

So I sat through the slow song, chin in my hands, staring out at the big silver ball twirling above. I felt kind of bad. Kate hugged me. I just sat staring off. Why do I STILL like him, even when he's been a bastard? Probably cause I know that underneath he's really a nice guy. (And here the womanly pattern begins. Falling in love with an asshole's hidden potential.)

Diary Friday

Not a typical entry, and some of these quotes have made it onto the blog before. In the back of each journal I keep (and I don't really keep a journal anymore, but that's beside the point) - I list funny things people have said, quotes, etc - things I love and want to remember but don't necessarily want to write an entire entry about. Some of these quotes make me laugh so hard now that I can barely speak. It's even funnier to see them out of context. These quotes are all from 1997 - a big year. I was in the thick of grad school - acting - so it's ALL about acting for me (although many of these quotes have nothing to do with acting). My mentor at school, my greatest acting teacher and friend - is the "Sam" below - who shows up so repeatedly. Every Friday we had a horrifying workshop called the P/D Unit (the Playwriters/Directors Unit) - modeled on the same thing done at the Actors Studio. The playwrights in the program would bring in work they had been writing - the directors would be assigned (or jostle for positionn in front of projects they thought might have legs) - and the actors would be the guinea pigs. Some of these projects went on to great success - either as thesis projects, or as productions out in the real world. So the stakes were high - you couldn't be lackadaisacle in the PD Unit. You had to look around, figure out which projects were good - and do your best to be in them. Many times that was not difficult. Good plays are not a dime a dozen and most of the stuff we worked on in PD Unite was crap. But boy, there were a few gems. I was lucky enough to get into two of them - but not without a lot of sturm und drang and sleepless nights and all that. Ambition, you know. But you take a bunch of stressed out people - who spend the majority of their time with one another - and then you add the fact that everyone's an artist - and then you put them all in a room - for an entire day - where all you do is perform, and talk, and perform again ... it can make for some hilarity. Sam was the head of our PD Unit. The guy is a genius. But he also does not stand on ceremony. He had no problem with saying, after a scene was done, "Well, that really bored me." Because, when you think about it: boredom is very important. To quote John Strasberg, son of Lee Strasberg: "Boredom is very important in life. It lets you know when something is wrong." So when Sam was bored, he didn't think: "I am being rude, I need to pay better attention." No. Because who wants to see a play where you have to fight with your own boredom? Sam would be like, "That was boring. Let's find out what's wrong." He was hilarious, too. (Is, I should say).

Not all of these quotes are from the PD Unit - but the "Sam" ones always are. 1997. A crazy year.

My dear friends will recognize themselves here as well.

1997 QUOTES

"Do whatever you want to do. Just don't have a rod up your ass and think you're playing Shaw." - Sam

"Somebody needs to call him up and tell him he's an asshole!" - Maria W. on Scott Hamilton

"Are we still not allowed to be naked in school?" - Kara

"I'm glad you're back ... even though I didn't know you were gone." - Ann

"M. and I were not really made for public viewing. We were a private exhibit. Invitation Only." - Me

"Who the hell is Tex Watson?" - Barbara

"SLUGWORTH." - Ann

"When she styled it, I looked like Sylvia Plath in her college years." - Maria M.

"You mean ... Hamlet gets in the elevator ... but he won't go down?" - Leslie

"I need to get some new cuss words. I want to start using words like 'asshole' and 'bitch.'" - Stephen

"...his snowbeard penis." - Jackie

"Buhsh 'n Pudding ..." - Shelagh, trying to say "button pushing"

"Speaking of surly and disrespectful, where is Kara?" - Sam

Quote from Gingerbread Lady: "My apartment is on a sublet from Mary Todd Lincoln."

Sam: "If you do a high-class piece that lays an egg, no one will think: 'Boy, that's a high-class broad.'"

Sam: "I wouldn't care if you had them do it on pogo sticks."

Sam to D.: "To whatever degree you can get it up, try to create some authentic misery."

Sam: "Method acting the stereotype is eyeballing your partner, mumbling, breaking up your sentences in illogical ways. You can be 100% full of shit and be a Method actor."

Sam: "I studied with Strasberg for 21 years and I never felt that gave me the license to be an asshole."
Michael: "So where'd you get your license then?"

"So I want you to operate out of complete panic." - Gene

"I'm on a roll! I'm on a very second-rate roll here!" - Sam

"It's a great mistake to try to be original." - Sam

"Acting is not a relaxing job." - Sam

"So. You've just heard from the portobellos ..." - Sam

"I had a bolt of stress that you didn't know where he worked. Literally. I had a bolt of stress .... You know, for the coma contingency." - Ann

Me to Wade: "So I went to the Book Fair ..."
Wade burst into laughter.
Wade: "I love you, Sheila."
Me: "Oh, Wade. I love you too."

"If I could say goodbye to you in Rebus form I would ..." - Me to Ann

"I wish there was such a thing as Open Boob Night." - Brooke

"Where Alan Thicke meets Frankenstein ..." - Ann

"Will you marry me. Let's get married, Sheila." - Michael - Las Vegas. New Year's. 1997.

"And then Tim hugged me." Long pause. "Well, electronically." - Ann

"She puts marshmallows on brownies!" - Maria's indictment of Jo

"She then plunged a dagger into my heart. Literally. She impaled me with her horns." - Ann

"Honey Nut Clusters, steamed squash, and red wine ..." - Jen, describing our nights at home

"I always get cast as the eunuch or the fool." - John

Kevin: "I just said 'Fuck it'."
Pause.
Robert: "Which is Latin for 'Be Free!'"

"Relaxation should not be a spectacle." - Sam

Me: "What about Adam?"
Ann: "Oh please. That rumor has already been squelched."

"And then, of course, there was the Bo Deans debacle ..." - Me to Kate

"Hoffman's won Oscars playing morons and bums." - Sam

"Once you get to my stage, you have no standards, and you just feel grateful to still be standing here!" - Sam

"It seems to me, Rodney, that the importance of the hyoid bone is in having one." - Robert

Shelagh: "Isn't it true that Meryl Streep used to throw up before she used to go onstage?"
Cheryl: "Yeah, but that's because she was drunk."
Shelagh: "Oh! Okay! Thanks for clearing that up for me!"

"I am so charmed by him that I can barely sleep." - Mitchell on Scott Wolf

"Who do I have to fuck to get out of here is what I want to know." - Sam

"What am I - the Profiler?" - Mere

"This is so Cohort One." - Matt

Discussion about Kenneth Branagh's Frankenstein:
Maria: "What annoyed me was that he called the movie 'Mary Shelley's Frankenstein' when it clearly should have been called 'My Chest.'"

"A half-hour where you stink is no great shakes." - Sam

Diary Friday

Another excerpt from the autobiography I wrote when I was 13. I am now going to embarrass my friend Mere. Good times! Here I describe the beginning of junior high - which was uniformly terrible.

SHEILA'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY

After sixth grade, we were all looking forward to going into the Junior High together. I don't know why, because it was such a bad year. I wasn't in classes with ANY of my friends, I hardly ever saw them, and somehow I became the class scapegoat. People laughed at me as I walked by, left mean notes in my locker, gave me crank calls, and snickered. Don't ask me why. I didn't even know half the people, I didn't talk to them, I never did anything to them. See, in grade school, having clean nice hair, good clothes, and a boyfriend, wasn't crucial, and suddenly these things were the most important things in life. So I kept wearing what I wanted and everyone made fun of me so much that I was scared to walk up and get an ice cream at lunch. I still plodded along, but my life became worse and worse. I started to get Cs and I was mean to my Mom. I hated everyone. I dreaded school. School, instead of being my usual slice of paradise, became a chore! I would fake sickness to stay home. I'd cough and retch so much that my mother would let me stay home. But things weren't that better there. I would fight with my mother, and storm off to my room to write useless stories. I'm very vague, because I already have a depressing diary of those days. But since I had no friends I saw in school, I became friends with Laura, which was good at the time. She was more unpopular than I was! The thing is, though, that the popular kids in our school were the nice ones. I talked to them, and they didn't laugh at me. It was the losers who made fun of me. Now I know that the only reason they made fun of me is that they know they're losers and they have to find a scapegoat to make themselves feel better. Now I can laugh in their faces. But then - it stripped away my confidence. I hated myself with a passion. I looked at my face in the mirror and despised it. I really resent those kids. But you know what? SOMEDAY I will be a great actress or a rich archaeologist, or a famous journalist, and I will look at those gutter scums and smirk. I CAN'T WAIT. [Now that is a worthy goal. Many people have become famous for just such this reason.]

Anyway, Laura turned out to be a jerk. She clung to me. Maybe for support or something. But she was jealous of any other friendships I had. I was friends with another girl named Debby (another mistake) and Laura - whenever she saw me with Debby, she would come over and laugh about a secret of ours to make Debby jealous. It got worse and worse, until we were all in Science, and we sat at the same table and I was between them. It was TERRIBLE. It got so bad that I hated both of them. Each pulling me in different directions. So I changed my seat and gloated at their hurt faces. [hahahahaha I love that] I really started to hate them!

Most of this is recorded in my other Diary. But it wasn't THAT bad. [Uhm ... it wasn't? You're gonna say it wasn't "that bad" NOW??] It was just that I had to start brand new making friends.

But I made acquaintances that year (Kate, Beth, Meredith) that now are my best friends. They were so chummy with each other - I envied them. I sort of know Beth and Kate because of church and Sunday School, but I had never met Mere before. And I thought she was the best thing to ever hit this earth. She was tall and thin and pretty and always wore jeans and they always looked good on her. ["Clothes look good on her."] She was so - "breezy". I don't know. And I admired her. On '50s day, at the end of school, she wore this puffy pink skirt with a big blue flower in the "poodle spot" and when we went out to play softball it was all sunny and warm and we were out in the outfield and (I better stop this run-on). So anyway, we started to Charleston and I still remember what she looked like with her skirt swirling around her.

And one little odd tidbit I remember, is on 50s day, we were all in Ecology and I glanced over at Mere beside Beth. She was sitting in her chair with her legs stretched out, ankles crossed, and her pink skirt was flounced out around her. I admired her so much then, with the bobby socks and penny loafers. And she and Beth were laughing about something. She looked so easy and free. They both did! I was always so tense, and I wanted to be like Meredith!

It is so strange because now she is my BEST friend and I don't idolize her anymore! Sorry, Mere!

7th grade was a bummer. Eighth grade was better because I was in classes with J., and Betsy and Mere and Beth. Mere and I sat beside each other in math and we had the best time making fun of the teacher. He loved being macho. [hahahahahaha] When he wrote on the board, he clenched and unclenched his fist. He wore tight pants - polyester - and he had a bright orange shirt. On one of his shirt backs was a stain that looked like a semi-colon and it remained there the entire year. [I am howling!] He also wore shiny black shoes with buckles, so we called him "Mr. Pilgrim" and "Mr. Turkey". We wrote notes back and forth the entire period (honestly, literally - I still have some of them and they are a scream.) Sometimes I would laugh so hard during class I felt trapped and suffocated and tears would course down my cheeks. Math suddenly became the highlight of my day.

I remember that on the last few days of school, our teacher would take us out to play softball (he was very into baseball). He would play, and loved "showing off" to us. Actually, Mere and I would be roaring about him the whole time. [God. We were so mean to him!! But man, how many hours of fun did he provide us, Mere ... we just thought he was so hysterical] Mere looked so cute standing out in the field in her jeans with her baseball glove. [I swear, Mere, I wasn't a creepy stalker - even though I appeared to keep notes on your outfits on a daily basis!!] She was so funny. I remember one fatal day when we started to laugh so hard during a "silent time" that my stomach ached from trying to hold it in. It was during a fire drill and we were all standing outside in the sunshine in silent lines. The sun was so bright. We were all standing there silently. And suddenly I noticed Mr. Mellor, a bald math teacher, standing on the pavement. The sun actually caused his head to glow. I turned to Mere and whispered to her, "Look at Mr. Mellor. His head ..." and then I went completely out of control and Mere started to laugh, too, and it was so hard to stop! From trying to repress our laughter, we made much more noise than otherwise. We laughed hysterically, silently, and shaking, until our breath ran out, and we had to take huge deep breaths before collapsing again. I tried to hold back the laughter but then I would burst out with a loud guffaw.

Oh, another highlight of that year was when our math class was out playing softball and I was out bopping around in the outfield with my glove and our teacher was up to bat (oh, what a man) and he, in his tight blue pants that clung, went tearing around the bases and suddenly he froze and sort of sidled back to home, and picked up his glove to put it over his rear. All of us were staring at him like he was bonkers. Some of the kids back at home plate started roaring with laughter, but none of us outfielders could see what had happened. Then he started running towards the school, still holding the glove in place over his butt. As he went past me, he hissed, "I split my pants."

Everyone heard, though. I stood stock still. I could hardly believe it! Then suddenly, Michele L., the pitcher, shrieked with laughter and fell down onto the ground - and then mass hysteria followed. None of us could believe that our macho teacher had split his pants!!!

Diary Friday

When I was 12 years old, I wrote my autobiography. It is one of the most complete obsessive documents in my entire history. I remember almost NONE of it - although there are certain things that have made it thru the mists of time ... things I've written about on the blog from time to time ... but the thing that is so funny about this document (and it's gotta be about 80 pages long) is that I am writing about "childhood" from a much closer vantage point than I would now ... I actually still AM a child, although, of course, to a 12 year old, her 4 year old self seems like ancient history. So the games we played, the playground shenanigans - all of that stuff which diminishes with time - is laid out here, clear as day. It's kind of a creepy document, truth be told - and I feel like it can't have been ME that wrote it!! But it was.

Here I am, as an 8th grader, recounting the long-ago days of 6th grade. Naturally - to long-time readers, folks like Keith and Andrew will be familiar. (Keith post - Andrew post) Oh, and the whole Artful Dodger thing appears to have its roots back in the 6th grade.

SHEILA'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Now sixth grade. I begin a new paragraph because sixth grade was the - it was the best year of my life. It still is. Sixth grade was heaven. Pure and simple. My teacher Mrs. Dickison was funny and "cool". I had all the best guys in my class - Keith, Andrew ... we had a crazy time. We cut down on Mrs. Dickison and we taped little pieces of paper on our desks and counted all of her jokes - we made fun of her about it and she loved it. She was great. We had a substitute - Miss Mullaney. I honestly can't complain much about her, because she loved me and always complimented me and called me a "real character". But other than that, she was only nice to the boys who always teased her - but she was terrible to this one girl - Jennifer M. She (Miss Mullaney) would look at Jennifer's spelling notebook and say to the class, 'Everyone look! I hope you all work so your spelling book does not look like this."

I started the year badly, because I was so mad that neither J. or Betsy was in my class. But we met at recess to sing. [hahahahahaha] That year, we began to outgrow orphans [hahahaha Shorthand: any make-believe game we played always involved us being orphans. We LOVED orphans] but we did have this trend where 4 girls would get together after school and act out Little Women. I HAD to be Jo. Looking back, I really was very bossy! [Ah yes, looking back ... way back ... to the year before last!!] But, that year - a new girl came to school - Brooke S., and I was terrified that I was going to lose Betsy. [Well. Last weekend showed us how needless my fears were way back then!] All of a sudden, she was really into boys. I mean, she and Brooke went on a date with two guys! [What?? No memory of any of this.] I didn't spend as much time with Betsy. I don't think I was jealous. [Ya don't???] I was just afraid of losing her.

Betsy fainted that year. This was a big event. She just toppled over in Art. Then, she became a heroine, and everyone would drag her over to the sandbox and say, "Faint again, Betsy!"

EVERYONE joined chorus that year. It was marvelous. ["Marvelous"?? What are you, Joan Crawford??] Chorus was always the highpoint of my week. It was so fun skimming down the hall to the Caf to sing for an hour. And we sang all "Oliver" songs which was great. Betsy, J. and I loved it so much we squealed whenever Mrs. Shay announced the song. And when she announced that the play that year was to be Oliver, I remember leaping out of my seat, arms in the air. We were all SO excited. And we auditioned. Betsy almost knew she was going to be Nancy because she heard Mrs. Shay say so, and I wanted so passionately to be the Artful Dodger that I convinced myself I was perfect for the role, and J. didn't know who she wanted to be.

Then, the day came. We all raced (literally) down the hall and slid into our seats. I remember my heart pounding as I sank low in my seat, suddenly boweled over [I think you mean "bowled over" Sheila. You weren't toppled by a bunch of hurtling bowel movements.] by the fact that I might not get it. I almost burst into tears right then. [And that feeling persists to this day. I have never ever grown out of that kind of passionate WANTING thing that happens] I closed my eyes the whole time she was reading the cast list. Then she said, "Sheila O'Malley ... Artful Dodger" and I screamed and clapped my hand over my mouth. "Betsy ... Nancy ... and J. - Fagin!" I whirled around to gape at J. and J.'s eyes bugged out and she seemed like a rag doll because she slumped in her seat. It was perfect! Three best friends with three leading roles! When we were dismissed row by row, Betsy was out first, then me. Then J. came hurtling out of the room, arms open wide. We all screamed (I mean, really) and threw our arms around each other to dance and cavort around in a circle. What a day.

I could relate to you every single Oliver rehearsal, they are so clear. We got away with murder, but those rehearsals were so much fun. I went through school in a trance of happiness. And it was great, up there performing with all your friends. Of course, we weren't in all the scenes. What did we do, when left alone? Oh, God. The school was always empty and dark. So we explored to our heart's content. Mostly J. and I because Betsy didn't come in until much later scenes and the scenes were split at a certain point. Mrs. Shay did not keep tabs on us at all. We zoomed around. This is not in chronological order. This play happened in June. Anyway, it was positively boiling. I could feel the sweat drip down my back and my chin had sweat dripping off it. It was unbearable. So three of us - me, J. and Jennifer snuck into the kitchen and snooped for so long! We pushed this button and all of a sudden, out of this thing - water was spraying full blast. Such a commotion followed to turn it off. Whenever J. walked by, she'd switch it on and say in this Steve Martin-eyebrows-raised voice, "Hey - wanna take a shower?" We peeked in the refrigerator and lo and behold there was a bucket full of huge chunks of ice. Freezing refreshing ice! We all stared at each other and fearlessly took huge bits. Mmmm, it was good. We took it back into the shadowy caf where rehearsal was going on, and it immediately melted. We snuck into the Nurse's office and gave each other wild rides up and down the school halls in wheelchairs. [I am howling with laughter.] I remember standing up on stage singing and I glanced out the cafeteria door and saw J. zoom by in a wheelchair, legs up, arms out, head back, hair flying. Poor me! I tried so hard to keep from laughing.

J. and I would sneak around backstage. And we discovered this door and we opened it to peer in. Apparently, it was where the janitor unwound. It was a miniscule little place with one armchair, and shelves of magazines. We dashed for them, hoping to find some dirty ones. We squeezed with GREAT difficulty into the chair with a pile of magazines on our laps that we started to go through. We had the BEST time, even though there were no dirty magazines.

And one time, J. was rehearsing one of her songs. She was onstage alone, pacing up and down. And Steve W. (Bill Sikes) was backstage shooting spitballs at her. Now I WISH that I had been in the audience to see this. J., so involved in her song, glanced backstage, saw a spitball flying at her, screamed and "hit the deck". Poor Mrs. Shay. Watching this scene when suddenly her actress throws herself on the floor. Betsy and I were falling all over with laughter backstage.

The performances themselves are too vivid to go into detail with now, because it is past midnight. And one day J. and I didn't have anything to do, and neither did Natasha, so we sat down on some mats and Natasha started telling us about periods. She already had hers, so she was our worldly informer. ["worldly informer" - hahahahahaha] And Natasha kept going, "Well, they have this cardboard applicator that sticks into you" and J. and me were gaping at her and holding our stomachs. I felt so disgusted! So after that J. and I snuck away and ran down to the bathroom where we vowed to tell the other when "it" happened. It was so dumb. The vow went something like this, "We vow to tell each other when 'bleep' (that's what we called it) happens and what it is like. Signing off from CBS News, this is J. and Sheila." We were so dumb!!

The play was finally put on. It was good, but it had pages of fiascoes. First of all, the curtain broke, so two people had to hide behind it and pull it closed. It was really ruining the dramatic ending, because the curtain closed really jerkily and you could see two pairs of feet underneath it, and when it was closed, this finger was sticking out, holding it together. A repercussion of the broken curtain was that this rope dangled down in the center of the stage from somewhere up in the flies. We just had to work around it, but it looked bizarre. Well, of course, something had to happen. Sally G. played a messenger and she ran on stage, faced 'Oliver' and 'Mr Brownlow', said her line, and ran off. Sally decided to take matters into her own hands, and casually grabbed the rope and took it off with her. She made it seem like a totally normal thing for her to be doing. But, alas, alas, when she got offstage it swung out of her hands, flew back onstage, and knocked poor Oliver Twist right in the eye.

And, when Mr Bumble was meandering through the audience singing his long sad song, we were all backstage, trying to move off the orphanage scene quietly. Well, someone tried to carry off this huge stack of bowls and of course they fell. The noise was earth-shattering with bowls rolling and bumping. They weren't breakable, but the whole audience laughed.

Oh, and another thing about rehearsals, there was this really sad ending, and I desperately wanted to be onstage for it. But the ending only involved J. walking sadly off, leaving Bill and Nancy dead behind her. Well, I was pretty headstrong, and I, during rehearsals, stayed onstage anyway, and it was all dark and blue and gloomy with a street lamp, and J. hissed to me, "Mrs. Shay doesn't want you here!" [I am SHAKING with laughter. Sheila: GET OFF THE STAGE. YOU ARE NOT IN THE SCENE.] And since she was wearing a hooded sweatshirt, I said, "I'll hide in your hood." Well, that sent us off into hysterics. We both had this vision of J. (Fagin) slowly trudging offstage with me bouncing along in her hood.

But back to the performances - I did have a pretty good costume. A battered jacket with tails, suede shoes, old tweed pants, and about a million vests and a tie. Anyway, during one of my numbers, I had to do a cartwheel. [I love the following anecdote. I love how I was being SO unprofessional - and Betsy called me on it - ONSTAGE. Now that's a friend!!] I had some problems in this area. The first performance I toppled off the stage and into the chorus. Mass pandemonium. And the second one - I had to stroll onstage counting some money [TWO TOIMES TWO equaows FOW-AH ...] and like a dumbie, I unthinkingly put the coins in my pocket. So when the time came for my cartwheel, I suddenly realized what would happen if I turned over so as we all were dancing, I took the coins out and, still singing, I shoved my hand out behind me towards Jen Q., another of my best friends, for her to take them. She didn't understand, and I was so mean. I glared ferociously at her and she looked terrified because she didn't know what I wanted. As I soft-shoed with Betsy, I sulked as I sang. And Betsy hissed, "What the hell is wrong with you?" But just then, my cartwheel came, and I plunged in. Well, the money flew out all over the stage with a shattering noise. I was almost crying, but I kept going. Jen, the dear, immediaetly ad-libbed and pounced on the coins, as though she really was a greedy little thief. [GOOD for Jen!!! Bravo!]

Being in that play was the crowning glory of my 'career' in elementary school. It made me famous. When I go back to visit, all the little kids know who I am.

Mrs. Dickison was the most popular teacher - she was funny and clever and she put on a Christmas play every year, and she was the leader of the annual gong show that I told you about.

That year I had so much trouble with math. I would slip out of class and sit in the hall crying.

That year I also fell in love passionately - so passionately that it has stuck all the years since. I still have a mild crush. It was on Andrew and it was incredibly severe. He was a long-term neighborhood buddy, and all of a sudden I was madly in love with him. I always think of him as my very first love. It was a glorious year for being in love. [hahahahaha I was 11.] I looked forward to every day and it was terrific because we became friends and he knew I liked him, but that didn't stop him from being so nice to me. I was in heaven! A new girl came to school that year - Michele L. - and she was short and pretty and nice but I had my suspicions about her and Andrew. Nothing was really happening but if Andrew (he was really smart) went over to help Michele with her math or something, Mrs. Dickison would call over to them, "Hey, you two! Can you continue your love affair some other time" and the whole class would laugh. And I would be thinking, "Oh, why can't I be Michele?"

But Andrew and I became really close. During the Christmas play, I won the part of Grace, a young orphan [An orphan! My TRUE first love!!] and he got Dicky, my brother. [Dicky? WTF??] I had the best time at reherasals. There was one scene where I had to strut on stage decked out in a coat and hat and I had to prance around yelling "PARADE! PARADE!" and Andrew had to jump up and pick up my train and cavort around with me. I loved that scene so much and I had so much FUN!

And there was one scene where I had to kiss Keith M. - just a little peck on the cheek, but I dreaded it worse than the plague. I did it, and all the little kids in the audience whistled, but I survived. [Yeah, sounds like a real ordeal there ...] Rehearsals were fun though. The whole class would file down into the Multi-purpose room and Mrs. Dickison would be so busy with directing, that the rest of us would sprawl on the gymnastics mats and talk. And I remember that once we were painting scenery and the rest of the class had gone to get paint or something, so Keith and I were left alone in the Auditorium, drawing some backdrops. And I remember that I had loved my appearance that morning. I was wearing a yellow collar shirt and jeans. I didn't realize that my shirt was rather see-through and I was wearing one of those undershirts with the straps, so I guess it looked like a bra. Now, I had nothing up there then. In fact, Andrew often warmly referred to them as mosquito bites. [My language is killing me here. "warmly referred to them as ...."] You see, every other girl in sixth grade had started to develop, but not me. And Andrew would walk by, calling, "Hey, you better put some band-aids on those mosquito bites!" [Ah, young love!] Anyway, Keith said to me that day in the auditorium - and we were totally alone - "So. Are you wearing a bra, Sheila?" Horrified, I stood up and stalked out of the room, embarrassed and mad. Keith was yelling after me, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! It just looks like that's a bra!" [This is hilarious. I am so sending this post to Keith today. Little 11 year old flirting!!]

I remember that after Oliver, I came back to class and I sat down and Andrew, with his little lopsided grin, asked me, 'What was your name in that play again?" and I, heart pounding, said, "Artful Dodger" and he went, "No, the other one," and I said, "Oh. Jack Dawkins." And then he laughed. I loved how he laughed. For the rest of the year, he called me "Jackie."

The winter was great, with a lot of snow, and a swamp in the woods froze over, so every day after school I'd go home, get my skates, and tramp down there with the rest of the neighborhood friends. Every single day I'd skate from 3:30 to 5:30 or so. We had so much fun. Katy and Jen. Q. - my best friends since I was five - would be there. We all lived on the same street and were called "The Three Muskateers". Non-stop movement for two hours, and then we'd go back to the Quinn's for something warm to eat or drink. Andrew would be there and he is such a great skater. Even now, at the roller rink, he is very light and easy as he goes backwards, and turns. [Andrew was a great athlete, in general]

It got to be a tradition that we would play Chase and the boys would steal the girls' hats and we'd have to try and get them back. Andrew ALWAYS stole MY hat, nobody else's - and no matter how hard I tried I could not get it back. I would zoom after him and suddenly, in a flash, he would twirl around and be skating off the other way. The swamp was a gorgeous place to skate. The little streams through the woods had also frozen, so we could skate along the ice through the fairy-land snowy forest. There was a thin tree rising out of the ice, and we would grab onto it and twirl around it. And there was one triumphant day when I got Andrew's hat. I reached out my arm as he twirled around the tree, and snatched his black and yellow Bruin's hat. I was ecstatic!! I tore off, clutching it to me, but he was right behind me. He was much faster, so he passed me, and twirled around so he was facing me. Then he stopped abruptly, and I smashed into him, and both of us teetered and fell, all tangled up. I was holding the hat under me, so he was tugging at my arms and sitting on me. I started to get cold and so I wriggled away from him and zoomed off. I raced through the ice path, tore around the corner and there was this enormous crowd of boys waiting for me. They pounced on me. I swear, I was on the bottom of this pile of boys. I was laughing so hard. Of course, they got the hat. All of it was good-natured, except one jerk kept kicking me in the arm with his skate. [Yup. There's always one douchebag who ruins any good-natured fun.] It hurt, that sharp blade. After laughing, I started to cry - because that jerk was kicking me and I couldn't get away - I was yelling, "GET OFF ME!" Andrew, my hero, pulled me out from under the crowd - and I skated off to the side. I pulled up my jacket to look at my arm and it was all cut up and purple. I was fuming, because I had been having fun. So the next time the jerk skated by me, I put out my foot and tripped him - watched him topple into the weeds, and laughed out loud and pointed at him. My day improved after that.

Diary Friday

Here's an excerpt from my travel journal, of our time in Ireland as a family. I am 13 years old. I find this first excerpt hysterical. I am in IRELAND, and here is what I choose to write about. Look at how I launch right in to my main concerns. I am in a foreign land for the first time, and I obviously have my priorities straight.

WESTPORT, IRELAND

These are some of the fashions here: tight jeans and black and gold leather pumps, grey pinstriped blazers, tube tops, jackets that go below the hips, mini-skirts (black velvet), dotted white tights, red velvet crushed boots, Adidas sneakers, tight-tight-tight spray-painted-on jeans are EVERYWHERE. No one has baggies. [Ed: I am assuming that I am talking about baggie jeans here, which were all the rage in the States at this time.] They also love bobby socks here, especially with mini skirts. [Oh my God - do you remember that look??] No one has top siders or loafers. [That whole preppy thing was OUT OF CONTROL at my school. I never got into it, so I am sure the lack of top siders on the Emerald Isle was quite a relief.] The girls wear maroon, silver, yellow leather pumps. They seem to be very influenced by the English [Ed: Uhm... what, Sheila? You're 13. What are you talking about??]. All that punk stuff started in England, and it seems to be very big here too. Tight jeans are the thing to wear here. White sneakers (yippee) are also popular. Minidresses too, like I've seen in Seventeen. All the girls wear kilts, bobby socks, and black leather Mary Janes shined like a mirror.

[Ed: You may wonder why I shrieked "yippee" about white sneakers. Here is the RIDICULOUS reason, from another journal entry at this time. And yes, Blackie Parrish is involved.]

ACHILL ISLAND, IRELAND

The towns over here are not towns. [Now now Sheila, they are to the Irish. Just because they seem different to YOU!] Just villages on hills, with like one store and a butcher. The people seem really nice, though. Two boys on bikes literally led us to our B&B. This B&B is called Connaught House. CONNAUGHT, MUNSTER, LEINSTER, ULSTER, MEATH. [Ed: Ahem. We were made to memorize these place-names as tots in order to get our allowances.]

My room has a wonderful view of fields, little houses, and then the ocean. There are lots of peat bogs here, and we might be able to cut some peat!!!!!!! [Wow. How's it goin' there, geek?] Soon we're going downtown to look around. But I don't feel like it because I am SO COLD!!!!! IT'S FREEZING!!!!!

Later:

The walk was ok. It certainly warmed me up. We saw a field of sheep and the babies were the cutest things I have ever seen. All white, with black heads. Siobhan "baaahed" at them all. [Siobhan was 4. The image of her, in Ireland, is a favorite family memory.]

We might go to church tonight but I don't want to because everyone here dresses up SO much for church and all I have is this plaid skirt that looks like it comes from the 50s. [Beth? I bet you will remember that skirt.] And all the girls wear Mary Janes and I only have my saddle shoes. [Saddle shoes? What are you, Lucy Van Pelt?]

I wonder how Mere and Betsy and Beth and Kate are. OH I MISS THEM SO MUCH!!!!!

Just thinking about living on this island makes me sick. [My God, Sheila!! Up till now you've seemed enthusiastic! Why the change?.] No t.v., one school, not knowing about fashions. [This from a girl wearing saddle shoes in the early 1980s. I am so sorry, lovely people of Achill Island, for my judgment.] All they have here is Irish knit sweaters and skirts. I mean, clothes aren't everything but I want to know something about what is in and what isn't. [This is awful. I considered not posting that last paragraph, due to my mortification]

Our house has the most WONDERFUL living room [I sound schizophrenic. Achill Island BAD, oh wait a minute Achill Island GOOD] with a fire, the softest fur rug in front of it and a HUGE tv. [Hm. I seem to recall you mentioning in the paragraph above this one that the people on the island didn't HAVE tv. Hmmm.] We watched "David Copperfield" all afternoon, and now we are going for a drive up a mountain. This is a very mountainous island.

The old couple who own the B&B are so nice. The old man is so funny, so nice. He said to my father that he looked like Kojak from behind. He has been to America and he said that the sand in Florida was so hot that you could "fry a rasher on it". He also asked us if Rhode Island was very close to Houston!!

[For some reason, the first line of this next entry made me laugh OUT LOUD when I was reading it this morning.]

ACHILL ISLAND, THURSDAY

Last night we watched "Father Damien - the Leper Priest" on TV with Ken Howard. [HAHAHA What???? However - member Ken Howard? The white shadow? Loved him.] He is SO good. I had already seen the movie before though. [That's the kicker. I had seen FATHER DAMIEN - THE LEPER PRIEST twice???]

Today we are going to visit a man's peat bog, and then we are going to look up some old crosses, etc.

I washed my hair this morning, and washed my face, and rubbed in face cream and put on mascara. [Extremely important to list my morning skin ritual, apparently.]

I am getting really sick of the same old breakfast every day. But Dad says that there is this coffee shop in Dublin called Bewley's or something where they sell delicious donuts and jelly pastries, etc. [Sniff, sniff. Bewley's ... one of my favorite pitstops ... now no more ...] My mouth is watering already!

Tomorrow we're going to church.

I should have brought my curling iron.

Diary Friday

Here's a Diary Friday I posted way back in 2003 - but I am posting it again.

It's chock-full of stories about friends - and family ... it's like my whole life entire is encapsulated in these ridiculous entries.

I am 16 years old here. I am finishing up my junior year. I have finals. I am haggard and worn out. Summer comes. I go on my first date. I don't know - it's just a week of entries - but it's a goldmine. We all still remember Betsy running into the waves fully clothed.

June 13

I took the Math test. I was shaking with fear even though I really did study (I had brought my math notebook home, luckily). Kate had told me that the test was a positive nightmare. So I went in there and took it but I didn't find it horrendous. I didn't get a few problems, but I knew more than I didn't know. But still - today Kate told me she got a 55. KATE!! I don't think she's failed a test in her life.

So I was dreading Math. I've been on such a downer, starting yesterday - what a cavern I'm in - and to fail a Math test! I may never recover emotionally! [I was dead serious.] We only had 2 tests other than that one this quarter. On one I got an 80, on the other I got a 69. My average was a 74 or something. A 55 would really boost my average. [hahahahahahahaha] When I found out the highest grade in the class was an 85, I prepared myself. BUT! I got an 80! AND I got a C for the quarter!! [This was good news for me, not bad. I worked my ass off for that C.)

Today has been so hot and sticky. I stayed after school with J. so we could clear out our locker (an impossible huge gross task). You should have seen it. It was all my junk too. A winter coat, sneakers, sweats, pants, a sweater, a turtleneck, 3 pairs of mittens, 1 pair of gloves - all in a bag which was totally useless and ripped down the side. I also had my silver shamrock wand from when we did "Cinderella" in Drama.

J. and I were both really tired and hot and sweaty, so together we lugged the stupid bag (which I called "mental" and J. went off into gales of laughter) down to the library. It was so hot on the 3rd floor and we were laughing so hard. We went into the library to find a box but there weren't any. We saw some in the janitor's room, and were going to steal one, but there were newspapers in all of them.

Then we went into the back room in the library and saw a cardboard box full of books. No one was around so we dumped the books out, and ran out with the box. I honestly thought I was going to wet my pants I was laughing so hard. We both were. Since we aren't allowed to take out books anymore (end of school and all), J. snuck 3 books out without signing them out. (Ah yes, to be in that kind of mood).

My box was so heavy. J. held one side, I held the other. We looked so ridiculous. The minute we picked the box up, I said, solemnly, "There seems to be a silver shamrock in this box" ... and J. started laughing - when J. laughs she makes me laugh - we both got so weak from laughing, we lost our grips and the box fell. We finally thought we got it under control, so picked up the box again, took 2 steps, and then fell down roaring with laughter again.

It was a fun day. We spent all of gym looking through the yearbook and planning what we were going to write for our senior blurbs next year.

We have one day of classes left. Then finals. Then SUMMER.

I deserve it. Oh boy, do I deserve a very long break, full of independence. I am now hooked on "Guiding Light". No more boring "General Hospital". So all summer I will watch it!

I can't wait til finals are done. I am exhausted. I am really worn out and ugly.

June 16

I went to school, took my History final. 100 multiple choice questions. It was a joke. I see the entire world as a multiple-choice question now. My eyes are spinning about in my head. Butler's gonna scale the tests though. I did study hard. I HAVE TO DO WELL. I got an A this quarter though!! So that final - it wasn't hard - but it was the first final, so I was really tired after it.

Mrs. Franco assigned us a paper for Thursday. I cannot believe she did that. Mine was a 9-page masterpiece though. I'm very proud of it. I wrote it on Hemingway. Farewell to Arms.

All of Thursday was exhausting, nerve-wracking review. I started despairing. I was drowning, overwhelmed. Then - oh, I don't know how late or how early I stayed up Thursday night - just studying and studying and studying. For the History final. I mean - how long could I study? An entire year of US History in one test? How detailed could it be?? Well, it was detailed, and it was very dumb.

After my History final, I came home, and had the most wonderful time relaxing, with records. No one else was home, so I played the piano, and sang.

Mum came home. I am always in a foul mood after finals, so she came home today, and I think this was the first time she ever told me to go watch my soap opera. "Sheila, just go watch your soap opera, please."

Ha!

Today was a beautiful day - even a little chilly. Brilliantly clear and sunny. Lush green, yellow sun, blue blue sky. Kate called me and we decided to "do something".

I just wasn't in the mood for studying tonight. I have all night, and all day tomorrow.

So Kate invited me and Beth out, and the 3 of us went down to Narragansett Beach for a walk.

It was about 6 pm I guess. Just at sunset. We all rolled up our jeans, and took a long long walk. The sky was indescribable. I felt God there. So much.

The sky changed every time we looked up at it. I think it was the most spectacular sky I have ever seen. Where the sun went down, it was like an explosion. It was gold and shimmering - huge clouds billowing out - all red and orange - and all around the sunset were big thick bright clouds, and stretching off around that, the clouds got wispier and stretched out really long, so they looked like they were zooming off into the distance - all in a blur. The sky was exploding.

So the 3 of us sat down to watch the sky. As though it were a movie.

The waves were lapping. Whenever the waves receded, it was perfectly silent.

Then 3 solitary seagulls - teeny black Vs - flew across the gold sky.

It was weird. It was like the gulls were a mirror of the 3 of us, sitting on the sand. We were them, they were us.

That was when I felt God the most.

It was weird, but later, the 3 of us talked about it - and Beth and Kate had noticed the 3 black seagulls too.

The sky out over the water got darker and darker blue - sort of muted, and deep - a twilight-dusk-blue - and the water was darkly deeply blue. For a while, the sky stretching out over the ocean was glowing with this soft subtle rose-lavendar color - and the waves that lapped (it was a gentle night surf) were all shimmering with this pinky-purple from the sky. Then, again, there were those "rushing" pink clouds -almost reaching for the sunset. It was so peaceful.

The walk we took was really long. By the time we headed back, it started to get dark, so the sky had calmed the hell down. But we could look across the water to the town, all glimmering with lights.

I had this wish that someone was beside me, a boy, holding my hand. And we could sit and watch the sunset.

The beach was sparsely populated - but most were couples. One couple in rolled-up jeans, barefeet, were wading along through the water holding hands. There was one couple huddled together in a lifeguard's chair.

That sky was so bursting with beauty that I could not believe it. It was OVERFLOWING with God.

Then we all went to Newport Creamery for ice cream.

Kate kept saying, "I really feel 17 right now."

We got back into the car, put the radio on, and it was 50s night - so as we drove along, we were laughing at how much it felt like we were in "American Grafitti" or something - cruisin' along, Saturday night, Wolfman Jack, rock 'n roll, just being teenagers.

And now? I am in the right frame of mind to study for the entire day tomorrow.

11:30 pm

I have never studied so long in my whole entire life. All day. I have Chemistry and French tomorrow.

But I am not dreading them anymore. Hey. I have studied massively. I will go in there, and I will do my best. It is only 2 hours out of my whole life. I will survive. Life will go on, whatever happens.

Dad and I had so much fun tonight. I recited practically the entire Chemistry book to him - just for practice - it felt good to rattle it all off, but Dad was so funny - I mean, he didn't even know if what I was saying was right or not, and he so didn't care!

I'd say, "So. Dad. You want to hear about Molality, Dad?"

And he'd say, eyes in his book, "No, not particularly, Sheila."

But I would rattle off the definition at him anyway.

I told him all the rules, all the formulas, and he would just sit there, behind his book the whole time. I'd babble on about protons and neutrons and he would just look at me with this totally bland deadpan face.

He'd say, "You know what Avagadro's number is????Why?"

Dad, I honestly do not have an answer for that. But I do know what Avagadro's number is, and quite frankly, I wish I didn't.

Wednesday is the Drama final, which is just going to be fun. We each have to sing a "character song" and a "love song". Then the entire class has to put on a production number. It is so incredibly fun. For "character" I'm singing "I'm Always Chasing Rainbows", I think it's a vaudeville song that Judy Garland sang a lot - when her name was Frances Gumm - [Look at me, filling in my own diary on Judy Garland's early career.] and then for my "long song" I'm singing "This Can't Be Love" from The Boys from Syracuse. For the "production number" the whole class is gonna do "Summer Lovin'" from Grease. We're all gonna dress up 50s, and bop around being total stereotypes. Kris, Betsy, Joe, Beth, Kate -it's gonna be great.

June 18

It is not a pleasant feeling to look in the mirror and see an old woman. [I am 16 years old at the point of writing this sentence.]

June 19

I cannot even explain to you what the past few days have been like for me. I don't want to see my report card. EVERY final has been SO HARD. Chemistry! It's NOT that I didn't study - I DID I DID! I have gotten about 6 hours of sleep since Sunday. But all my finals have been SO HARD. Chemistry wasn't even that. It was just impossible, it was outrageous, and it was TOTALLY unfair. I am so glad I am out of there. I hate Mr. A. I hate hate hate him. I don't think even HE cares about Avagadro's number. I think he's just happy to have a paycheck. He always wanted to trick us. He would purposefully make the language of the quiz questions confusing - and then not care when everybody got confused, he wanted us to be baffled. He was a tricky teacher, and I don't like being tricked. Good riddance to protons, neutrons, and stupid Avagadro.

June 20

Oh Diary! summer is here! I survived my finals! Not without blemishes. ["Blemishes", Sheila? That's a bad image.] The finals this year - every single one (except English, which I got a 99 on) was SO HARD. I got a C for the year in Math and Chemistry. I do not understand this. I worked harder this year than any other year.

But today - officially - truly - I am a senior. A senior.

We aren't underclassmen anymore. There's a whole new mentality with being a senior.

One more year.

After school got out today (oh yeah - the Drama final was so fun! Mrs. McNeil gave out what she called "Drammy Awards" Kate and I tied for "best love song" - we couldn't believe it!! And, of course, the whole class got one for "Best Production Number" -since, basically, we had no competition.) [hahahahahahahahaha] Anyway, after school got out, Kate and I, again, wanted to "do something". She had her car. So we called J. from school (she had just had her Chemistry exam and was suicidal), so we went to pick her up. I was still in a school frame of mine - it still hasn't sunk in -SUMMER - wonderful summer! After this year of hell, it is like an outpouring of relief, a huge catharsis.

We drove to Kate's house and we had such a great time. We made scrambled eggs and toast (it was only 11 am) and we ate outside on the porch with an umbrella table. The sun was warm and bright, everything was glowing, and we all just basked in this new feeling: 2 and a half months of NO SCHOOL. And also - now we only have one more year. It gives us a very strange feeling of peace. I have not been at peace one day this year. I DO NOT EXAGGERATE. [Sheila, who are you yelling at? You're just writing in your diary. Nobody said you were exaggerating. Also: you ARE exaggerating. It's okay. ] I can't remember ONE DAY this year when I didn't feel all rumpled up, or scared about school - and now it's summer, and I can just take a long 2 and a half month deep breath.

After lunch, we went inside and talked until 3:30. From 12 to 1, we talked about finals. From 1 to 3:30 we talked about boys.

We reminisced. We talked about all the good times we had with all 3 of those boys.

I'm not sorry. I mean, there were times this year when I felt so good, perfectly good through and through. I have never felt so great. I remember it all. How happy I was. And I am glad for that. [I talk as though I am an old old woman, looking back over my long long life.] I am still so MAD that it didn't happen between us. I still don't know why. He did care. I know he did. [No, he didn't.]

But still -we had a great time, talking about the whole year, with those 3 guys. J. and I laughed about how we had actually planned out, in our minds, our double dates. Which, of course, never occurred. We talked over everything that had happened to everyone. J. being asked to dance and how unbelievably exciting that was, DW asking me if I hated him and then J. flying out the door, trying to make herself invisible (I love that girl!!), we talked about Project Adventure (we devoted a good half-hour to that), we talked about all the dances - we talked about the whole fun and nightmarish year.

J. and Kate were telling me about when they found out that I wasn't gonna go to the prom cause he said no. I had called Kate IMMEDIATELY, and then called J. where she was babysitting. J. told me, "When you called me, I thought right away that he had said Yes, because you were out of breath -I thought you were excited - and when you told me, it was like - oh my GOD - this huge CALAMITY!" Kate said, "I know! I know! I just wandered around saying to myself, 'He said no. He said no', trying to make myself believe it, but I couldn't believe it!"

This is true for me too: when one of my friends is down, or has a calamity, I feel it with them.

And - big news: J. overheard that Nick and Eric were going to "Ghostbusters" tonight down at the Pier Cinema - so we decided to go and stalk them. And then be like: "Wow! You're here at "Ghostbusters" too?? What an unbelievable coincidence!!" Hee hee.

Today is the FIRST DAY OF SUMMER. I am young, I am healthy, and I am a SENIOR. But still - I don't want my report card. My total grades aren't bad, but my finals are awful. Okay - my grades for the year - I'm guessing:

History: B (probably ? I got an A in 4th quarter)
Chemistry: C
French: B ????
Math: C (God willing)
English: A
Drama: A

This is what I hope and pray. Well, what can I do now. It's over.

So after the time at Kate's, I went home, I got into jeans, and had a wonderful time just being a vegetable. I watched "Guiding Light". I listened to records. I sighed a lot. I feel like I still have to keep studying. I can't really realize it's summer yet.

Then, at about 6:30, I got ready to go out and stalk those boys at "Ghostbusters". [hahahahahaha] I had on my dad's Oxford shirt (everyone wears their dad's clothes now. It is the latest thing), jeans, metallic red socks, and my white plastic sunglasses.

Betsy and Mere came too. We got there late, so the lights were already off, and we had to fumble around for seats. We actually had to split up. J. and I sat together. The other 3 sat in 2 rows behind us.

That movie - was absolutely hysterical.

J. and I were losing it. We were laughing SO LOUD and SO HARD. There was a couple beside us who were so embarrassing. I mean, they may as well have had all of their clothes off. J. and I silently judged them harshly. But still - that damn Marshmellow Man as tall as a building ... J. and I were out of control. Especially that moment where they all see the Stay-Puf Marshmallow Man appear for the first time, barreling down the boulevard - and they all slowly look at Dan Akroyd - who says, ashamed, "I couldn't help it ... I tried to keep my mind clear ... but that was the first thing that popped into my head..." J. and I LOST IT.

After the movie, the sun had just set and the sky was glowing, so we all decided to go for another walk on the beach. Nick was there, Eric wasn't ... a whole crowd of kids from the sophomore (now junior) class was there, at the movie. We all went down to the beach and took off our shoes.

The sky was a soft pink and blue - gorgeous - it was getting dim ... twilight ... As we all ran down onto the sand, it really hit me, for the first time for real, that it is SUMMER. And I don't have to study anything for over 2 months. It was exhilarating.

We all started dancing madly down at the shore - I was tap-dancing in the waves - we all went absolutely crazy - dancing, running, singing, screaming - We shouted to each other, "1! 2! 3!" - and would take long runs, and all kick our heels in the air at the same time. Mere could do two heel-kicks to everybody else's one.

After being a total tired ugly zombie for a week, or a month, (or, actually, the whole year) I felt so invigorated. Not pretty, though. I really look pretty awful right now. I have bags under my eyes. I look very old and tired. [16 years old. Yup..

But still! I felt so alive, dancing on that dusky beach. It was a clear night, too, so all the stars were coming out. We walked in the waves. The surf was huge and crashing.

I felt so great - so free - like a senior in high school should.

The whole sophomore crowd had joined us. We all walked. Starry summer sky.

And then - suddenly - out of nowhere - Betsy ran into the water, with her clothes on, and dove in.

We all were screeching at the top of our lungs, watching her diving through the waves, fully clothed. She was totally soaked! And laughing her head off! We all were!

As we walked back, Betsy, Mere and I walked together, and Kate and J. were far behind.

It really was dark by that time, the sky was full of stars and it looked massive - huge - eternal. I felt like I was spinning and dizzy when I stared up at it.

It was just really nice, wading along on the beach, finals over, school over, in my dad's big comfy shirt, cold water, gorgeous sky, feeling good inside, with my friends.

June 23

Oh LORD! T just asked me out to a movie! I'm going on a date with him!!

I'm not making it a huge romantic thing, but STILL. He called me up. He asked me.

My mom answered - it was for me, so she came to get me. I picked up the phone, and he went, "Hey, Sheila Junior! I almost just asked your mom for a date!"

That made me laugh.

We're going to see "Top Secret". Please God, don't let it be obscene. Don't let there be any naked love scenes, because I think I would die of embarrassment.

He said on the phone, "I know this is really junior high-ish and everything, but ..."

I loved that. His humor about himself asking me out on a date.

I called J. the second I hung up with him, and said, "T just called me and asked me out to the movies." She screamed, "Oh, I can't wait to go write it down in my diary!"

Read other Diary Fridays here...

Diary Friday

This is a re-post. I thought, in honor of all the Joyce posts recently, I thought I'd go back and find a Diary Friday entry that had to do with Dublin. Sadly, it's a mortifying experience to read as well as re-live. I am 14 years old here. We have been in Ireland for forever at this point. I did my schoolwork in various B&B rooms throughout the countryside. I was at the height of horrid adolescence- I find these terrible, TERRIBLE I tell you! We had flown into the Shannon airport - and spent the majority of time on the west of Ireland. So to arrive in a city just thrilled me no end. I was such a snob.

IRELAND

We started off for Dublin and I am SO excited!!! I CAN'T WAIT!!!!! YIPPEE!!! [Ed: I do not believe there is a font large enough to imitate what that looks like in my journal. Continue.] The drive was long but FINALLY WE CAME INTO THE CITY!!!! [See previous note.] Oh, I love the city! It was exactly like New York but with no skyscrapers. The traffic was terrible, but it gave us plenty of time to look around. People - kids - everyone was out - trillions of college kids. [I believe my rapture here is due to the fact that we had spent so much time out in the Wild West, and I had so had it with seeing Abbeys and monasteries. I'm guessing here, but I think that's what's going on here.]

Dad pointed out Trinity College and St. Stephen's Green. We finally found a place to park, we paid the parking meter, and walked off for St. Stephen's. Mum said it was gorgeous. We walked down the sidewalk looking at everything.

I saw the most incredible punk couple [Ha. I was ALL ABOUT being "punk" - only it was such a watered-down American version as to have absolutely nothing to do with the "real thing". So I felt like, whenever I saw kids with mohawks and safety pins and stuff - IN IRELAND - I was confronted with the genesis of the movement.] She had safety pins through her hand, earrings in her nose, and a bleached mohawk.

When we went through the iron gates into the green, it was -- oh, it was so so beautiful. All shady with all the college kids lying around sleeping, and we came to a stream with mallards and Siobhan immediately sat down to watch. There was a gazebo beside the stream (not as nice as the one in Adare BY FAR.) [Ha ha. Listen to me. Judging the gazebos.] I passed around it, trying to find an opening in the wooden fence so I could get in, and I tripped on a MICROSCOPIC iron stake and fell on my face. [Damn, I hate those microscopic iron stakes.] A whole group of jerky girls started to roar with laughter but some college guy helped me up. OH, I was so so so embarrassed! [Ehm, I'm embarrassed right now, reading about my own embarrassment.] I still blush thinking about it. How dorky I must have looked. It's awful.

We walked along the stream and we came into another part of the park - a sunny stretch of grass with a big fountain and flower gardens. I wish I was a poet so I could put it into words! [And then I proceed to put it into words anyway.] Rows of yellow tulips with small violet flowers in front. Red and orange tulips arranged with velvety maroon flowers weaving in and out. They were just incredible. I have never seen so many perfect gorgeous flowers in my life. Some yellow ones, pink tulips - I could have looked at them all day.

We sat by the fountain. Siobhan wanted to take a swim.

We got up again and walked on the winding path past three roaring crying ladies and then went down a lane with trees overarching us and college kids lying on blankets with books. [I am shaking with laughter right now. Who were the "three roaring crying ladies"?? Were they roaring with laughter, I hope? I don't think they just staggered down the path in St. Stephen's Green, roaring with sobs in public. ]

When we neared the gate leading out into the big hustle-bustle city, Siobhan didn't want to go. But she was good about it. [Oh, little Siobhan! She was four!!] When we came out we decided to find a place to have lunch. We hadn't found a B&B yet, but we were all starving. We found a coffee shop that looked relatively normal on the outside. Well, I took my tray with two raisin scones on it, and stared down the stairs. When I came to the bottom I came out into a plush, dim, orange-tinted room with one of those silver balls of light twirling around and bar stools and mirrors on all the walls and low tables and couches and strange lights flashing!!! I went, "OH MY GOD." I was in shock. I was in a bar! [My innocence touches me, weirdly.]

We slowly sat down on a maroon velvet couch by a low table with three bar stools. It was so dim in there, it was hard to see. Siobhan kept saying, "I can't see my food!" [The image of Siobhan is killing me here!!] My scones were delicious although I picked out all the raisins. [HAHAHA]

It was all rather bizarre and I was glad to get out of there.

While Mum took Jean and Siobhan to the bathroom, me, Dad and Bren crossed the street to watch a cricket game. It was really strange and they wore white dickies [HA! Dickies! ], and vests, and everything! When Mum, Jean, and Siobhan came out, we walked around for a while and passed the college and Mum told me about the Book of Kells.

When we got back to our car, we got in and went off to find a B&B. It was the most maddening search. There just didn't seem to be one single B&B in all of Dublin. I swear, we drove around for an hour and a half, and Dad went to the outskirts of Dublin and I didn't want to stay there! No city!!! [I think what I mean by "no city" is exactly the opposite. I wanted to stay IN the city. Hmm. I am sure I was a huge brat during the search. I can feel it in the prose. Sorry, Mum and Dad. ] We still couldn't find one and we were all getting extremely bored and tired.

I was getting worried because the big Eurovision song contest was on tonight at 8:00 and I didn't want to miss it although it was only like 4:30. [This is so hilarious. Jean?? "Dah after dah"? My sister Jean and I were absolutely OBSESSED with the Eurovision song contest.]

Well. Heave a sigh! [Uhm - who ya' talkin' to, Sheila?] We finally found one!! The Oslo House, a big brick B&B on a nice residential street not far from Phoenix Park. And Dad said it's not a far bus ride into Dublin at all. [To appease his bratty teenage daughter who wanted to be among the "punk" people in the city.] And the B&B seems really nice and I have my own huge double bed all to myself! What luxury!

We hung around for a while. I read so much History that I got bags under my eyes. (Slight exaggeration). [Ha. Thanks for letting us know that, you 13 year old girl.]

After a while, we decided to walk down to Phoenix Park. Mum said that it was like Central Park, in that it was huge. It was huge and it was gorgeous - at least the tiny bit I saw of it. There was a playground that Siobhan adored [Again - the image of Siobhan on this trip is killing me!], and when she finished see-sawing, we went up these stone steps (shady) lined with vines, trees, and big bushes, and we came out to a hill with a house on it, surrounded by trees. We walked past that and came out to an ENORMOUS FIELD scattered with benches and amazing flower arrangements. [Uh oh. Here we go again.] Tulips of this lemon yellow color I have never seen before and pink and orange tulips, and yellow flowers that almost shined. It was so beautiful.

The sun was just going down and Mum and Dad got into a conversation with this weird guy. I went down to look at the swans. Oh, they were gorgeous. This proud father glided around the pond, and the mother sat on her eggs on this huge nest. We pet this cute black dog, and we went down to the zoo but it wasn't opened so we came back and Mum bought me some new batteries. Isn't she wonderful? [Mum. I apologize for how many times I needed you to "get batteries" for me. I was clearly a lunatic and should have been in an institution. I was fixated on batteries. I am crying with laughter right now. I am "roaring and crying" perhaps?]

When we got home, I did some more homework and then we watched the contest and I taped it. It was terrific!

[Now here's the deal with the Eurovision Song Contest. Countries from - duh - all over Europe are represented. Music groups from all over the feckin' place compete. Some of them speak English, but most do not. Hence - most of the songs that Jean and I loved were not sung in English, and yet we got to know the sound of the lyrics anyway, and would sing along pphonetically in our gibberish-sounding made-up version of Greek, or German, or whatever. So that should explain the bizarre next paragraph.]

My favorite songs are Mona ya Guppy from Cypress and Dah after Dah from Sweden. I also liked One Step Further (England) and En Beyshen Freeden (Germany). Germany won and I was thrilled. The girl was 17 and she was so happy!!! [And so began my life-long love of awards shows of any kind. Bring 'em on. Wish I could see award shows every day.] The song means "A Little Peace" and it was really touching. She sang it again in 7 languages, and everyone clapped whenever she switched languages. Shivers ran up and down my back!

I always feel like crying whenever someone has people cheering for them. [This is why I still love awards shows. And the Olympics. I still "feel like crying whenever someone has people cheering for them".] I cried at Charles and Di's wedding when they came out on the balcony. I couldn't help it! [Sheila, you could have helped it if you tried.]

It was a terrific night and day.

Diary Friday

Christmas of my junior year in high school.

DECEMBER 24

[Beside the date, I have written a star with emanating beams coming out of it. Bethlehem, etc.]

Finally I am getting into the Christmas spirit. I've been a drip these past few days. When we decorated our tree, I just couldn't get into it. [Ah, adolescence] I haven't been "into it" until today. I feel so excited. Tomorrow is Christmas!

And Diary, I swear. It is a blizzard outside. There's more than an inch of snow! Today I went over Mere's. The minute I stepped out of the car I was pelted madly with snowballs from all sides. They all exploded in my ears. I just stood there. I must have looked pretty pitiful just standing there, face like an albino, because all of a sudden I was surrounded by Mere, Jayne and Dolores -

Oh my God it is snowing so hard! I can hardly see the trees outside and everything across the street is covered in a veil of snow. Wow!

Anyway, all of them cooing "Ooohhh!" they took me into the house where Jayne gave me her presents. One was this lavendar stationary sprinkled with little purple stars and in one corner is this golden moon with a profile - it's so pretty! lNow I don't have to write her letters to her on ugly yellow-lined paper and - Diary - are you sitting? [Can a diary sit?] - a lifesize poster of The Police. It's gorgeous! I can't wait to hang it up.

After that, we all trooped outside where we commenced what turned out to be an hour long snowball fight. Me and Jayne against Mere and Dolores. I am awful in snowball fights but it was so fun! Dolores once slipped and fell - splat - face forward into the snow. I doubt I've laughed that hard in a long time - it will be a timeless image. Then we switched partners - Me and Mere against Jayne and Dolores. It was so fun. Mere and I would huddle in conspiracy - in the end, we surrendered. Mere had been hit in the ear 3 times!

We went inside. I could not feel my toes. Mere ran around to get slippers for everyone. It was so cozy. Mrs. W. made us all chicken and star soup. I kept staring out the window. It was coming down so thickly! It was then that I started feeling Christmasy and all toasty warm inside.

See, every Christmas Eve there's a gathering on the D's lawn - all these families come, everyone sings Christmas carols - then Santa comes and hands out presents. After that, everyone goes into the D's for food. Chicken wings, pizza, crackers, dip - The Hodges are always there. Anyway, I got home - it was madly blizzarding outside. We all bundled up and went to the D's. Already it was dark, but God it was freezing. I mean, biting chilling cold with a sharp wind blowing little icy bits - Santa was late, so the whole circle was jumping up and down, chattering out carols. It was so nice - just a little group of people under the starry sky in the snow - if only it hadn't been so freezing! Finally Santa arrived, all red and white - he sat in the chair to give out gifts. He took so long [Damn that Santa!] Everyone was so cold. I felt mildly ridiculous as I walked up to get my gift. I mean, I was the oldest one there. After Katy and I got our presents, we both ran into the house. I immediately changed into my hightops. My present was one of those magic 8-balls - they were quite the fad a million years ago. I didn't know they were still manufactured! Of course, Kate and I sat around it asking it, "Does David love Sheila? Will he dance with her?" Etc. More than half the answers came out: Most definitely No.

Maybe I should ponder this over. [Yeah, I'm thinkin' you should.]

Then we came home. We always exchange the family gifts Christmas Eve - the ones the kids have bought for each other and Mum and Dad. I couldn't WAIT to see everyone open their presents. Oh yeah, I got Brendan his much desired hockey puck. He really wanted one. I love my family. I love everyone so much. I hope they can tell, even though I don't show it. [Uhm ....... Sheila? Maybe you should, uhm, show it? Just a suggestion] Mum says she can tell but I sure don't give her much to go by. And Dad. I'm getting misty-eyed now just thinking about him.

Brendan. Brendan and me have gotten so close thse past few months. I have the most hysterical brother in the world. Whatever he does now makes me laugh. Brendan gave me a little box with a painting on it that looks to me like a Renoir. Everyone knows I love little knick-knacks. And his card! Okay, last night: I honestly thought I was going to vomit I was laughing so hard. I had to run from Brendan to escape. Okay, there's this really stupid show on called Boone, about a country farm boy in the 50s who wants to be a rock singer. Really really stupid. Brendan spent about an hour making fun of it. He's like, "Everyone's so stereo-typed. The stern but righteous father. All he ever says is, 'Boone ------ go to school.' It's like, 'Oh, Dad, I'm in trouble! What do I do?' 'Go to school.'" But the funniest thing is - before a commercial break - they always say "Boone will continue in a moment" and they show a picture of Boone - he's playing his guitar - and then they freeze him as he finishes in this Elvis pose. Brendan kept imitating that pose until I thought I was going to die from laughing so hard. I went to the bathroom at one point, and when I came out Brendan was standing right there in the doorway - in the Elvis pose. My Lord, I never thought something would ever strike me that funny. And - Brendan said, "Also, why did they name him Boone? They should have named him Beaver. Leave it to Boone." When he said "Leave it to Boone", that was the breaking point for me - I ran up the stairs to my room laughing so hard I thought my lungs would burn up - and Brendan was chasing me, doing the Elvis pose on each step.

So. That's the preface. Brendan's card is a hand-drawn picture of Boone: loafers, rolled-up jeans, Argyle sweater, guitar - in the Elvis pose - and he's saying, "Leave it to me!" I am hanging it on my wall.

Siobhan gave me a little metal box with a painting of a huge mansion on it - it looks like the Brideshead Revisited house. Jean gave me a beautiful painted parrot. Siobhan is so so so cute. I gave those two some stickers - they're both in the midst of sticker mania - they have sticker collections and sticker books - I loved loved loved seeing Siobhan's cute little face light up when she opened hers. She was smiling as she spread them all out to look at each one - she said, "Thank you, Sheila!" but it wasn't in a "dutiful" way and I felt so warm and happy inside. The same when Jean opened hers.

And when Mum and Dad opened theirs!! This is the first year I've had enough money to buy them things so I was really psyched. And I was worried because Mum doesn't like me to spent money on her [which is so hysterical, considering my gift for her probably cost 10 bucks - IF THAT] but I wanted to. Mum opened hers first - she has laryngitis now and can only croak to be heard. But she started taking out the tissue and she smiled her "Mum" smile [I'm in tears right now as I type this] and croaked, "It seems to have a handle!" Then she took out her mug and her jaw just fell - her mug looked so beautiful to me. I think she was really happy. She admired it and kissed me. Dad's present was exactly the same size so he was saying, "Hmm, I wonder what it could be!" He really liked his too. He said, "You know, I really do need one!" [More tears. God bless parents.] Dad said, "It seems like we're the only family who doesn't have a nice supply of mugs." Mum croaked, "Yes, we have to do with tin baby cups and plastic Red Sox glasses." Immediately, Mum went out to pour coffee in both of them - Dad kept looking at the paintings on his mug - I think they really did like that.

Oh, I'd love to be a professional gift-giver! I love it so much!!! I like it better than getting!

I'd better go to bed now or Santa's not goign to come.

Oh yeah, wait - I was a little 'worried' (if that's the word) that Siobhan didn't believe in Santa. She's so grown-up in most other ways and I want her to believe in him as long as she can. I believed in him until I was about 10!! [Yeah, well, you're retarded.] Anyway, suddenly when we were all sitting happily with our gifts, Siobhan stood up - looking really worried and said, palms outstretched, "There are so many presents under the tree." (Ones from relatives/godparents) "How is Santa gonna fit anymore?" Oh, I wanted to run over to her and squeeze and squeeze her!

We put out milk and cookies of course and she was so eager, rushing around in her feety pajamas, arranging the plate on the mantle.

Oh, she's too cute for words! YAY!!

Thank you, God, Thank you for blessing me. I keep trying to be worthy of your love. I hope someday I can be!!

Diary Friday

This is a repeat Diary Friday. And there's an update (unbelievably) to the story. I'll post it as a note at the end of the entry.

Every so often I come across an entry that is too good not to share ... but is so embarrassing (even more so than usual) that I hesitate. HOWEVER. In an earlier Diary Friday, a discussion ensued among my group of friends about this one day that a "rock group" came and played at an assembly - it was some Don't Do Drugs assembly - and this "rock group" (gotta put the quotations there) was part of that propaganda onslaught. We all lost our minds - and then that very night, they put on a concert in our gym - a rock concert. We all went (except for Betsy, sadly). Anyway- we could not remember the name of the damn "rock group" - and Betsy finally came up with it: Freedom Jam.

My entry describing the Freedom Jam rock concert is so mortifying that even I, with my love of self-exposure, find it nearly unbearable to read. I'm in my sophomore year of high school.

But here we go.

I give to you:

FREEDOM JAM!

TUESDAY

[written across the top of this page are the words FREEDOM JAM in massive massive letters]

LORD WHAT A DAY! NO FRENCH TEST CAUSE OF AN ASSEMBLY. WAIT TILL YOU HEAR ABOUT THE ASSEMBLY! [This is like a wartime telegraph. Lord what a day Stop. No French test Stop ...]

OK, it wasn't just a normal assembly. It was a CONCERT from a rock group - Freedom Jam. [Even my language there shows that I have no idea what I'm talking about. "a concert FROM a rock group"? What?]

Oh God!

I was in study first period, and I heard them rehearsing. I mean, they were REAL ROCK. [I am so sorry. I just ... I have nothing to say ...] I ran in there and got a good seat. The whole place filled up and kids had to sit on the floor. The whole set-up was all these speakers and microphones and synthesizers and a big yellow drum set up high. Then Josh Lott came out [Josh Lott!! He was so HOT!] and everybody screamed. This boy is a senior with the most incredible face, an even more incredible body, and he wears plaid pants. He's a freak. He's not conceited though. In fact, he is a National Merit scholar. He just stood there - adorably - waiting for us to finish, and he made a speech about the band and ended by yelling, "HERE'S FREEDOM JAM!" [This is so damn hysterical. It's like U2 came to our school or something.] The whole place screeched and I felt shivers as the guys ran out and immediately began to play. It was fabulous!! Smashing drums and guitars ... and the keyboards player. Oh my Lord. I'll tell you about him later. [Oh God. Please don't.]

They were excellent. All of them were about college age. There was a black lead singer, two white guitarists, a drummer [and here I wrote a little heart. Yes. A small heart.] and a piano player [another heart, this one much bigger.] All were good-looking and they sounded like a real rock group! [Holy crap. How awful!!! Why didn't I say "band"? Why did I say "group"? It's so geeky!!!]

They played some Ozzy and they played Loverboy [bwahahahahaha] and Men at Work. Piano player did harmony. I loved how he played. The lead guy wore olive drab, one guitarist had frizzy hair and woire this black suit with a holster [excuse me? A holster?], the other wore this red, white and blue soldier suit, the drummer wore a sailor middy [I am laughing out loud at all of this - THE DRUMMER WORE A SAILOR MIDDY? WTF? Is he Little Orphan Annie???] and the keyboard -- oh my heart. He was really small and lithe, and he had blonde hair and the most CUTE face. He was so small! And he wore a red, white and blue striped vest, white shirt, a red, white and blue garter on one arm [oh God, member that look??], black bow tie, black pants, and Darryl Hall sneakers. [The outfits are killing me.] I swear, I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

After they sang, they talked and stuff, and did some skits [Oh man.] pertaining to music throughout America's history. They started off in 1776 and turned all of these patriotic tunes into rock songs. They were hilarious. Then, they went through the Civil War, WWI, the 20s, the 30s, 40s, 50s ... the lead guy did Elvis. Oh God! He had on this white glittery suit with spangles and a belt with a HUGE belt buckle, and this guitar with Elvis all over it, and he did the most hysterical things with his hips and eyes. [I am shaking with laughter. "So do you like that guy?" "Ah, whatever. He's all hips and eyes."] And he pointed to Heidi in the audience and made her stand up (she was so red) and point at him (she was laughing so hard) and he started to sing, "You Ain't Nothin' But a Hound Dog!" and she dropped right back in her seat! The 60s - "She Loves You Yeah Yeah Yeah" - I particular remember that the keyboards (Tom Caffey) was very cute in this. Oh, and when they got up to present, the drummer, who was also gorgeous, sang "Even the Nights Are Better" [Oh man - that song!!] and he took Heather Cavanagh out of the audience and up onto the stage with him and she was in hysterics as he was singing this romantic song to her, and he fell on his knee before her and (her face was red) she sat on his knee and he gave her a sweet kiss on the cheek. [You probably couldn't get away with that now. Some overly-sensitive kid would claim that she was "traumatized" or "sexually harassed". I do think the "ain't nothin' but a hound dog" thing is kinda mean, though. Come to think of it. If they had picked me to stand up - and I felt so ugly and fat ANYWAY - and to be called out like that? It would have been awful. I don't think I would have sued the school, though. Okay. Onward.]

They were such great musicians and I can tell that they really care about each other. [Omigod.] AND- drumroll - during one of the songs, this is honestly true, I swear to the Lord, I was sitting there, chin in my hands, just watching Tom Caffey - Just watching him. And I guess he felt my eyes on him [Uhm ... he was on stage ... he had 800 pairs of eyes on him ... I almost wanted to cut this next part out, because it's just too awful - but here we go.] so he looked over at me, and THEN - he leaned on his elbows, put his chin in his hands, and stared back at me. Imitating me. [Oh wow. I remember that now. I FLIPPED OUT. He had called me out, personally. Thrilling!!] This is the honest-to-goodness truth. I tell you, I died! I went crazy!

After that, I was even more in love, and he kept looking over at me, as he was pounding away on the keys, and smiling at me. I was really brave once, and waved.

And at the end, they each talked to us and he finished with this touching speech about freedom. These guys are no space-outs. No way. [Did you walk into the assembly assuming they would be space-outs? I'm confused.] He talked about feeling proud of America - not just in times of crisis, like with the Iranian hostages - but always. But he talked about how when the crisis is over - like with Iran - the feeling of togetherness goes away, the spirit goes away. He also talked about name-calling. He said, "It strips away people's freedom. Names like 'nigger, honkie, spic ...' " [Wow. Again. You could never get away with this now.] Some kids in the back started laughing when he said those words, and he went, "Yeah, you may laugh now, but it's not funny. Not really." Mr. Hodge said to me later that teachers and parents can't make speeches like that to us because we know them so well. We just roll our eyes. But a rock group can and does make more of an impression. Not only were those guys talented, funny and gorgeous - they also really stand for something special and sacred. I love every one of them. They deserve to become stars.

And tomorrow night they're giving a REAL ROCK CONCERT and I am going! They said they could come down and meet us and I really want to meet Tom Caffey. What a day!

WHAT A DAY! After that, I could not think about anything else.

WEDNESDAY

I went to the concert. I'm crying. How can I put it into words?

I brought my camera, my tape recorder. [hahahahaha] And, after - Tom Caffey signed my dollar and shook my hand. He was standing up on a chair, and I went over and said, "Can you sign my dollar?" [After his patriotic speech, you ask him to deface our nation's currency??] He grinned at me, took it, and said seriously, "Yes. I will sign your dollar." Then he gave it back to me and I, in a fit of bravery, "Oh, could you shake my hand?" And oh Diary, he took my hand and squeezed it.

Oh Lord, it HURTS! MY HEART. I shouldn't do this to myself.

I got some great pictures - we sat down, and suddenly all the lights went out, it was pitch-black and when the lights flashed on, THERE THEY ALL WERE AT THEIR INSTRUMENTS! We all were screaming so loud! The music was louder. I'm practically deaf now. My ears are still ringing.

I got a great picture of Tom at his keyboards. [Oh yeah, we're on a first name basis now] Let's see. He had on a blue and white striped tight T shirt, blue handkerchiefs around his wrists [hahahahaha], tight black leather pants, white leg warmers and Darryl Hall sneakers. [That is absolutely hilarious. Leg warmers]

And Rick, the lead guy, made a speech and he said, "Y'know, people think that it's cool to have drugs, drink, whatever. But we want to let you know that the show you just saw, and yesterday morning's show, has been totally done without the use of alcohol or drugs. You don't need to do all that to have a great time." We all just screamed so loud! (Well. Except for a few spacey dorks)

Diary, I honestly don't know how to say what is going on inside me. I want to laugh, sing, make out with someone, scream, dance, but most of all cry. I get so emotionally worked up. They all just seemed so nice ... as guys, as a group, as people ...

They said they would come back to SK and I swear - no matter where I am - I'm gonna come back to see them. [I can see it now ... I'm walking along the Great Wall of China when my cell phone rings. I answer. "Sheila ... just wanted to let you know ... Freedom Jam will be playing tomorrow at SK ..." I immediately leap off the Great Wall and run to the nearest airport to get myself home.]

I can't even write what I'm feeling now. It has something to do with boys. And wanting a boy in my life. I have each image of the last two days etched in my brain forever!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

UPDATE, December 7, 2007:

Last year, I checked my email ... and saw the name "Tom Caffey" in my Inbox. It sounded vaguely familiar ... do I know him? Who is it? Opened it up ... to find a beautiful email of thanks from FREAKIN' TOM CAFFEY OF FREEDOM JAM ... 24 years after the fact. His sister (Charlotte Caffey - yeah, THAT Charlotte Caffey) had somehow come across my post - maybe she had Googled her brother's name or something ... read my old Diary Friday (the thought of a Go-Go reading my blog is honestly just too much for me to deal with) ... and passed it on to her brother. And so Tom Caffey emailed me, and we corresponded for a bit ... and he was absolutely lovely. He said he found it strangely emotional to read my Diary Friday - even though it was funny as well. You know, he was a young musician at the time (and he's still friends with his fellow group members) - and he said it was nice to know that what they did was so appreciated (even though it's insane, the way I wrote about them.) I seriously reverted to my high school age when I saw he had emailed me. The keyboardist from Freedom Jam emailed me!!! Nearly a quarter of a CENTURY after the show they did, once upon a time, in the gym at my high school. The Internet is pretty damn cool.

Diary Friday

In honor of an old DEAR friend who has just "found" me through the Internet: Phil!!! I can't even begin to describe the adventures I had with this person, how much he was in my life at one point - how insanely funny he is - and how COOL it is to be back in touch with him again. Our biggest adventure ever was performing at the Milwaukee Summer Fest (there was also that little matter of our run-in with the law) - and so here, in all its highly edited glory, is a Diary Friday of that experience.

I performed with Pat McCurdy at the Milwaukee Summer Fest. He hired me, and 3 friends (Ann Marie, Kenny, and Phil) to be his back-up group. We made up goofy dances and the like. We spent 4 days in Milwaukee, having various adventures.

It is, to date, maybe the most fun I have ever had in my entire life.

I've left out the snarky present-day comments that I usually do with Diary Friday, interjecting my judgment on who I was in the past. I still can't snark about who I was in that 4 day period - my exhilaration, my commitment, my excitement ... I was so ALIVE in those 4 days. No snarking about that!

I still tremble with laughter at some of these old jokes. "Please don't ever leave me alone with Connie. Promise me." "I promise."

Phil's daily bag-stress.

Oh, and I also just BURST into laughter right now when I remembered Pat interrupting my pre-show prayer.

We're standing in a circle before the show, each saying a little prayer. We're goofing on the Madonna prayer-circle she does before each show - but we're kind of serious. It's a bonding group experience - getting psyched to do the show. It comes my turn. We're all standing in a circle, holding hands.

I'm like, "Dear God, help us to do really well tonight. We thank you for this opportun--"
Pat interrupts, he obviously hasn't been listening to me at all: "Sheila, you are stacked."

hahahahaha Guffawing right now!!

SUMMER Milwaukee Summer Fest

The inside of my head is a kaleidoscope. It feels like I have been gone for weeks. This has been an "epoch" in my life, as Anne of Green Gables would say. The shows were unbelievable. A fantasy. A dream come true. Literally thousands of people cheering. All of us bursting through the green curtains, the music pounding, the lights hot and bright, the screaming throngs, yes, throngs - what a RUSH. As Phil said after the first show, "This was huge. This was huge." That's the perfect word. The whole thing was huge.

Monday in Milwaukee:
The first night the show ended up being canceled. It had begun to rain. The sky was apocalyptic. Black and swirling and ominous with lightning forks. The sky was greenish as well. It was gorgeous, in a way, but we all resented it. Phil said, in regards to the sky being green, "That's not right. That's never right." He's such a sailor.

The images of our time swirl by me.

The 4 of us in the back of the van, wearing our freshly ironed Pat T-shirts (Ann did that at the hotel) and shorts (girls in black, boys in green) and as Pat was taking corners we were all falling into each other and propping each other up.

I announced, "We have no boundaries anymore."

Pipe picked us up.

The 4 of us were insane, waiting for him down in the lobby. Pipe laughed at us. "You guys didn't have to wait down here!"

I was jittery and nervous.

Every time Pipe would break suddenly or make a fast turn, Phil would yell out, "Hey! There's dancers back here!"

We all had secret moments of bonding and excitement, through touching and eye contact. I love my fellow dancers. By the second show, we had leapfrogged to the point where we were all like brothers and sisters. It was great.

We went and picked up Mike. He was standing on the sidewalk outside of his apartment, holding his guitar, with 2 cowboy hats piled on his head -to give to me and Ann Marie for our line-dancing during "Imagine a Picture". He remembered!

We then went to go get Pat. The rain hadn't really started yet when we pulled up in front of Pat's house - we were all feeling a little bit claustrophobic in the un-airconditioned van. We all got out. The sky was spectacular. The 4 of us hooked our feet up on this iron fence, holding onto the bars, and watched the sky as though it were a movie. The wind was enormous. The trees were all freaked out with the leaves turned upside down and grey. The air was thick and grey. The sky was angry and filled with incredible lightning. Everything was greenish. It was all so beautiful, but I couldn't really succumb to the beauty because I wanted us to perform so badly. My insides were a total circus.

There were so many moments when I would step outside myself and the experience for a second, and look around at my beautiful fellow cast members, all of us in crisp white Pat T-shirts, and I would have to burst into laughter. Ann and I had our cowgirl hats on, and we went to a parked car to check out our reflections. We practiced our line dance on the sidewalk.

Then Pat came out of his house - we all piled into the van. Pat drove and Pipe climbed into the back with us dancers and we were off.

We sat in Parking Lot E for an hour. We were waiting for the word: show or no show. It poured tropically for that whole time. No A/C. No windows, except for the 2 in front and those had to be open only a crack because the rain was being blown in horizontal lines by the frigging funnel clouds all around us. The stuffiness was nearly unbearable. I kept thinking someone would call the ASPCA like they do with dogs trapped in cars at the beach.

"My tongue is swelling." I said.

"I think it's lightening up," said Kenny, when the downpour reached its heaviest moment. He literally had to yell to be heard. We roared with laughter.

We could hear the crowd screaming for the BoDeans - they weren't performing outside - so their show was on.

Ann finally declared, "I don't care anymore!" and went outside. Now, it was only drizzling - the downpour had stopped. We all got out to breathe the cooler air.

Eventually, the show was canceled.

Meanwhile, Bob, Ann's new boyfriend, way on the other side of the midway, was trying to scam his way over to the Miller Oasis by saying to various Summer Fest employees, "My girlfriend is performing tonight!" Is that the funniest thing?

Pipe dropped us all off at the hotel. Once we dancers were all alone with each other, we felt more comfortable expressing our open disappointment. We had all kept instinctively quiet in the van. We're grateful to be involved at all, but once we were alone, we all were like: SHIT. And of course, by this point, it had cleared up and was now a beautiful cool night.

The boys drove back up to the farmhouse where they were staying. We all were slightly disheartened. We had reached such a fevered pitch getting ready beforehand in the motel room, all for naught.

Ann and I crashed in the lovely air-conditioning. We had basically moved in. Clothes hanging, hot rollers everywhere, makeup scattered. When Pat walked in on Wednesday, he glanced around and said, "You live here now." The nesting instinct.

Oh, this is funny:

It is scary how in sync Ann and I are. More and more, we shriek things out in unison. Weird things, obscure things, out-of-nowhere things. She and I were meant to be friends. It had to happen. At one point in the van, we said an entire sentence in unison. There was a pause. Everyone is so used to this by now, but Phil couldn't help but say, "You guys really do speak in unison more than anyone else I know."

Tuesday in Milwaukee
Ann and I awoke. In unison. Of course.

It was early and we needed coffee so we went out in search of a Dunkin Donuts. It was already very hot. There was a whitish haze in the air. We ate at the D&D we finally found, and then drove back to the hotel room (our home).

Kenny had had this idea of getting T-shirts made up for all of us, Summer Fest/Pat McCurdy shirts. None of us could stop saying the words "I'm with Pat" the entire time. So we wanted the shirts to say "I'm with Pat" across the front. Ann and I decided to do a little research on our own so we got out our Milwaukee yellow pages and started making calls. We alternated. Comparison shopped. Asked a million questions. Ann took notes. We were all spread out on her bed, phone books, phone in between us, pad of paper, we were very business-like. We were also very into instant gratification, and it didn't look like it was gonna happen.

"I want this now," said Ann.

During all of this, Ann decided that she wanted to get a massage, so she started making calls regarding that and she found one right down the street. As she was discussing prices with this woman, I decided that I wanted to get one too. Ann basically told this woman our whole life story in order for us to get appointments that day. "You see, we're only in town for a couple of days because we're performing at Milwaukee Summer Fest-" (Ann rolled her eyes at me, and I burst into laughter.) So Edel, the masseuse, rearranged her schedule for us.

Ann said, "I am totally unembattled about this. I want a massage today." Ann Marie makes things happen. Our appointments were later in the day so we decided to go have lunch at a Mexican restaurant that Ted recommended to me. I called the restaurant (Ann and I were all about the yellow pages this morning), got directions (which Ann and I later chose to ignore, somehow feeling that we knew the city better than the native who gave us the directions), and we set off.

It was a hot hazy day.

We shrieked along the freeway. It was so fun to be on a kind of vacation together. Summer! A whole day of nothingness! In Milwaukee! With this enormously exciting event in the evening.

We had the windows rolled down. Ann was driving fast, it was windy and loud - glorious! Then, suddenly, Ann rolled up my window and my fingers got crushed. Then followed a white-hot three seconds of total chaos. Poor Ann. Suddenly I started screaming at the top of my lungs in total panic, "OPEN THE WINDOW! OPEN THE WINDOW!" At first Ann thought I was joking since my screaming was so hyperbolic. For the one second that she thought I was joking, and the window didn't go down, I then thought that the window was stuck, so then I really lost my mind. "OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!" Then she rolled down the window - oh, I just BURST into laughter just now remembering this whole thing, the 2 of us screaming and crying - I was clutching my clawed hand, and then I burst into stormy primal tears. It was a physiologically-based cry, like sneezing or sleeping. It was a literal bursting into tears. I cried for 20 minutes.

Poor Ann felt so bad, and so she started crying, and there we were. Cruising down the freeway, both of us in tears.

She kept imploring, "Bend your fingers! Can you bend them?"

Just writing this down is making me laugh.

Once I began crying, I started crying about my whole life, and how clumsy I am (even though this was not a case of clumsiness). I could not stop crying once I started. Ann kept saying, with tears streaming down her face, "This wasn't your fault!"

Well, my fingers are fine. They were a little bruised the next day but that was it.

Somehow, though, the crying released many of the stress toxins I had coursing through my veins. Out they came with my tears. It was a great stress-reducer. Also, once all the toxins were out, the crying stopped immediately.

It was like a huge clap of thunder. The pressure released, the sky was clear again, the air cool and fresh.

We had a lingering Mexican lunch that was very yummy and we both had 2 margaritas. We had a surly rude waitress. I sucked down my 2 drinks, limp as a dishrag from the crying, and then had a nice tequila buzz, and then Ann and I had a fascinating terrific discussion about religion. It was a GREAT talk.

We left the restaurant, emerged into the hot air, and drove off, singing along to "Close Every Door" from Joseph, at the tops of our lungs. Windows wide open. The weather was a sauna.

We went and had incredible massages.

The whole day was about toxin expulsion. Crying, tequila, huge conversation about religion, massage. We left Edel's with oil on our skin, in these uplifted spacy states, like we had been roaming the Milky Way and were trying to relearn our bodies again.

We went back to A/C land. There was a busted soda machine in the lobby. Ann pressed the Coke button, she didn't even put any money in, and it was like winning a slot machine. Cokes kept pouring out. We were laughing hysterically. We loaded ourselves down with so many cans that we could not open our door. Girls, take a step back. We got a bucket of ice and filled it with our free sodas.

Just as funny was the boys showing up at our door later on, we opened up the door to admit them, and there they were, beaming with glee and greed, each holding about 7 cans of soda. They thought they would surprise us. I swung open the door so that they could see the bucket overflowing with our soda cans.

The 4 of us were out of control. We really did have the comfort level of siblings with each other. We ruled the hotel from Room 230. We were filming a "backstage video" of our experience - so we moved furniture, we filmed in the lobby. We stole sodas.

We then had a quick run-through in the room. We definitely weren't as insanely excited as we had been the night before. We were a tiny bit jaded because of the cancellation.

Pipe came to get us and called up from the parking lot. He could hear our raucous behavior from down below.

We all bustled about. We each had a bag filled with stuff for the show. Phil continuously lost track of his bag. "Where's my bag? Where's my bag?" "Have you seen my bag?" "No, I'm fine - just having my daily bag stress." It got to the point where every time I heard the word "bag" come out of Phil's mouth, I'd start to laugh.

Ann was in charge of all the hats in the show. She said, "Do you want me to own the hats?" "Own" the hats. She meant "own" in an emotional sense, as in "taking responsibility" - which is so damn funny.

We climbed into the van with a very different energy from the night before.

It was hazy and extraordinarily hot, but we were at least confident that a show would happen. Pipe was so cute, pointing out Milwaukee landmarks to us (we, who were blind in the back), telling us stories about buildings.

We arrived at the Fest and went to Lot E again. We all piled out again.

I was amazed by the overpass. It fascinated me so much that Pat eventually started to referring to it as "Sheila's bridge". Pat had tickets for all of us, and we clustered around him like children waiting for dad to dole out allowance. All of us in our matching outfits. GOOFY. We were little Pat McCurdy chicklets. Then we were off, walking briskly through the throngs, holding bags, guitars, hats. Excitement mounting. Every third person we passed hailed Pat. "Pat!" "Hey, there's Pat!" "Pat, where you playing?" "Pat! Hi!"

Crowds and crowds of people. Hazy pink night. Neon beer signs everywhere. Sounds of music, sounds of screams from where Janet Jackson was performing. Everything was shimmery. And above it all was that magical prehistoric-looking overpass. Everything was so vital, so incredible. I'm ALIVE. It was one of those nights when I love everyone I see. It was so much fun, walking briskly through the Fest and its throngs with Pat.

We got to the Miller Oasis with its monolithic stage. Pat took us around to the back where there was a ramp going up into the backstage area, which was teeming with activity, security people on the edge, another band setting up, their entourage milling about.

This was funny: the name of the band preceding us was something along the lines of "Malatini". As were were driving over, someone asked, "Who's going before us?" and I said, "Mahi Mahi." This was a big hit, and within about 10 minutes, it was assimilated into everyone's vocabulary. Later, at the Fest, I overheard Pipe Jim say to someone, totally seriously, "Okay, so once Mahi Mahi finishes ..."

None of us felt like exploring the Fest. We all felt the need to be in the immediate backstage area. There was so much to soak up! So many sensations! This was so big-time for us. In our own chaotic way, the 4 of us needed to focus. We needed to be all about the show. We had to wear Miller Oasis stickers. I loved having mine. We were all very into our stickers. Every moment was memorable, it was that kind of evening. Every image was a keeper. It was one of those rare times in life where I could totally observe my own life and think, "How cool! Look at how COOL my life is!" And yet I was still present in every moment. Vivid vivid VIVID. Technicolor. My eyes saw everything with microscopic clarity.

There were kegs of free beer backstage. There were 3 dressing rooms and the bands rotated. They were air conditioned and they had a terrible smell. The carpet was red and stained. Pat looked at the stain, glanced at me and said, "Musicians", shaking his head.

I immediately began to set up all my stuff, hanging up my change of costume, laying out all the shit I'd need during the show. It was so funny because during our "backstage video" - we faked a fight between the 4 of us in the hotel room, we all began bickering and bitching at each other, and the entire time I kept packing up my bag, arranging my stuff on the bed, and Phil yelled at me, "Oh, the whole WORLD belongs to Sheila, right??" Hysterical. It became this big joke, and then there I was - totally taking over one corner of the dressing room with all my stuff.

Kenny gathered all of us players together and we went into the backstage area to discuss logistics. We talked through stuff, got familiar. I just love the images so much of the 4 of us in shorts and Pat McCurdy T-shirts and sneakers and red stickers, walking around, having quick little summit meetings.

"Okay, so during Drive in Reverse..."
"All right, then, so we'll come on from this side for Groovy Thing..."
"Should I set up the cowboy hats here or--"
"Kenny, will you come on from this side for Mick, because..."

We wrote out the song list twice and taped them up where we could refer to them if we needed to during the frenzy of the show. There were all kinds of long-haired roadie types walking around and I was consummately in the way. I said, "Excuse me" 10 times. Ann and I loved to stand in the huge open "door" and watch the Summer Festers walk by, eating, drinking beer, looking up at us. With our Miller Oasis stickers. It gave us a nice important feeling.

We were all totally stressed, waiting for the show to begin. Pipe later called us all "jungle animals", because we were all 4 of us pacing back and forth. Separately. In our own worlds.

The 4 of us and Pat stood in a circle before the show (like Madonna did with her dancers in "Truth or Dare") to bond, and get psyched, and offer up wishes, one by one, to God. In the middle of my turn, in the middle of one of my sentences, Pat, who had been looking at me, totally interrupted my prayer and said, "Sheila, you are stacked."

I am still laughing about that.

The show of course was magic. Dreams come true. Thousands of screaming people.

After the show, the 4 dancers stood in the dressing room, soaking wet with sweat, speaking all at the same time, drinking free beer, talking nonstop. It was a raging success for all of us. I think Pat was very relieved. We were all blithering and chattering, twitching with adrenaline.

The 4 of us went out with Pipe and Mike afterwards to a bar, where a bunch of their friends were. Phil and Kenny were really into partying, but I was not due to my increasing recording anxiety. The bar was very smoky so I started having a mild panic attack that I would wake up the next day with no voice.

Connie was at the bar. Basically, Ann Marie is deathly afraid of Connie. She confessed this to me. "Don't ever leave me alone with Connie." I promised.

Pipe came over to me and Ann and was so sweet, talking to us, being mellow, telling us stories, taking care of us. He'd make you soup at a low moment. He'd rub your feet. He's a caretaker.

Kenny and Phil stayed on at the bar, and the rest of us left.

The night was unbelievably hot, and the air actually felt thick. We were all laughing about how Ann's mom used to say to her kids, "Don't hang" on nights such as this.

There we were, 1:30 in the morning, drowsing off to sleep in the back of the van as Pipe drove us through the deserted streets of Milwaukee.

The guys were going to crash in our room, and they promised us that they would be quiet.

And they were SO NOT QUIET when they came in. they were giggling like, literally, 8-year-old brothers. Ann and I had crawled into the same bed, and we fell fast asleep.

Wednesday in Milwaukee
Ann and I woke up, in unison, and LOVED the image of bare-chested straight-guys Kenny and Phil in bed together. The mood of hilarity began.

Kenny woke up and introduced a sleepy Phil as "Joe" and said that he had met "Joe" at "the Pabst stage." We did some more filming of our backstage video, and then the boys drove up to spend the day at the farmhouse. Kenny's sister from France was coming in that day with her husband and daughter. It was a very funny ruffled sleepy morning with the boys.

I was tightly coiled up - knowing that I was recording the duet with Pat later that day.

Mike and Ann made plans for the morning. He was in a tour guide mode. They went to go take a tour of a brewery, and then Pat came to pick me up, and we drove to the studio. I took one look at the recording booth and had a brief flash, "I can't do this. I don't want to do this." But I instantly repressed the freak-out.

All I can say about the recording experience is that it was just perfect. I loved it so much. Once we were both in the booth, headphones on, I felt ready. No more fear. Before, I had clearly been showing some tension because Pat had taken me by the shoulders and shook me. Hard.

And then - we did the duet in one take. Live. So what will end up being on the CD will be us actually singing to each other - rather than him recording his part, and then me recording my part separately. We went through it once, together, just to get the feel for it - and then it ended up coming out perfectly.

We sat and listened to it afterwards for about 3 times. It was so weird. Hearing my voice floating through the recording studio.

By the time we left, for Pat to drive me back to the hotel, the sun rays were long and lazy. It was still really hot. We were tired, relieved, happy. When I walked back into Room 230, Ann was asleep in the room. The silence of the air-conditioned space surrounded me. It's a strange thing, living in a motel. It's hard to settle. Ann and I did as much as we could, filled the drawers with clothes, made our beds, but I guess it's harder to settle down emotionally.

Stasis in darkness. Surreal. Time outside of time.

Then the insanity for that night's show started up again.

Ann was having some kind of allergy attack which she fought as best she could.

We began our preparations again, waiting for the boys to arrive. It was a tiny bit rainy again. When the boys showed up - Kenny said something wonderful. He said to us, "You guys, let's try to remember ... even if tonight is canceled - let's try to hold onto the fact that we at least got to do it once. And last night was so incredible. Let's not forget that, no matter what." He was right.

We had a mini-rehearsal in the room again. There was something so heartwarming about every moment. Phil doing "jazz hands", and reminding all of us not to forget our "jazz hands", is enough to carry me through many a darkened hour.

We all were high on each other, cracking each other up. Our windows were open for air circulation. We feared that Ann Marie was having a reaction to too much air-conditioning in her life. Pipe pulled into the parking lot. Room 230 faced front, right over the lot - we had just run through one of the big "dance numbers". We had to laugh as we did it. We were just so ridiculous. And when we finished it, we all started clapping and screaming and cavorting, and this is when Pipe got out of the van. We heard a voice call up to us.

He said, "I heard the commotion and thought: 'Gee, who could that be ...'"

We are children. And off we went again, carrying bags and hats and various hair products.

The rain stopped.

There was the excitement, again, of getting our tickets and walking through the crowd, and gaping up at "Sheila's bridge". Jackie and Ken were coming!

We were all, by this point, so "over" the Miller Oasis thing. We put on our stickers, totally blase, stashed our stuff, and then scattered to the 4 winds to explore. Ann and I walked around, in our Pat T-shirts and stickers. We saw a lot of drunken scenes. The ground underfoot was slick and sticky with spilled beer. We saw a girl fall off a picnic table into a puddle of beer and then get dragged off by her 2 friends. We saw girls dancing on picnic tables wearing white bikini tops and shorts.

It was a gorgeous night, hazy but cool. The pressure of the day released.

Ann and I passed by one of those little fake recording studios. By this point, we had only 10 minutes til we were supposed to be back at the Oasis, so we totally pulled rank on the other people in line, flashing our stickers at the people working: "We're performing in 20 minutes- can you squeeze us in fast?" They did. We put on headphones and literally shrieked our way through "Like a Virgin". God. It really sounds AWFUL. Total impulse thing. Ann is such a great friend for adventures like that.

We all converged on the Mecca that was the Miller Oasis. Ann and I stood on the little cement stairwell balcony, sipping free beer, and watching the parade go by. We soaked up the attention we got just for being backstage.

The show, again, was beyond belief. Over 3000 people cheering for us. The sound they made was a literal ROAR.

After the show, Pat had to go do another show at one of the local clubs - so we all tagged along. We rode in the back of the equipment van. So fun. All of us drinking beer out of paper cups, holding Pat masks, laughing at all the groups we saw out of the back of the van, wearing Pat masks, strolling through the streets. It was as though a strange cult had come to town.

At the club, it was like we were stars. People flocked around us, bought us drinks. The 4 of us all sat at one table at the club, wearing our "I'm With Pat" T-shirts that Kenny had pro-actively gotten done. Kenny's sister and her husband were there with us. We were this little enclave. I had on my black shorts, my fishnet stockings, my combat boots, my derby. Like Madonna's girlie show or something.

Shots of liquor that tasted like Dentyne were bought for all of us. We were totally carousing.

Ann Marie ran into people who were clients of hers from her actual job - so WEIRD. So who knows that they think of her life now. People had this impression that this was what we did for a living, traveled around with Pat, wearing "Pat" uniforms.

Pat played Drive in Reverse during his show at the club, and the 4 of us stormed the stage to do our GOOFY dance. I was laughing so hard. We were the biggest geeks in the world. We had so much attention paid to us. We sat at our VIP table, pounding back beers, bouncing off the walls, reliving the shows, dancing with each other, giving each other love and affirmation about the amazing-ness of this entire experience.

Phil was taking pictures and burning all of our corneas.

Diary Friday

Ah, yet another excerpt from my frenzied roller-coaster journal from my junior year in high school. My unrequited love for David was slowly blossoming. It didn't hit its height until February or March of the next year ... but it's beginning here, in December. I ache, I throb, I pine!

DECEMBER

What a long pleasant day this has been. [What are you, 45 years old with the "pleasant"??] I worked from 9 to 1 but it's always slow in the mornings [I worked at the nearby public library, you can see photos of it here] so I didn't have to go tearing around. J. worked from 12 to 5 so we got to work an hour with each other. Charlotte left for lunch and the library was empty except for us, so we sat at the desk slipping books and talking about BOYS. How to handle that mysterious race. [I have learned, through long years of experience, that "boys" are actually another GENDER, not another race. But ah, I am young here. And a lunatic.] You know, I honestly don't know what I'm doing wrong. I don't do anything. [And that right there is the issue, girl] How long do you suppose is reasonable time for me to wait? I'm sick of waiting and I feel like I ought to be doing something about it - but what? [The question still remains] I can't just stand up and scream, "HEY GUYS! LOOK! IT'S TRUE! I AM AVAILABLE!" (Hmm - that's a thought.) I walk around now with a perpetual ache inside. It hurts so bad. It's not a sharp piercing pain but a grinding away that makes me want to moan and flop on the floor. [Good Lord!!] In spite of this though, life seems incredibly wonderful to me.

Yesterday I was walking home alone from the library at 5. It's already dark by then with just a slight whisper of sunset on the horizon. It was chilly and dark, the street lamps were on and I, with my bookbag and mittens on, was walking home. I love that part of the day. I was on South Road alone, but I felt very secure. When I'm alone - never ever am I lovely. My imagination is so great that people who really aren't there can suddenly materialize beside me [this is still true] and suddenly, I felt that David was walking along with me, our mittened hands clasped - I could even hear our soft serious conversation but I couldn't make out the words. But it became so real to me. It's a bad habit. I always feel like the world is a big awful terrible thick fog when I stop pretending and get home - if it were only real! If it were only real!

I think, though, that if it were real I couldn't put it down here right. I'd screw it up trying to find the right words. I have enough trouble just trying to relay gym class.

The sky today honestly took my breath away. I had to stop and just stare. Mum, Jean, Siobhan and I all ran out to the car for the 5 o'clock mass. Just as I opened the front door, I looked up. Glowing through the dark silhouette of trees - oh the skies - it was a muted rose, very gentle and whispery, as though someone had lightly brushed with a paint brush - the pink slowly melted into lavendar which then spread all out into a silvery deep blue. For once the twilight sky was really a very mysterious blue, and the moon just softly shone. I just stood outside the car looking. I felt so achey inside.

Then in church - I love our church and I love being a Catholic. Father Creedon is a wonderful man. I really love him. Anyway, usually when we sing the Our Father song - the entire congregation joins hands - people spread out across the aisle- Oh, I feel positively uplifted sometimes, singing, holding hands - the warmth of strangers [Yes. I am a 16 year old Blanche Dubois]. But tonight, in accordance with Advent, Father Creedon said, "I am going to ask you to do something during the singing of the Our Father which will feel rather uncomfortable. At Christ the King, we hold hands during it - but tonight we will not." Then the familiar beautiful music started and all of us were singing - but it felt so weird. I can't really explain it - but I missed it - it was awkward just standing there singing - without holding hands. But - involuntarily I felt my head lift up, my hands came out of my pockets - and I could feel my voice just flowing out of me - I felt as though just standing there wasn't near enough. I just wish I had wings. Walking on two feet is so commonplace especially especially when your head is in the sunset. [Oh, for God's SAKE!]

You know what? [Get ready for no segue] I can't go on pretending anymore. When I was in like 7th or 8th grade, I lived in a dream world. I came home from school, went to my room, talked to myself and Andrew in my head for hours. Then - that was enough. That made me feel happy. But not anymore. Suddenly pretending isn't enough. It's all fine but -

Oh GOD I need so much more!!!!

Diary Friday

The following entry is from my junior year in high school when I was TOTALLY in love with a guy named David. I was in love in an unrequited vaguely stalker-ish kind of way, and every single notebook I have from that year is filled with David details. It all ended tragically, as such things do.

I sound rather manic in this entry. I also refer to another person - another HUMAN BEING - as a "warthog". God forgive me.

FEB 7

I feel like I'm on an inevitable course. [What are you, an Olympic luger all of a sudden?] I hope of success - why do I want to have doubts? Of course you know who I'm talking about. I'm so muddled up inside. Everyone else had the worst days of their lives - because their days were so awful I began to think - "Okay - when is the axe going to fall on me?" Bad luck does happen in 3s, you know. [Okay, Sheila, I want you to try - just TRY - to not sound so insane. Thanks.]

It's so very hard to be happy when everyone around you is sobbing. [Good point]

Okay - with J. - Lisa - the warthog - came up to J. in band saying, "Guess who called me last night? .... Nick!" Oh, she just wants to dig that knife in. Why J.? J. deserves it so much. I can not stand this. Also - why Lisa?? Why the girl we all hate so much? [I have no idea who Lisa is now. I'm sorry, in retrospect, Lisa, that I referred to you as a 'warthog'. That was not very nice.] I don't understand this! It's all so unfair.

Then = this is so unbelievable - I can not believe this - the editor of The Rebellion, the school paper - N. (gag choke wheeze) - she's a tyrant. We fondly refer to her as the pirhana. [hahahahaha GOD!!!] She's a jerk as an editor and a jerk as a person. She likes ERIC! Why? And in French IV sent him a Valentine Gram calling him cupids and stuff - why? If they only knew what pain they were causing! [Sheila, what are you TALKING about??]

My day was really peachy.

We stayed after for rehearsal. J. was upstairs in the Rebellion meeting. That's how she found out about the Valentine Gram. I was in the Music Room. I noticed that Kate was gone - she had gone off to find J. I knew that something was wrong with J. from English on - she turned to me and said, flatout, "It's over. I have no hope left." But she didn't elaborate. After class, Kate was hugging J. consolingly - I just walked on - I'm not gonna force her to tell me.

Then we went to rehearsal and both disappeared. Mr. Crothers came late so I was sent off to find them./ I found them on the 3rd floor - Kate huddled against the wall. I knew something had just happened. I guess it was my pride that kept me from asking what was wrong. I just saw them, said, "The Crud's back!" and turned to go. If they want to tell me, they will. Well, they caught up to me and did tell me. We were about ten minutes late to rehearsal because we just stood in a doorway hugging each other. Kate just looked at me and said, "I really need a hug, Sheila." Those poor kids. Why of all people them? It does seem like fate is working against us. Why? I was just talking to Kate on the phone and I said, "I'm sick of having to handle things." Every day I go to school - I can't just live. Maybe this me growing up but it doesn't feel good. I don't want to have to go through life continually having to deal, cope - whatever! I used to make fun of J. cause she always says, "I cannot handle any more of this." But I know what she means. How much more are we supposed to take. [I love the dramatic language. Especially because all of this despair was brought about by a warthog and a Valentine Gram]

My day went good. I felt sort of obliged to be depressed because they were. Kate kept saying, "Sheila, don't try to convince yourself that your situation is like ours." But it is hard. I am so cautious sometimes. I'll be talking to him and I'll show a little bit of myself. Immediately afterwards, I can feel myself shying away. Maybe it's only me. Everyone's saying to me, "You've got nothing to worry about, Sheila." But I do. I have to! I've never felt this way before. It's the first time I've ever gotten anything back but I don't want to misinterpret it in my awe that a boy is actually talking to me. [sniff. That part kinda kills me.]

Diary, these are the facts: He does talk to me an awful lot. But so what? Am I denying to myself that he might care? Why would I do that? Anne was saying it's probably because I don't have much confidence in myself in that area. True true. I wonder why!

Anyways, today was a bowling day. [And ... what does that have to do with anything??] It was freezing out. We were all heading through the parking lot. I was walking with Kate, J., and April. David was right ahead of us. Just as we started over the little hill to the field, he turned to look at us and said something like, "So when's the next SK Pades meeting?" I said, "Tonight after school." As we cane over the hill, suddenly he was beside us, walking with us. My three friends sort of drifted ahead - as one - leaving the two of us alone. [hahahahahaha I love girlfriends!!] We walked together all the way there and we talked the whole way. When I'm talking to him, I really don't think about what I say. I just blabber on mindlessly. [And is this a good romantic tactic, Sheila?]

He was saying, "Today after school, I have to get to Smithfield by 3." He obviously wanted me to ask why he was going to Smithfield, so I inquired, "Why?" And he explained that there was a rehearsal for the All-State Band. Not thinking, I blurted, "Oh, when is that? Can I come and see you?" (Don't be too obvious now or anything.) He said, "Sure you can come, but I don't know when it is yet ... I'm looking forward to it. It'll be the first time when I get to play with a band that really amounts to anything." He grinned down at me. I glanced around to see if Nick, J., Justin or anyone else from band was around. I said, "Ssssh!" He shrugged. "I know a lot of kids feel that way. I mean, I've been playing ever since junior high but you really can't consider that anything of musical worth ..." I was laughing. The junior high band is the target of many jokes.

At this point April and Peter were running around and cracking all the ice in the frozen footprints. David grinned at me and said, "I always used to do that ..." [ahhhh, he speaks like a wise old sage, looking back on his boyhood days of frivolity! The dude was 17 years old! Ha!!] "I'd be 10 minutes late to everything cause I had to crush all the ice footprints." My heart pounded. He reveals parts of himself to me - I can't believe I'm walking along talking to him!

We were walking along the sidewalk. I had just asked Peter what his utopia was. We had to create our own Utopia for class. [hahahahaha We had just read the book, I remember that project now. I also remember how we all created "utopias" and the teacher repeatedly would point out the flaws in our utopias ... showing us that what we had really created was a sterile fascist totalitarian society. It was a great class project.] Peter explained his utopia to me. There was a population cap of 3,000 or something and if they went over that then people had to migrate. David interjected, "Yeah, mine was just like that. If the population exceeded 1,000 people were encouraged to jump off cliffs." I groaned. "My utopia is so stupid" I said. Then he said something like, "Do you really care what she thinks about you?" [Meaning: the teacher] I said, "I liked Mr. Crothers, though." He nodded, "Oh yeah, the Crud's great. Probably one of my best teachers. I really learned a lot in his class." I sat there nodding. I really did agree with him though.

It was so wicked. [haha. Not wicked cool or wicked awesome - just WICKED] We were walking together! I felt so weird - a weird feeling, but I liked it.

Occasionally Kate or J. would turn around just to see if we were still talking. They were far ahead of us - I don't know what they were talking about - but I felt weird anyway.

Then we started talking about Freshman Honors English and how dumb it was. MS. P. She just got married - she's keeping the MS. and always corrects you if you say "Mrs" or whatever. All sorts of rumors are going on about her - she had a kid out of wedlock or something. [Oh my God, listen to you gossip! And yes - the fact that she wants to be called 'Ms' is SO UNBELIEVABLY SUSPICIOUS that there HAS to be an illegitimate baby in the picture!!!] David was telling me about what he heard - something about a freshman student and the baby - I got a thrill out of this.

Don't ask me about these odd things I have. For instance: I would love to watch Davide tie his shoe, or button his shirt, or clean his glasses. I know they have to get dirty sometime! He got a haircut - he looks so spiffy and GORGEOUS! God, I imagine him as the scissors clip away! [holy crap!! How embarrassing!] Okay, I am obsessed!!

We got to the alleys - I walked in - he was right behind me so as I walked in I sort of held the door so he could take it. Our fingers brushed against each other. I wonder if he even noticed.

Well, bowling was positively heaven. HEAVEN! Fate was once again looking over me. The alleys are set up so that it goes in 2s - 2 lanes, one desk with 2 spaces for scoring - each one has a semicircle of seats around it - [Dude, that's the setup of every bowling alley from here to Outer Mongolia] So it's 2 pairs of kids in each section. Well. It was me and April - and - by some freak chance - David and Jeff. I was so excited. My heart was pounding. I was praying fervently, Thank you! Thank you! [God, up in heaven, dealing with issues like war and poverty and natural disaster, hears my prayer and is like: Wait ... what is she thanking me for? For placing David beside her at the bowling alley???]

It was GREAT! I got on my shoes - I was sitting right next to David as we both took off our normal shoes and put on the ugly bowling ones. I found myself glancing down inconspicuously at his socks - his white wonderful socks! Something is definitely wrong with me.

I did so awfully bowling-wise. I wonder why. I got a 45. Diary, a 45! That means that every other try I got a gutter ball. I didn't CARE though!!

Sometimes April would be taking her turn and so would Jeff so David and I would be sitting side by side, scoring - his pencil didn't work so we shared a pencil. Yes, we shared my pencil! [Why don't you guys just get married immediately??] I loved how he handed it to me. He showed me once again how to score spares and strikes. I wonder if he watched me while I was bowling. God, I hope not! I sure watched him.

OH GOD! [God, in heaven, dealing with tornadoes and explosions and famines, is distracted by my cry ... "who's that calling me? Oh ... HER again?"]

One time he had 3 pins left to knock over - he rolled the ball, it knocked over the 2 in front of the third and the last one remained standing. He looked really perplexed as he came to sit next to me. "I don't understand how that is possible. If the ball is rolling straight ... how can it ..." We were laughing about it. He looked at his score sheet. "I have 5 9s on my sheet." I said, "That's better than 9 5s."

I killed my wrist - David asked me how I was holding the ball so I showed him and he said, "No - use the middle finger and the fourth." It seemed like whenever he knocked down another nine pins, he'd turn around and look at me. I was having the blast of my life. The blast.

Diary, sometimes I think my spool is unwinding. [what???? There is no segue here - we go right into unwinding spools!] My mother says I am a strong person, but am I? I do not feel strong. I want to be but - if some great absolute tragedy came over me - like if I were paralyzed or went blind - how would I handle it? Sometimes I want to be tested fiercely - see what I'm made of. I feel so - sort of fragile sometimes - like one more incident and I'll go berserk. Every now and then I go berserk - I mean, like crying all night, lying in my room, crying more - but I know that my life will be a struggle. And in a way, that's good. I've said before: I don't want to drift through life. I won't drift. But will I be able to take it? I feel so helpless sometimes when I think of all the years of pain and suffering I might be facing. Greater pain than what I am feeling now. How will I deal with it? Can I grow? Who am I? Oh, it is an important question and I need to know.

All Diary Fridays here

Diary Friday

Okay. Get ready for some sappy Americana, teenage-girl-diary style! Sheila, circa age 13 or something, going with her family to see Carl Yazstremski's second to last game with the Red Sox. It is a propos today, of all days. Just cause. Afraid to say more. Let's just put one foot in front of the other, people. And remember where we came from.

October 1 YAZ DAY
We got home so so so late last night. It was SO FUN. I love baseball. I always have. And Fenway Park! All of Boston. The people in Boston are so nice. So friendly. Very down to earth. Boston really comes alive on home games.

And now - Yaz Fever is in!

As we came down the little narrow street towards Fenway Park - it was packed with screaming people waving Yaz banners. And as we were driving up, we passed this schoolbus full of kids, they all had on Yaz hats - and were really rowdy. We started waving at them - I whipped off Jean's Yaz hat [Sheila: did you ask your sister if you could steal her hat?], and they all started applauding and cheering with us. The whole bus waved banners at us, and the whole street went nuts!!

Inside Fenway Park, it was a mad house. And coming out into the stands, with the lights, and the sizzling excitement, and the teams right there warming up ... Our seats were really good. Right along the third baseline.

We looked for Yaz but couldn't find him. I felt like I was waiting for the curtain to open on a big show or something. [What a penetratingly original analogy]

At 7:30, they announced the line-up. Yaz was fifth. We all went wild when they called his name. The crowd was screaming and screaming and screaming - we just would not stop. It was great.

I love Boston. I love the Red Sox. I love the people in Boston.

The game started. Cleveland was up first.

I wish we could have seen Yaz play first, but he was the designated hitter. When they announced Dennis Eckersley, Brendan went, "Oh, don't boo!" Everyone did, anyway.

And Jim Rice was right out there. I LOVE JIM RICE. It was so amazing to see all these stars and players I have idolized since I was 8 years old! They were all right there!!

When the Red Sox were up, you could just feel the anticipation. Just waiting for Yaz. He was up 5th. But everyone went hysterical whenever anyone made a hit. I got so worked up!

Then - oh God - when Yaz was on deck - all these camera flashes went off - everywhere across the Park - blinding! All I could do was just stare at Yaz warming up. He is such a hero to me. I swear that nobody was watching the actual game. They were just watching him.

Then - when he was up - and he started for the plate - I can't explain it.

Or - yes, I can. [Hahahahaha I knew you could]

All of Fenway Park immediately stood up and cheered and cheered and cheered - I was leaping, waving my arms, SCREAMING. This went on for about five minutes. Or longer. Really! No one got tired, no one could stop.

Yaz just stood there with his bat - and stood there - as the whole Park went NUTS - and after a while, he turned to us, and tipped his hat.

Oh my God, it was so beautiful the way he did it.

We all went bonkers!

Me and Brendan were screaming and waving, Jean was crying - then Yaz tipped his hat again - It was positively wonderful.

I almost cried. I wonder if Yaz almost cried.

Finally - FINALLY - we all sat down, still all revved up. Then - he took his stance - and on the first pitch - you could hear this CRACK - the crack of the bat - and everyone JUMPED UP again - yelling, screaming, going positively crazy - I almost had a coronary. It was a single, but we got to see Yaz hit. We got to see Yaz hit. This will be the last time we ever get to see Yaz hit.

I have always loved Yaz. He seems like a really nice guy - or something. Like he has kept his feet on the ground. And the way he tipped his hat to all of us - to all of Boston - I still feel like crying, when I think of it.

The other amazing thing about the night was when we all stood up for "The Star-Spangled Banner".

It is very hard NOT to feel patriotic - with the flag waving in the wind against the dark sky, and everyone around you, hands on their hearts, singing LOUD.

America really is beautiful.

Baseball games make me realize that all over again.

Diary Friday

Hey, member Diary Friday?

It comes in waves ... sometimes I'm into it, sometimes I'm not. I came across this entry last night and it made me laugh out loud. I had forgotten much of it. This is from my second year in grad school - and my roommate Jen and I threw a party.

Some of this might seem like gibberish - it was just my impressions in the aftermath of the party ... but I re-read it this morning, in tears of laughter.

And I still love Wade. He was one of my best friends in school, he was a cocky talented sensitive dude from Texas, so so smart, and we were drawn to one another from the first day (we had a memorable excursion on 18th street after our first dance class - I didn't even know him!) - I don't know, he was a wild boy, a "bad" boy, I guess - and we clicked. He was irreverent. And FUNNY, man. I could talk to him about anything. He also is responsible for me becoming aware of this particular gentleman (http://www.fartingpreacher.org) , and for that I am extremely grateful. He had it on video tape - Wade stayed with me for a couple of months - and we would sit on the floor, pop in the tape, and watch it over. And over. And over. And over. Sometimes we would smooch, you know ... smooch like high school teenagers ... but then sometimes we didn't. I don't know. We were good friends. Friends with benefits, I suppose. So we were relaxed about the smooching thing, and way too busy with grad school to get all bogged down or serious relationship-ish. But there are times when, sorry, a girl MUST smooch ... One can only deal with so much school. It is also important to go out and drink beer and slam-dance and then makeout for hours on end. On occasion.

And we'd be blatant about it. Like a business transaction.

"If I don't make out with someone and soon, I am gonna freak out."
"How 'bout tonight?"
"Cool. See ya after class."

Wade is one of the funniest people I have ever met. And he is also very kind and deep and exciting to be around. (I haven't seen Wade in years - I think not since then. Wade is a sort of peripheral star in this - one of the most popular posts I have ever written.)

The following diary entry makes me miss him.

DECEMBER

Last night’s party. A collage of impressions still flickers thru my brain today. Moments of sheer joy. Moments of awe: Look at everyone! Moments of sadness and acute loneliness. Hysterical shrieking laughter. Looking around at OUR APARTMENT filled with people. Awareness of life. How miraculous it seems. How did I get here? Look at the people in my life! Marcus. Wade. Jen. Who ARE these people? I LOVE them! Life is constantly evolving. You never know what’s gonna happen.

I had a party. I had a party and it wasn’t a totally hair-raising experience. I had fun. I let go.

I am so glad Brendan and Maria came. And Brett. A mixing of worlds which pleased me. Brett did Superman for all of my brand new friends. I watched Jen discover it. I have seen it a million times, but it still makes me howl. It was gorgeous! I love moments like that.

Colored lights in living room. Candles everywhere. Lots of food laid out. I was a hostess! Clip-clopping around my apartment in my velvet pants. Giorgio on my wrists, lighting candles, cooking pasta.

The living room looked beautiful. Festive. Comfy.

Rain coming down. Snow. Thunder. Lightning. Our guests dripping wet. It was a good group. A beautiful blend.

Jen is just the perfect roommate for me. We totally GET each other. She shares my issues with party-giving. She TOTALLY understands me. No judgment. We kept checking in with each other over the night. “How ya doin?” “No judgment!”

Leslie W. kept saying, “You 2 have such nice patterns!” Meaning behaviorally. Nice patterns. Our feverish huddles of affirmation in the vestibule.

Hysterical laughter mixed with hysterical tears right before everyone arrived. Jen said, right at me: “I’m scared!” God, I love that. She fucking meant it. Then she slid down the wall. “I think I just have to cry a little bit.”

Also, when it was 2 minutes past our invite time, and no one had showed up yet, Jen announced, “I’m feeling fat and unpopular.”

Then, she looked around frantically at a room FILLED with people and wailed, “Nobody came!”

She said to me anxiously, “I just hope people have a good time.”

“Jen, I hope you have a good time.”

This struck her. She filled up with tears. “Thanks for saying that.”

And we did have a good time. Many magic moments.

J. came with desserts she had made and a Xmas carol CD. Bren and Maria did come, they weren’t going to. Having my worlds meet. Not as stressful as I thought. Wade meeting Maria. Brett meeting Marcus. Bren and Marcus hit it off.

The next morning over breakfast, Marcus said to Bren, “I think we could be friends.”

Marcus commenting on the natural slope of the floor, and advising people, “Don’t resist the floor.”

Music. Annie Lennox’s Diva. Bjork. The Beatles. Joan Armatrading.

Wade called me COLLECT and asked me for directions. My heart sang. He called me “hon”.

I walked into the living room, and Maria, Brett, and Marcus were sitting on the floor. Maria was talking and Marcus said to Maria, as I walked in: “That was a long-ass saga.”

Brett glanced up at me and said, “We asked Maria how she and Brendan met, and she started the story when she was 12.”

We all sat in the living room playing Celebrity. So much fucking fun.

During Celebrity, Maria, in trying to describe King Kong - said: “He’s a monkey! He’s the head of state!” Wade and I were just SCREAMING and rolling around laughing about that. Wade couldn't stop repeating it. "He's a monkey ... he's the head of state ..." I am in love with Wade.

Celebrity went on raucously until around 3.

The party began dispersing. Various bedding down activities. A bunch of folks slept over. Brendan and Maria slept in our extra room (The Embassy in the Kingdom of Peace). Amy slept on the futon in the living room. Marcus slept with Jen. And Wade and Brett slept with me. The 3 of us in my bed. We tossed and turned simultaneously. Meaning we moved as one. I curled up against Wade’s back in my bed, Brett curled up against my back, and we all fell asleep. At one point, I got up to go to the bathroom, and the sight, on coming back to my room, of Wade and Brett in my bed together, just made me LAUGH.

Wade had to get up and go to work. I set the alarm for him. It was a beautiful day, sun streaming thru the windows. Wade showered. I stood in the kitchen in my pjs, slumbering partiers all around me, the room ABLAZE with sunshine. Call me dysfunctional but it made me feel good to be able to do something for Wade.

We then did imitations of our jazz dance teacher in the kitchen.

Others started waking. Lazy morning. . 4 or 5 of us piled on my bed, sleepy-haired, rather hilarious. Wade stood in my doorway, Sammy was up on his shoulders, climbing around, meowing - and Wade was speaking in his faux German decadent accent: “Don’t smile, Sammy.”

I saw Wade to the door. As he left, he paused, glanced back into the apartment, relived the entire night in a moment’s time, and then exclaimed with gusto, “Man, I had a blast!”

Diary Saturday

This is for my dear friends from high school. You know who you are. I was a senior in college here. In love for really the first time (not counting Ralph Macchio, of course). And he was in love with me. My first real boyfriend. So that's my context - (his name was - is - Antonio). He shows up in this entry because he was all I could think about. We had been dating since June - and this entry is from January of the next year. Oh, and this entire New Year's party was documented with photos. Best party photos ever. If my friends give me permission, I'll post the pictures of us dancing. They're briliant!!

JANUARY 2ND

Mere had the coolest New Year's party I've ever been to. It was so wild for ALL of us (except for J.) to be together. It's been so long since last Christmas, I guess. It was a wild time. I didn't get too drunk - but managed to stay consistently buzzed for about 4 straight hours. [Spoken like a true Irish lass.]

Some pretty rare magical moments.

I pretty much hung out in Mere's room - with Mere and Betsy and Kate and Beth (poor Beth was sick and lay sprawled on the futon weakly for the whole party), and at one point - the 5 of us began to relive high school.

And Betsy made the comment that for once - it was wonderful. It made us extremely happy to be talking about those years. We were OUT OF CONTROL. We all BECAME 15.

All we did was - one after the other - play THE songs from our high school dances - songs we have not herd in years. Ecstatic songs - to actually transport us in time.

And it was infectious. All 5 of us had the same experience hearing those songs. And even poor sick Beth got up to dance wildly.

The Go Gos - Our Lips are Sealed
We Got the Beat
B-52s - Rock Lobster
Devo - Jerkin' back and forth
Rocky Horror - Time Warp

The only one missing was Freeze Frame.

And all we could do was scream - yell the old lyrics - dance crazily - like we used to - at all the old high school dances.

Especially Devo. There were all these robotic little motions and gestures we used to do ["You got me.... jerking UP HIGH ... you got me ... jerkin' DOWN LOW ..."] - and we all remembered all of them. And as we all started to do them - the laughter!

The 5 of us were out of control. Trying to sing but we were laughing SO hard, and dancing - It was a great great time. And some kid took a bunch of pictures with my camera and I HOPE they came out. [Oh, did they ever] It was totally exhausting. We were drenched. Then we all joined the rest of the party for the countdown. It was so exciting - the mood was infectious. Champagne bottles, screams.

Member me and Brooke? [who ya talkin' to, Sheila? Your diary? Or yourself? Or your eternal audience?] Hugging, crouched on the floor in front of the TV in a shower of champagne spray ... It's one of my favorite New Year's memories. That and Dave W.'s party. [David - I called you "Dave"??? When did I ever call you Dave?]

So it became the new year.

The year of indecision and change.
-- GRADUATION
-- LIFE

[And, little did I know, but the beginning of a couple of years of unremitting misery which would end, finally, with me screaming at two gently helpful and baffled cops in the middle of a crowded road in Woodland Hills, California, while wearing a Holly Hobbie jumper, tennis sneakers, and a ponytail. Having to be taken into the back of their car because I was so out of control. Leaning over into the front seat like a lunatic, showing them the emptiness of my wallet. Sneering at the two of them, 'Hey! Look at that! YA EVER SEE ANYTHING SO EMPTY IN YOUR LIFE?' That was the nadir. I escaped to Chicago directly following that event. To begin my REAL life. So, uhm, yeah. "Indecision and change" is definitely coming up. ]

We all were hugging and screaming - I hugged people I didn't know. Mere was crying! She came over to me and we hugged and hugged - I almost started to cry - It was a great hug. I am SO glad I went to this party. [I have no memory of this. Thanks for the great hug, Mere!]

15 seconds into our New Year, Mere and I were in the middle of our fantastic tight embrace when there was a crash. We ignored it. Beth was pulling at Mere's sweater, murmuring, "Mere ... Mere ..." We pulled apart just in time to see Mere's housemate and her boyfriend (who wears all black and smokes a pipe - as though he created the image. Dork.) furiously storming out of the apartment - he was dragging her, she was soaked - and then - bang. They were gone. Murmurings, curiosity, anxiety - and then instantly the party picked up again, as though nothing had happened. "Happy New Year!"

The entire night I was periodically calling Antonio. [This was way pre-cell phone, obviously.] Charging it to home, of course, but I was suffering from withdrawal. I hadn't talked to him the entire day before. I love him so much! Sometimes my feelings surprise me. They are so warm and gentle. Usually I feel crazed and electric. Not very restful and not very nurturing. You know, the old "please pass the mustard" syndrome. [This was a joke between me and Antonio - who was always much more openly demonstrative than I was. And there was the infamous moment, at some romantic dinner in a candlelit restaurant - when he said something mushy to me - can't remember what - and my response was - in all seriousness - "Please pass the mustard." hahahaha We instantly turned it into a joke, and we actually still joke about it today. It's become an entire personality type. "So he's a 'please pass the mustard' type ..." "Ah. Yes. Totally understand." Love Antonio - great sense of humor.] While he definitely is the more nurturing of us, I am definitely beside him on this journey - 100%. [Humorously - I wrote a "2" over the "1" ... to make it "200%". Very interesting. I could write a whole post about that, and what it says about our relationship, but more importantly, what it says about me. But that is for another time! 100%, 200%, what's the dif, right?] Antonio is becoming a fixture - an integral part of me. If I dwell on this, it scares me. So I do not dwell. [Excellent policy.] But occasionally I do say it out loud, just to try it on for size. Eventually, it will become part of my vocab - in the same way that I will become used to saying the words "I love you" and "boyfriend". It's all still so new.

I was having such a happy time - it made me miss him all the more. And Mere had talked to her boyfriend in Canada - huddled by the phone - and he had gone off on this poetical flight, telling her about the "sparkling snow" - so I just had to call Antonio!

My happiness wouldn't be totally complete and the night wouldn't be totally perfect without hearing his voice, making contact with him.

It was a really long party - started at about 7:00 - I got the wild inspiration to call him - even though he was in Vancouver with his buddy going skiing - But it was urgent. My love! I MUST TALK TO HIM. I MUST. I MISS HIM. So I attempted many times, mostly operator trouble - [Man. We have it so good now with cell phones] Mere has Sprint, not AT&T, but my call finally got through. Over the course of the night, I became quite intimate with the clerk at Crystal Lodge. "Hi there! It's me again!" I would say. He must have thought Antonio was this poor henpecked dude with a bratty pestering girlfriend, or that he was off on a tryst in Vancouver with some stripper/snow bunny and I was an enraged rejected lover. But I didn't care. I was desperate to hear his voice and laugh with him and say, "Happy New Year".

I was kind of drunk, so I was operating on impulse.

I love operating on impulses. I do it so rarely.

3 hour time change. I called him the first time at like 8:30, which he had said was the best time. But there was no one there. Saddened, I hung up. It had become a subliminal mission.

Called back 2 hours later. Still no answer. I was stumped. Saw dancing visions of neon bars and naked boobs. Bummer. Partied on for 2 more hours - danced - chowed down - laughed hysterically - took fun pictures - MANY pictures - and kept a nice consistent drunk going. A nice pleasant party drunk.

It became the new year. Blah blah.

Things chilled out and we congregated back in Mere's room again with dim lights, incense, music, good rocking times. MUCH fun. At about 12:30 or so, I remembered that I had a boyfriend [hahahahahahahaha] and that I had once upon a time desperately wanted to call him.

Oh yeah, one of the earlier times I had called and talked to the clerk again, he said, "Do you want to leave a message?" And I said, drunkenly, "Yeah, okay. Could you tell him that Sheila called? He can't get in touch with me, but sure. Tell him I called." Very helpful message, Sheila.

So I tried to call Vancouver once it became THIS year about 4 or 5 times. Nasal operator voice: "Due to intense holiday calling ..." Etc. Quite frustrating. FINALLY, I got an operator, and she put me through. AND HE WAS THERE!

My honey! As I was waiting for Room 338 to answer, I felt like my heart was on hold. I sat in my little shadowy corner on Mere's futon and surrounded by silk pillow, with the sounds of the party fading away around me - I heard nothing but the rings of the phone in Vancouver and the waiting silence in my own brain. The anticipation. Jesus.

I cannot fucking wait to see him. And kiss him.

Greg answered. I asked for Tonio. I couldn't really tell how loud or shrill I was speaking because I had been at the party for so long, and the decibel level was pretty intense. I had been screaming "jerkin' back and forth" for a good 3 hours by that point. So I'm sure I shrieked in Greg's ear. Then there was Tonio! And he was so HAPPY to hear my voice. I almost cried - He had gotten my message, and had been trying to find me. "But there was no answer at your house! Where do you think they all were? And I thought it might be too late to call your parents' house ..." "Yeah! I'm in Boston! With all of my friends from high school!"

Introductory chatter.

Then we exploded. "I MISS YOU." "I MISS YOU SO MUCH." "I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE YOU." He makes my spine crinkle. And I just CRINKLED when I heard his voice.

I described the party to him in enthusiastic detail. He kind of moaned, "Oh, that sounds fun ... I wish I was there ..." I moaned back, "I wish you were here, too!"

Cool thing was: It was still the old year where he was. I was speaking to him from the future, basically.

I kept saying (shrieking), "I am talking to you across time!"

Like Richard and Leslie! [Oh, for God's sake. Those two again?] They have a new book out, by the way.

We blabbed endlessly. We blab endlessly.

He and Greg went heli-skiing, dropped off by helicopter on some untouched mountaintop already tested for avalanches. Jesus, Tonio. He said he has taken mounds of pictures. It sounded magnificent, monumental, and totally scary. Jean was very impressed when I told her that. "He must be a great skier." He swears he's not, but I have my doubts.

He's so cute. He's the planner. He is determined to get me to go skiing [he never did.] - he wrote me one long letter where, step by step, he told me what we would do. He ended his long paragraph with a decisive, "There. I have it all planned."

I said, "I'm not too wasted." "No, you sound pretty coherent."

That reminds me: in the middle of the Halloween party - there were so fucking many people in my house. And I really was bombed. I was Edie - with silver hair, hoop earrings, white face, white lips, fake lashes, tight halter, black tights, and bandaids on my arms. Mitchell was Andy. We were perfect. It was a magnificent party even though it was altogether too crazy. [This is the party where my friend Beth, dressed as a clown, bitched out two random partygoers. Story here. It's hilarious.] Anyways, Janeen comes over - she was dressed as a genie - and grabs me off the dance floor where I had been madly gyrating and screams at me, "ANTONIO'S ON THE PHONE!" I TORE up the stairs, secluded myself in Tom's room [uhm, now Beth's husband. The tangled web here is gorgeous.] - the house was vibrating with noise - and I picked up the phone.

And that's all I remember.

The next day I racked my brains - "what the hell did I say to him?" I was a little nervous - but he loves the memory of it now. I was incoherently babbling to him, raving about my costume, and Mitchell's costume, and everybody's costume ... I told him the costume of every person at that party, and there had to be 150 people in my house. This was a long-distance call.

So when I called him at Mere's from the New Year's party -we were laughing about that call from the Halloween party - he said, "What was it you kept saying to me? It was so cute!" Of course I remembered and shrieked in a shrill mushy drunk voice, "I LOVED YOUR LETTER!" He started howling with laughter - that fantastic boisterous laughter that I have always adored so much [Antonio has the best laugh in the world. Everyone who knows him agrees. It's a consensus. You hear him laugh, and you MUST laugh too.] Much laughter.

I hung up with him and I felt absolutely totally whole.

Let's hope I can sustain it.

Everyone has been saying how shitty this year has been for them - and yeah, part of it sucked - but for the majority, it's been the most amazing year of my life. Tonio says it's the same way for him. "Yeah, a lot of this year was bad ... but after June ... [when we hooked up] ... everything looked up."

God, that makes me feel so good.

Best New Year's party ever. [And that assessment still stands!!]

1997 quotes. No context.

"Somebody needs to call him up and tell him he's an asshole!" - Maria W. on Scott Hamilton

"I'm glad you're back ... even though I didn't know you were gone." - Ann

"M. and I were not really made for public viewing. We were a private exhibit. Invitation Only." - Me

"Who the hell is Tex Watson?" - Barbara

"SLUGWORTH." - Ann

"When she styled it, I looked like Sylvia Plath in her college years." - Maria M.

"I need to get some new cuss words. I want to start using words like 'asshole' and 'bitch.'" - Stephen

"...his snowbeard penis." - Jackie

"Buhsh 'n Pudding ..." - Shelagh, trying to say "button pushing"

"So I want you to operate out of complete panic." - Gene

"I'm on a roll! I'm on a very second-rate roll here!" - Sam

"It's a great mistake to try to be original." - Sam

"This is not a relaxing job." - Sam

"So. You've just heard from the portobellos ..." - Sam

"I had a bolt of stress that you didn't know where he worked. Literally. I had a bolt of stress .... You know, for the coma contingency." - Ann

"If I could say goodbye to you in a Rebus form I would ..." - Me to Ann

"I wish there was such a thing as Open Boob Night." - Brooke

"Where Alan Thicke meets Frankenstein ..." - Ann

"And then Tim hugged me." Long pause. "Well, electronically." - Ann

"She puts marshmallows on brownies!" - Maria's indictment of Jo

"She then plunged a dagger into my heart. Literally. She impaled me with her horns." - Ann

"Honey Nut Clusters, steamed squash, and red wine ..." - Jen, describing our nights at home

Kevin: "I just said 'Fuck it'."
Pause.
Robert: "Which is Latin for 'Be Free!'"

Me: "What about Adam?"
Ann: "Oh please. That rumor has already been squelched."

"And then, of course, there was the Bo Deans debacle ..." - Me to Kate

"Once you get to my stage, you have no standards, and you just feel grateful to still be standing here!" - Sam

"It seems to me, Rodney, that the importance of the hyoid bone is in having one." - Robert

Shelagh: "Isn't it true that Meryl Streep used to throw up before she used to go onstage?"
Cheryl: "Yeah, but that's because she was drunk."
Shelagh: "Oh! Okay! Thanks for clearing that up for me!"

"I am so charmed by him that I can barely sleep." - Mitchell on Scott Wolf

"What am I - the Profiler?" - Mere

"This is so Cohort One." - Matt

Discussion about Kenneth Branagh's Frankenstein:
Maria: "What annoyed me was that he called the movie 'Mary Shelley's Frankenstein' when it clearly should have been called 'My Chest.'"

How I used to write in my journal

December

Sitting across from Michael at the Golden Apple. A drizzly day. My spanking new saddle shoes. Michael chowing on waffles with gusto. I always used to love watching him eat. And the eyes. I could lose myself in them. (Well, I did!) And when he would become aware of something - the semi-homeless man who sat near us - the way he takes things in. And the kindness, too. The kindness in his eyes revealing the kindness in his heart. Listening, eyes on me, mouth full. We are sort of restless in one another's presence. Ants in our pants. It's like at any second we're about to start eating each other alive and ripping our clothes off. Yet we don't. And the repression of that impulse at all times causes some stress.

First half of talk. Acting. My plans. Our plans. But underneath it all I was thinking, Michael. You proposed marriage to me. What is up with THAT? Fuck acting!

This, to me, was different from my need to get laid. I could justify that away. Okay, it's not gonna happen. Yes, it's a disappointment. You're sick of living like a nun, but that is no reason to throw yourself at Michael. When Michael and I sleep together, it's gonna be fuckin' serious, fuckin' for real, and so I could have a little dialogue with my horn-dog self, banking her fires.

But this I wanted to push. I felt entitled to do so.

It would not be okay with me if he and I parted company without talking about marriage. It needed to happen. And I realized it would have to be me that did it. So I did. A lull came, and then Michael said, "What else?" And I said, grinning, "Well, it's funny, and kinda weird. I just received a marriage proposal out of the blue!"

And the changes that went over Michael's face - that funny face he makes - the face captured in the hysterical picture of me and him being forced to play cards. The sort of flared nostrils, the smile playing about his lips - a contemplative humorous making-fun-of-himself face.

He said, slowly, realizing the terrain was changing, coming into the game with me, "Really?" Taking on the rules of the game I set up.

I said, "Yeah! Can you believe it?"

Still with that funny flared-nostril pseudo-serious face, pouring syrup on his waffles, glancing at me quickly, looking away, inhaling, all with something very real going on underneath. Then he said, "I'm jealous."

"Really!" I said, interested in that response. "You are?"

My heart was in my throat. Since I was determined to really discuss this, we didn't stay in game-land for very long. We both got so nervous though. Like: Are we really talking about this?

There was a moment where Michael got sort of openly nervous and skittish, and I suddenly got this weird sensation that I was pressuring him, and I immediately realized the absurdity of that. He's the one who said, "Will you marry me?" I didn't say it! He did. We're 9 years old.

I said to him, "Michael, the only reason we are having this conversation right now is because you proposed marriage. I'm just dealing with the reality of your proposal."

He started laughing. "I know. I take full responsibility for anything that happens from here on out."

We had a really excellent talk about getting married. About each other, about what we want in our lives, what we want from a relationship, what we found in each other that autumn in Ithaca. He, at one point, got really nervous - so nervous that he started feeling physically ill. He insisted it had more to do with the waffles he had just wolfed down, but I was skeptical. I didn't give him a hard time about it, though.

He said, "I asked you to marry me because I meant it." (I took note of the past tense, but shut my mouth and just listened. Let him have his say.) "Also" - with a sort of wry twist of his mouth, "I asked you because I felt pretty certain you'd say no. It was an impulse. You had really been on my mind, and in that moment, I wanted to marry you, but it was also my way of saying to you - Keep me on the back burner. Make sure I'm on the back burner. Somewhere. When you get ready to settle down, I want to be considered."

I just listened. I'm good at that.

But then I told him that I would actually not say no. "If" he asked me to marry him (for real, I mean, not our practice run) - I would not say no. I would say yes.

He could not believe his ears. He thought he hadn't heard right.

"What?"

Everything got even more electrically charged between us. We were listening to each other thru the pores of our skin. Trying to figure out what we really were saying.

He was stunned.

"You're kidding me ... right?"

"Why do you think I'm kidding you? No, I'm not kidding you. If you asked me to marry you right now, I would say yes." I had no fear from then on.

So he thought and thought about this new development, looking at me with semi-apprehensive eyes, trying to see if I was teasing - Then he said (and I loved this, it was such a Me moment, such a Sheila moment), "You like me that much?"

Not love, but like. I was so charmed by that, it was so truthful, so us.

I started laughing. "Yes, I like you that much. There's nothing you could do that would make me not like you that much." [Still true, by the way. Still true. Thank you, God. Thank you for Michael.]

He kept thinking about me liking him "that much". I didn't say anything. I waited. And what was his comment, after another long contemplative pause? He said, relishing each word, "That ... is .... so .... cool!"

Now, for me, there was such a beauty in his phrasology. ("Watch your phrasology!" "Not one more poop out of you!" "I think he means peep." "Great honk!" "Watch your phrasology!")

But his word choices:

"You like me that much?"
"That is so cool!"

The childlike nature of his word choices ... suits me. It's endearing to me. That kind of shit makes the world go round for me. These insights into people's hearts, the way these men that I love negotiate their ways thru the world. They are so rare. They are rare and precious jewels. I cherish them. I cherish their rarity. I hover over it. I guard it with my life. With my own rarity.

I love love love it that Michael thinks it's "cool" that I "like" him enough to marry him. This, to me, is familiar somehow. Like that song I sang at Jackie's wedding. "Feels like home to me ... Feels like I'm all the way back where I come from ... Feels like home to me ... Feels like I'm all the way back where I belong ..."

Reminds me also of the last line of Cuckoo's Nest. "I been away a long time."

My God.

You recognize your home even if you have been away from it a long time.

I don't even know if I love Michael, but I do know that he's home.

I knew that something very true happened between us in Ithaca, even though our outer circumstances may have been artificial. The feeling of lying with my head in his lap, being read to ... and chasing each other, drunk, thru the sunset-drenched fields, laughing and screaming and kissing ... and drinking coffee every morning, reading our respective books ... It felt so natural. We had such a groove.

And I have to back up a little bit, and say, about it being "artificial" and all:

Maybe to a civilian it would be "artificial", but this sort of thing is the actor's world. It's my reality. Relationships start on location all the time. Or with touring shows. Romances start that way all the time. It makes total sense to me. It also appeals to my cut-to-the-chase mentality. With the focus being mainly on work. The intensity of that atmosphere, the intimacy it fosters - it's REAL. We are actors. We are gypsies. Our homes are always semi-temporary, our families are makeshift. We form intense bonds quickly. We thrive in a high energy atmosphere. I am not a normal person. I am not a regular citizen. I am a fringe-dweller and proud of it.

So Michael and I dated for 6 weeks. So what? To us, in out of town mode, it felt like a year. So much happened. John Cassavetes and Gena Rowlands knew each other only 4 months before they got married. And it began out of their work. He came to see her in a play, went backstage to meet her, and 4 months later, they got hitched.

Who am I talking to right now? The doubters, the skeptics.

He and I talked about marriage, our concept of it. I told him how I, unfortunately, told many people about his proposal, and it set into a motion a cycle of conversations with my friends, all who weighed in with opinions on whether I should or should not. "You have no idea what you have started. I mean, I've had arguments - actual arguments - with friends about this." How to say that what had happened between Michael and I three years ago was enough for me to take the proposal seriously. Michael wanted me to just keep talking, so that he could calm himself down (and digest his waffles. Uh-huh.) "Keep talking. Don't stop talking." So I kept going. I talked. I talked my head off for half an hour, my saddle shoe-d feet up on the booth opposite me, Michael's hand on my foot. An anchor. I babbled. He was perfectly happy to sit and listen and soak up every word. Then it was his turn and he talked. It was so great.

I even told him my fears about domesticity. That married women seem to discuss curtains with such desperate seriousness ... so it makes me feel like interest in curtains is a requirement of marriage - and I just could not be less interested. I never will be interested. I mean, I want curtains, of course, I don't want people to be able to stare into my apartment, but that's about it. But see how this is what I talk about when I talk about being afraid of marriage? It's about losing my self - feeling like I can't just be who I am - wild Sheila - but also - marriage, as it is discussed, seems to be all about domestic concerns, and that stuff does not interest me at all. It stresses me out, actually. I don't want to get neurotic about shit I don't care about. What if I don't obsess about sun-dried tomato dip and curtains and wine racks? T. required me to be interested in that stuff. It bored me to tears. He couldn't just let me be. It put the fear of relationships into me forever. I had to pretend to give a shit in order to not piss him off. I can't have that again. So that was basically what I was babbling about like a lunatic, nursing my 8th refill of joe. But Michael, of course, didn't treat me like a lunatic. He listened seriously. The good thing, though, is that he is NOT on the side of my neuroses. T. was. He played up the neuroses, he argued with me about my neuroses, tried to talk me out of them - which naturally made things worse. Michael is supportive if I'm insecure, but he doesn't go there. He says stuff like, "Okay. You're totally acting crazy right now." But he's on the side of my strength, my bigness, my reality, my sexiness, my uniqueness. He doesn't give credence to crazy stuff.

He said, "Marriage, to me, is not about materialistic things. Like curtains, plates, a house. It's about companionship. A partnership. That's all. Going thru life together as opposed to by yourself."

I talked a lot about myself - and the other marriage proposal I had - the one I turned down - I just felt like a round-hole of marriage was being offered to me, the square peg. I would have to fit into that concept of marriage, rather than make up my own way. And so somehow, to me, in my lexicon, his out of the blue proposal made a lot of sense to me. It suited me. And if I were to get married, it would of course be in these sort of abnormal impulsive circumstances. And it's hard to explain to people who truly fit in to a more traditional set-up. It's okay that they fit in to the status quo. But I don't. And this feels right to me.

He couldn't get over the fact that I was dead serious. My response was: well, sure - why not? I have come to the point in my life where I trust responses like that. There I was - with T. - deeply ensconced in a relationship - and when he proposed to me - deep within my soul, an alarm bell rang. Something held me back. My gut feeling. Thank God I listened to it.

And why shouldn't I listen to my gut here?

I said, "I just have this sense about you, Michael. About you and me together. And I don't even know what to call it. We haven't even given it a shot yet, but I still have this feeling. That there is something to explore here. The way you look at the world, the way you look at theatre and art, what you seem to aspire to - and the fact that you care about things. You have ideals. You get angry at the same things I do. You have zero tolerance for the same shit as me. I don't know. There's a kinship here - I felt it in Ithaca, and I feel it now."

I loved this, too. At one point, Michael said, "So .... what does Mitchell think of all of this?"

That just makes me laugh. Everyone always needs to know what Mitchell thinks. I'm so glad that Michael and Mitchell know each other. Because Michael is this unknown entity to everyone else - but Mitchell has experienced him, and us together. Michael knows how much I trust Mitchell so he wanted to know Mitchell's opinion.

Now of course Mitchell had told me that David had come to him, saying, "Tell me about this Michael guy. Who is he? What do we think of him?" And Mitchell said, "In a way - in a wierd way - what's going on between Sheila and Michael - is true love."

So I told Michael that. No response yet - he was pondering it - listening.

I said, "Mitchell said that when he first heard that you had proposed to me, his first thought was, 'Wow, that's kind of crazy' ... and then his second thought was, 'Huh. But it makes sense.'"

That was sort of my response, too. Like: Wow! Crazy! But then ... well, let me think about it ...

That was Ann's feeling about it as well. Taken aback at first, then immediate acceptance. "Oh. Well. Of course. That makes total sense."

So hearing of Mitchell's validation calmed Michael down. Mitchell has a lot of power. But I feel that he deserves it. He's earned it. Also, to quote Mitchell - I don't give him any more power than I give myself. That's the beauty of it.

I did say to Michael, "God, it's scary how much we both need Mitchell's endorsement! Like - what if he said he didn't think it was a good idea?"

We talked a lot about Relationship One. Our first stab at it. And he was so self-deprecating that I finally had to yell at him. "Will you cut that out, please??"

He felt like he had to apologize profusely, and I felt like that was totally unnecessary. He was talking about his insane jealousy towards me ("Why were you talking to that guy?" "You like Pat better than me. What did you guys talk about?" Etc. He wore on my last nerve.) "You shouldn't have had to deal with that," he said. I told him that no one had ever been as openly jealous with me as he was and I had kind of gotten off on it, although it was a very new sort of energy for me to deal with. Like the time he yelled at me after talking with Pat about Tropic of Cancer. He was beside himself. "You know how I feel about that book. Why were you talking about it with him??" "Uhm ... cause he asked me if I liked the book? Uhm ..."

He said, "I was a mess. I treated you unfairly." On and on with the beating himself up, as though he thought that was what I needed from him. I said, "I don't feel that way. Don't say that to me cause you feel I want to hear that." I also said, "And, as you recall, I wasn't in the best place either, Michael. It wasn't like I was totally healthy and you were a psycho. There was the ghost of the Baby Boomer - the timing was off. For both of us." I don't know if I convinced him or not but I really tried.

We kept bursting into nervous laughter, because we were actually talking about getting married. We felt so subversive.

He said to me, "Logistically, it would not be good. We're on separate coasts."

I kept saying, "Look. I don't want to get into some anxietal unhappy long distance situation with you. That is the farthest thing from my mind. I tell you this - I am ready. In terms of being ready for a real relationship. But I'm so not into pressure. Also, I don't want to get SAD about this. Know what I mean? I've never been SAD about you and I don't want to start now. I don't want this to turn into a sad thing before we've even discovered what's here. You know?" I really feel strongly about this. So we discussed logistics.

Then he qualified all of this by saying, "Besides, I can't marry you yet. My parents would kill me!" That made me laugh. "They don't even know who you are! So we'd have to work on that before we get married. I mean, God!" I just sat there in my saddle shoes, drinking black coffee, beaming at him.

Then he really got to the heart of the matter. Another level of truth. I saw it happen. And I waited to hear what he would say. There was a sort of cautious tentative look to him, he was a little bit afraid to verbalize it. I was staring at him, sending him "It's okay, it's safe" vibes. And he said, "Okay ... see ... here's the thing I'm thinking now. This all makes me very afraid because .... what you are offering me here is an opportunity. You know? And - if I choose now not to take it .... And then ... I lose you ... and you find someone else while you're waiting for me - well ... then I'm gonna have so many regrets. I'll have to live with the fact that I let you go - and I lost you ..."

Now I - from my side of the fence - with all my experiences - this speech of his really hit home with me. And I couldn't say to him, "Oh, no, that's not true" - because it is true. Life is about living with regrets. At least a mature life is about living with regrets. And - yes. Maybe we are at a crossroads, and yes, he might lose me. To whomever comes along next. I realize that. And - yes. This is tough decision. Or whatever - it's a risk. The whole thing I went through with P. taught me so much about love and loss and regret and letting go. I felt like Methuselah sitting there across from Michael.

I nodded at him. "Well, yes. See, that's the thing."

That's the way life is.

It's a gamble either way.

You play, you win. You play, you lose.

It was just so great to talk about it openly. Because I wasn't about to say, "Oh, I'll wait till you're ready" - I wasn't about to say "I'll move to LA in June" - No. That's not true for me, it's not what I want. I have already MADE those mistakes.

So now? It's a risk.

Michael and I may not end up together. I'll live. It won't destroy me. I may meet someone else in the next year who sweeps me off my feet and that'll be that. I'll have to break the news to him, but if he told me he was seriously dating someone - I mean, I'll live. That's all I can say. I'll live. I may experience severe disappointment but I know, too, that no promises were made. He would not be betraying me. If I got together with someone now, I wouldn't feel like I was cheating on Michael ... and that is where we stand right now.

Life's a risk.

You play. You win. You lose. You play.

And I feel so much more philosophical about all of this since P. I don't have as many needs. And I'm also honest.

I said, "Don't make some hasty decision because you're afraid of losing me. That will never work. But yes. You are right. You may end up having to live with that regret. That's the way life is."

But he seemed really afraid. I found the whole thing so damn poignant. Just the words being said: Losing you, regrets, the future, opportunity ... human beings trying to work it out.

And we sort of left it at that.

I mean, leave it to me to let things remain in this uncertain risky place, but that felt the most right to me. For now. It may change. I may end up moving out there, or falling in love with someone. Do I love him? People have asked me that. Am I in love with him? I do not know. Probably not. Love Shmove. There! I'm fascinated by him, I am challenged by him, I have vast feelings of tenderness for him, I find him intensely sexually attractive, I find him mysterious, interesting, he's very funny, we have the same absurd sense of humor. I love him, quite definitely. But in love? Does there have to be a difference? I remember Paul Newman's answer to the question: What is the key to your long-lasting marriage to Joanne Woodward? "We have a lot of laughter and a lot of lust." Not a word about love. That suits me. That makes sense to me.

I have no idea what love means. What in love means. I feel like we could have an incredible sex life. I feel like we would have titanic arguments. I feel like the jealousy thing is part of who he is, and I'd have to deal with that. I feel like we could be silent together, reading, cooking, hanging out. There's a peace in our energy together. Does all of this add up to love? Maybe to me it could.

So we left it at that. The words were out there. Everything spoken out into the universe, and so now we just have to see what happens. No neuroses, please. I don't want to miss him. Before I've even gotten used to him. I'm so used to being sad about the men in my life. I don't want to be sad about Michael.

He asked me if I was dating anyone, and I said no. He didn't believe me. He refused to believe me. He got angry at me for lying to him, actually.

Later that night, Michael and I were back at Mitchell's. He and I fell asleep on the couch together, wrapped up in each other's arms, pig-piled. I think we were both having a shared narcoleptic episode. Like, we lay down on the couch, turned on the TV, and both CRASHED at the same moment. We had an exhausting day. So Mitchell came home to see this Romeo and Juliet tableau on his couch. We woke up, and lay there, and Mitchell stood over us, and talked to us. Rather firmly. Asking us if we had come to a decision.

Michael and I both said things along the lines of, "Well, I don't want to assume ..." "I don't want to assume that Sheila ..." "I don't want to assume that Michael ..." Mitchell finally said, frustrated, "One of you had better start assuming something." He had had it with both of us. Michael said, "Tell us what to do." Mitchell went off to the kitchen to get a drink, saying, "I think you should spend the rest of your lives together. What more do you want from me?"

This is how I used to write in my journal

It was August 21.

A Death in the Family had just closed. My going-away party was the next week. I had gotten so sick, and I was still sick on August 21. I had 102 degree fever. I remember actually having some tnesion with Jackie about this because yes, I was totally sick - but I could not/would not take a day of rest. I only had a week left. I won't DIE. I must plow through. Somehow I made it through the last weekend of the show; I remember sitting in my big scene with Kate, alternately chilled and hot with fever - and I cannot describe it any other way than to say that I was totally and unselfconsciously in the moment. I had no awareness that I was onstage, that there was anything in this world besides me and Kate.

I would walk home after the show - hot hot summer nights, crowded summer streets - I felt like I was floating through space and time. My feet weren't touching the sidewalk. My legs ached. Finally home, take medicine, and lie in bed, tossing, turning, hot, feverish ...

I called M. in a panic on the most feverish day. [Ahem.] He was gentle and sweet. I told him I only had a week left in Chicago and I needed to see him. I was afraid that it wouldn't happen. I needed him so much that summer. He reassured me. "Don't worry. We'll see each other. You just get better, okay?"

I lay on my green velvet coach moaning. It was 110 degrees out anyway.

George was going to Ireland with his family that week, so he wouldn't come to my going-away party. We both were pretty sad about it. We had become quite good friends that summer. Death in the Family was a magical experience. He wanted to take me out to dinner that Monday night, so the two of us could have some closure, have a proper good-bye night. I thought that was really nice.

Now.

As far as I was concerned, as far as I knew - August 21st was the second to last of his shows I'd go to that summer, if ever. August 28th was the last show, and I was leaving town the 29th. So the 28th was going to be a big extravaganza. Everyone would be there. Ann, Mitchell, Jim ... I wanted to buy a new dress, by the 28th I wouldn't be sick anymore. I had all kinds of ideas. I wanted to sing "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow" with him. I had a huge event in my head.

Now.

The way it actually ended up turning out ... despite the tearing in my heart (which I wouldn't have been able to avoid anyway) was "perfect". Meant to be.

I was trying to control our goodbye scene. With the dress and the star-studded night. I was playing puppeteer. I thought it was best that way. To make our private goodbye a public event.

This ended up being an incredible lesson for me.

Because I had to deal with a huge loss in the way it actually turned out. I ended up having to say goodbye to him, and that whole experience, alone. There was no event. All of this symbolic stuff - all of this "last time" stuff - really meant something to me - and it never happened, except in my head. I thought it would help: To sit beside Ann, to sit beside Mitchell, and know that it was over. To be aware of the ending as it was ending. To honor that.

As it turned out, the last time we all went to his show ... we didn't know it was the last time.

We always thought we had more time.

And so I had to grieve that. And so did Ann. So did Mitchell. So did Jim.

No one was there on August 21. I was there. With my fever. Ken happened to be there. And a full audience was there, too. But none of my posse. Me and Ken. And that was it.

On the other side of things, it was, for once in our lives together, not a crowd scene. I had him TOTALLY to myself. I only had to deal with me, and my emotions. I was so sick, too. I had no veneer. I was weak from sickness, I was open, I wasn't dressed to the nines, I had no armor on (sartorial or emotional). I resented that, at first. I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to say goodbye. And yet when are we ever ready? I wouldn't have been ready on the 28th either. I just would have had a nicer outfit on.

So I was sad that Ann wasn't there - but (and Ann got this) the way it ended made sense. Eventually. In the Big Picture. Of me. And him. It was right. Because the first time we met was not a public event. Not when I went up onstage to sing. It was when he saw me through the window and came out and joined me on the sidewalk. To talk. Just me and him.

The universe takes care of you.

It provides sense.

You just have to pay attention.

And accept the sense in the answers that are given, not in the answers you want.

None of this took away from the blow I felt in the original moment. On August 21. I don't know if I could sensorally re-create it. It was so visceral, so enormous - a once-in-a-lifetime moment. Here's another "miracle". I had made a tape for him. I took my time with it. I kept a copy for myself, knowing I would want to revisit it some day.) I cried the entire time I made the tape. It took me hours. I was like a crazy woman, up at 3 a.m., drinking wine, all of the lights on in the living room, surrounded by tapes. Mitchell got afraid for me, but I kept assuring him I was okay. I needed to do this.

I called the tape: "Only Connect." Because of Howard's End. Life changes, life moves on, progress happens, landscapes change. All of this is inevitable. Yet if your mission during your brief stay on this planet is "only connect", you will not have missed your life. Making that tape was life or fucking death to me. It was life or fucking death that he hear it.

And so on the 21st, sick as a dog, having dinner with George, I happened to have my book bag with me - with the tape in it - already in a manila envelope, no less, even though I was planning on giving it to him on the 28th - our last night.

Here.

Here are the words that I need: the chilling words: to think that he could have left our final meeting to chance like that. He knew he didn't have a show on the 28th. How could he have been sure I would show on the 21st? What if I hadn't shown? What would have been his thought process then? Would he have called me to say goodbye? To let me know he didn't have a show on the 28th? I almost didn't go on the 21st. I was so fucking sick. I went on a whim. If I hadn't gone, I would have thought, "Well, whatever. I'll see him next week." And what a tragedy that would have been. A crushing blow, something I wouldn't ever not regret. To not see him that one last time. On our native soil. To have our paths miss each other so closely. Also: to know he didn't call me to let me know ... How could he be so cavalier? Clearly, it wasn't as important to him. Or he couldn't admit how important it was. Of course all of this is hypothetical. It didn't happen this way, but it very well may have. The whole thing was left up to luck, and that is what I find so haunting, so terrible.

Thinking about what really happened - by accident - on August 21 - and how it makes a terrible kind of sense to me, and comparing it to the hypothetical: me blithely heading out on the 28th, in my new dress, ready to leave town the next morning ... only to find that there is no show ... and that I will not be able to say goodbye ...

It gives me a cold flash. And he almost let that happen.

All of this did not occur to me until way later.

George walked me to the door of the club. As though it was my house. We had a big long tearful hug. I remember distinctly that I had that translucent shimmery feeling that goes along with really high fevers. I was transparent. My emotions were not just on the surface. They were the surface. But at the same time, I occasionally had that faraway roar in my ears. I felt very otherworldly, and removed. Like I was some invisible spirit hovering in the back. I have felt that way there before - especially after the whole thing between us ended - as though I were dead and re-visiting the earth.

I wasn't even positive that I could be seen.

I had on a big white man's shirt. I had on paint-stained faded jeans. I had on hightops. My hiar was long and loose. I had on no makeup and I still looked like death warmed over. I will never forget the glassy marbles my eyes had become at the height of my fever. The scary time, the time of the advancing icebergs. So I still looked sick on the 21st. Especially in my eyes.

Nobody knew I was there. I couldn't face going backstage to say hi. I set myself up way in the back. I don't think the show had started yet. The crowd was pretty sparse. I found a stool back by the sound board and perched there, sipping water, listening to the roar of the wintry sea in my ears, riding the waves of my fever. I had no connection to my flesh, not really, but then suddenly I'd be shivering, or burning up, or achey. I should have been home and in bed. No doubt about it. This was Jackie's worry.

But the universe knew I had to be there, and so the universe made sure I was there.

Somewhere, halfway through the first set it happened. He said something about the following week, then he stopped himself and said, "Oh, I won't be here next week ... so, the week after then ..." Totally casual, no big deal to him.

But sitting in the back, on my stool, I felt the bottom fall out. And then I was falling. I could not comprehend it. It was too immediate. Too big. I was holding on to something during this freefall - but everything else froze. I mean, the show went on. I could perceive that sounds were still being made, but I could not hear them. It was only the roaring beat of my heart that I could hear.

And I could not understand. Immediately.

It was beyond the pale.

I had to realize it. I fought it - but I had to realize it. It seemed essential that I realize what was happening. Tonight's it. Tonight's the last night. There will be no extravaganza on the 28th. Where I can be fabulous and a star and appreciated.

This is it.

Ready or not.

This is it.

That's another thing that turned out to be a blessing. I was not "ready" to say goodbye to him. I can overthink and overintellectualize something to death. But on August 21, I couldn't plan or orchestrate anything.

So I was thrown off guard, not to mention having a high fever. I had to deal with everything at once. I had to let go - there and then - of the thought of me and Ann at our last show on the 28th - I had to say goodbye to the fantasy - there and then.

And it changed everything. It was like an acting exercise where suddenly the stakes are raised 100% higher. And everything suddenly becomes more interesting. Immediate.

The whole atmosphere changed when I learned that this - right now - would be the last time. Whereas before, I was floating in my haze of sickness, watching him up on stage, aware of the dull ache I always felt when I would go to his shows, a low level drone of pain under the smiles ... and after the realization, it was like I was WHIZZING through space at full speed, heading directly for him, the air full of pure oxygen and knifes, high-pitched music, silver particles. Hang on ... this is IT. I'm not ready. We don't care! This is IT!

Hazard.

I cannot express the ineffable.

And somewhere admist all of this white-hot noise and internal chaos, I felt this hot bath of relief, immense, that I happened to have "Only Connect" in my bag. How fortuituous. Why was I carrying it that night? No reason. I didn't plan on giving it to him until the 28th. And so the gods smiled.

For once.

After the first assault of pain, a painful painful sweetness came. A love so sweet and big and yearning that I thought I might die. My love for this man physically hurt me. So I would wait it out, pressing in on my heart with my hand, riding the waves of it, like an earache, a stomach flu.

I sat in the back, in my dark feverish corner, no one knew I was there, with tears pouring down my ravaged face. The music blared, music made by him, and I sobbed into my hands, watching him through my fingers, aching, aching, aching.

I wasn't, of course, just crying about the letting go of August 28. I was crying about the letting go of him. That old hurt. And once the tears started to come, basically I cried off and on for the rest of the night. They woud not stop. It became a casual thing, my tears. I said, in the van ride home, "Do not be alarmed. I just can't stop crying. You can keep talking. Seriously, don't mind me. Ignore the tears."

My resistance was already shot, burned off by the fever. I could fight nothing, and it didn't even occur to me to fight. If our last night had been the 28th, I would have fought it the entire way.

Heart breaking, my heart singing out over and again.

Goodbye goodbye goodbye

Hidden in the back, shadowed, protected, disguised, laughing with love at his stupid jokes, clapping and clapping and clapping.

I was all alone. And it was right that it turned out the way it did. That I could sit in the dark, alone, watching the show, weeping, laughing, having a totally private experience. It was a gift, actually. It had its sad side, but it was a gift.

It had a symmetry to it. As the whole thing with him did. The first night - I went to go see him by himself. And it was in August. I wore my tight black button down shirt, my tight olive-green mermaid skirt. I sat, come to think of it, exactly where I sat on August 21st, on a stool by the sound board, in the back, in the dark. And I was alone that first night. Heady with freedom and independence.

But then - years later - sitting there, a week before leaving town - alone still, and independent, but "heady with freedom"? Not quite. Oh yes, I was free. But heady? Far from it.

It is a terrible thing to be free.

I did not let him know I was there. Not yet. Then he took a break. I tried to get myself together before I saw him, but it was impossible.

I moved up to the side of the stage during the break. I would watch the second set from there. I did not go backstage. I sat quietly behind the speakers, still invisible - quiet, pale, in tears - quiet constant tears.

Eventually Ken emerged from backstage - as did Jim - to find teary-eyed Sheila hiding behind the speakers. Jim, of course, gave me a big hug. He was always so sweet and so good to me. And Ken totally took care of me, in his own way, for the rest of the night. Ken had come to see Death in the Family, on his own initiative, had heard me talk about it, got tickets, and came to see it. I had no idea he was there.

Ken had never seen me in such a state as I was in on the 21st. But he handled it beautifully. He let me alone, and yet he stuck by me. We stood up against the wall together and watched the second set. I was totally split open, I couldn't hold anything back. Every song played, I felt it again. The associations, the memories, my love for him. I had no Kleenex. The cuffs of my big white shirt were drenched.

Before the show started, Ken and I were talking. I said, broken, "So this is my last show, Ken. This is it. I thought he would be playing next week."

Ken didn't say anything for a while. Then he told me that he was a huge Ramones fan - and he saw them 40 times or something. And he told me that when they broke up, they went on tour one last time, and Ken saw them play, knowing that this was it. This was it. The end of an era. Then he said, with his ducktail, and his thick-rimmed glasses, "Tonight is a close second to that."

It killed me.

I am loved. I am loved. And it has changed me forever.

During the second set - He had Ken sing - "Summertime Blues" - I was so glad he had Ken sing on my last night there. It meant a lot to me. I knew he did it for me. It was like my own private show. And at some point, during the second set - he started doing shots. He and I hadn't spoken yet and I had no idea what he was going through. I had no idea if he was conscious that we would not see each other again, that this was it - did he get it? Is he aware of the moment?

And once the shots started being tossed back - that's how I realized: he knows.

Now. Here is what happened next. Some girl, a regular in his audience, was moving to Thailand. For her, it was a very meaningful experience: her last show!! He had no fucking clue who she was. She was sitting in the back - and she must have sent a note up to the stage, requesting a song for her last night. He was in the middle of doing his third shot and he said, "That one went out to so and so ... this is her last night here because she's moving to Thailand ..."

Let me preface all of this by saying I was not expecting what happened next to happen. I was so discombobulated by the change in schedule, I knew it was my last show, but I was so sick - I was so plain - I didn't feel festive or dressed up or ready to sing with him for the last time. I was not ready. It became an intensely private night for me, even though I was surrounded by a crowd. It was just me, in the dark, focusing on him. As though he were the Planet Earth and I was standing on the moon looking back at him. Being able to see him whole. Surrounded by eons of empty cold space, unfamiliar lunar landscape - but there he was, thousands of miles away - a mindblowing sight, something to revel in. Look at him! My home! How I love my home. Why am I so far away.

After the farewell speech for Thailand Girl, he pulled the rug out from under me by saying, "It's somebody else's last night here --" It took me a second to realize what was about to happen, and when I did I just wasn't ready. I wasn't prepared. I couldn't be cool. And in retrospect, for that, I am thankful. Because what followed was one of the most intense love-bombing 5 minutes of my whole life - and I was not removed from the experience in any way, I had no time to sidestep the intensity of it (which would have happened if I had had time to gear up for it and to orchestrate the whole thing.) So when I realized what was next, I felt this plummeting, a stunned stasis, and my mind panicked - Oh God - not ready - no no no - not ready - no!!

I'm avoiding writing it down. By writing it down I finalize it. It becomes a thing. The writing becomes the experience, rather than the experience itself.

"It's somebody else's last night here ... this someone has been -- an important -- part of ... my shows ..." (I was Alice in Wonderland, drowning in my own tears) He joked, "Lord knows, she's bailed my ass out of trouble - times without number - " (Jim and Ken burst into laughter) "But it's time for her to move on. She's moving to New York City. This is right for her. It's where she needs to go." Everything was silent, and full, and horrible, and wonderful. It was like we were the only two people in the world, and everything of importance was being left unsaid. But we knew. We knew. He said, "But of course she'll come back and visit us, won't she?" And he looked over at me.

I must be honest. At that point, the thought of ever coming back to "visit" was so awful that it could not be contemplated. No.

This is the kind of love you never recover from.

I knew what he needed from me to make the moment complete, in terms of entertainment value. He needed me to call out cheerily, "Of course I'll come back!" But I could not do it. I was not being manipulative. I was being truthful. I could not speak. I just stared up at him, mute. ".....come back and visit us? ..." Visit? What a pale flimsy excuse for life.

It was only a brief pause, he was looking down at me, and I up at him - and I could see him die in that pause. Then he said, panicked - "Please say yes."

He needed my voice. My promise. This whole exchange was edged with humor on his side, he was in front of the crowd - but the core of it was deadly serious.

Please do not say to me that I will never see you again.

Please come back and visit.

Say you will.

Say you will.

I could not get any voice out, so I just nodded. Sort of cursory, I admit. Okay, okay, I say yes ... It was only to stop that look in his eyes.

I sometimes wonder if my pain is just a pale reflection of his pain.

The thought has crossed my mind. He has never told me so I don't know. But then, waking up at 3 a.m., that one time, feeling what I felt then, that Bob Dylan song: "You're gonna have to leave me now, I know. But I'll see you in the stars above, in the tall grass,in the ones I love, You're gonna make me lonesome when you go."

That was all there in his "Please say yes!"

And then he said, "So." and he raised his shot glass. I looked out at the entire club - and the whole club raised their glasses into the air, all of them looking at me.

"To Sheila!" he said.

Then the whole crowd screamed, "To Sheila!"

This really happened.

Then the cheering began. Endless. I wilted against the wall - bombarded with images - every single face burned into my memory - all of those raised glasses at me - the roar of the voices - the smiles - the love. They were all screaming as loud as they could, and it kept coming at me and coming at me. I held my hand over my bursting my heart. I managed to blow a very meaningful kiss at everyone - and I was in the perfect emotional place for such a gesture. I meant it.

I looked up at him once during this part and he was looking over and down at me - nodding - nodding, like, "You see that? You see what you have done? You see that?" We looked at each other, and I bombarded him with what was in my heart, and he took it. He saw it. He nodded. It was just us. Then he said into the mike, softly, over the cheers, but looking down at me, "You are loved, Sheila O'Malley. You are loved."

Caritas.

That moment has seemed to me either tragic or beautiful. It depends on where I'm standing.

The end was so near.

I forced myself to not cower behind the speaker. I knew, instinctively, that I had to let myself be blown to pieces like this. That it would not come again. I would be cheating myself. So I faced the crowd - all of those faces - with mouths wide open and cheering - beer glasses shoved in the air at me - and I held my hand over my heart, I had this huge smile on my face - and I bowed. The cheering intensified. I bowed again. It was - it IS - one of the most beautiful things that has ever happened to me.

I think for him too. I saw his face. The depths of that quiet Irish soul were stirred. Shaken.

Everyone wanted me to sing. I knew I couldn't. I was wrecked. I couldn't clamp down against it, I hadn't had time to get ready. I was sick, and I could not sing in that state. He came away from the mike and walked over to where I was - and the club had begun to chant my name, over and over, like some strange Chicago Sheila cult - and he leaned down towars me, my big gentle giant, I was still pressing my hand down over my heart, with tears streaming down my face - he was leaning down, I was leaning up, we were reaching towards each other - tension - magnetism - repelling forces - he said (and he was all about me, he would have done anything for me that night), "Do you want to sing?" I shook my head. He nodded. Of course. Moved back to the mike to explain to the chanting crowd that I was sick, I couldn't sing.

Once the cheering finally died down, I saw him have to take a moment. Just a little one, of re-grouping. My heart went out to him. He took this big shaky sigh, and then shook his head, as if to clear it out. And plunged back into his music. His world.

Then it was over. The show was done. The lights went up. He disappeared. I sat on the edge of the stage, tears kept bubbling over, but I was so happy too. Ken came up to me and said, "I'm not really hip on goodbyes, so I'm gonna bag out now - I just want you to know ---" and then he got all choked up, in his manly 1950s way. He couldn't finish.

I nodded. "I know."

We hugged for a really long time.

Then he was gone.

So many people came up to me to say goodbye and wish me luck. People I didn't know. People I had never seen before in my life. I was sitting there, blowing my nose, waterworks, they would say their peace, and I would thank them from the bottom of my heart, tell them how much it meant to me.

I was sort of putting off seeing him. He was back there, I knew that, and I was 10 feet away. Finally I was ready. He was on the other side of the backdrop, and he was ready too. We could not see each other, mind you. But we moved towards each other at the same moment and we met up by the black curtain. We stood looking at each other for a moment, it was this private silent "hello" moment - no longer than that - because then I went right at him, or he went right at me - I put my arms up - he stepped into my arms - and he held me - I held him back - the hug expanded, deepened, tightened - neither of us let go. At some point, the desultory tears became sobs. He's not good with that stuff, but he did okay here. The sounds that were coming out of me, howling into his chest, alarmed even me - once I heard the first sob wrench out of me, I was gone. I was choking, racked with it. And he was never a stoic stalwart granite guy. Tears made him anxious, restless, and sometimes cruel. He kept holding me, as strong as could be, but at that first sound that came out, he caught his breath. I heard it. I felt it all through him.

He couldn't reconcile the two things - his dream-girl, his love girl, and the tear-stained girl in his arms.

"I didn't only want Louise's flesh, I wanted her bones, her blood, her tissues, the sinews that bound her together. I would have held her to me though time had stripped away the tones and textures of her skin. I could have held her for a thousand years until the skeleton itself rubbed to dust. What are you that makes me feel thus? Who are you for whom time has no meaning? In the heat of her hands I thought, This is the campfire that mocks the sun. This place will warm me, feed me and care for me. I will hold on to this pulse against other rhythms. The world will come and go in the tide of a day but here is her hand with my future in its palm."

Finally, we both pulled back. He was holding my face, wiping away the tears, looking at me, lasering into me - the first thing I could say was, "I'm disappointed - I thought you would be here next week ..." He made this sound in his throat, like he was looking at a mortally wounded animal in the street. It was a compassionate sound, am empathetic sound, a sound of acute identification.

"I know," he said. (His rhythm was different. He wasn't racing all over me, hasty, clumsy, pawing me, trying to jostle me out of emotions he found confronting. He had an infinite gentleness and stillness and sadness about him.) He did not feign indifference - like he would do sometimes, just to hurt me, shrugging right in my face, like, "Oh well, whatever." He knew what it meant to me. He was kind. He allowed me to be sad. He allowed me to fucking love him.

I held out the manila envelope - "This is a gift for you. I can't believe I happened to have it on me tonight. I was gonna give it to you next week."

He took it. Made no move to open it.

I said, "Don't open it now."

He put it in his duffel bag.

Then he turned on me and yelled at me for being sick. He was dead serious. "Why are you sick?" He raised his voice. He found my sickness intolerable. I raised my voice back. "I'm just sick. There is no reason. Back off." This made him smile.

He calmed down and asked me seriously about my illness, how I really was. I told him about Maureen making a house call. The way he was listening to me - in that way he was - those eyes, boring into me. Searching for my essence. I told him about calling M., and begging to see him, how M. was taking care of me. He doesn't like the thought of M., I can see his eyes go dead when I mention him, but I figure the whole truth can be told now. You set me free, remember.

He asked me 100 questions about my life, where would I live, would I get a job, when was I leaving - exactly - like: what time in the morning (what are you gonna do about it? Show up at the 11th hour? Because I'm crazy enough to hope for that). I suddenly remembered that I happened to have a Death in the Family program in my bag - and I reference him, and singing with him, in my bio. I said, "Oh! I want to show you this!" I rummaged thru the bag, took it out and handed it to him, finger showing him the spot. He read it, hungrily. Of course. He is basically a hungry guy.

And something happened to him when he read it. I hesitate to say everything, describe everything, but I watched his energy change - right in front of me. He has told me he loves me. Of course. But words are nothing compared to what I saw on his face in that moment. It was like I saw his heart get bigger. It got so big that I felt it pressing in on me. He couldn't even say anything. He read the bio, and then just looked at me, with this kindness in his face, tenderness, and he said, "Can I keep this?"

I nodded.

Up until that point, I had been all about my own pain. It took up so much room. But then I could sense the pain he was in, the pain he would continue to be in, how much I mean to him.

Then we were getting ready to leave. He had to go get paid, so he had to leave me for a second - he was pretty freaked out, and all about me - "Stay here, okay? I'll be right back. Don't move." He knows me too well. He knew the odds of me suddenly disappearing into the night in a poof of smoke were pretty high. So he left, and I sat backstage, alone. The tears, like I said, wouldn't stop, but at the same time I felt ultra-calm. And then we left, through the crowded bar, with him escorting me protectively. Holding onto my arm, moving me through the throngs. As we left, so many people called out to me as we passed, "Goodbye Sheila!" "Good luck!" "We'll miss you!" Shadowed by him, pale and sick, feeling very small nextto him, walking out of that place for what would be the last time.

I didn't look back. I didn't take a last-glance-around moment. I just walked out.

Oh, the van. Oh, deserted Lincoln Ave. Oh, the traffic light. Oh, the New Seminary. Oh, the Emerald Queen. Floods of memories. As I climbed up into the front seat of the van, I sighed all that out. A big loud shaky sigh. As we drove away, I craned my neck to watch the club disappear. Nobody spoke.

He leaned over and touched my leg. "I meant what I said back there. About you bailing me out." Jim and I both started laughing, and he was laughing too. "Remember, Jim? My God, I'd be playing a show and people would be hating on me, or not into it and I'd have you sing and you'd turn it all around. So many times that happened. Right, Jim?" Jim was still laughing. "Totally."

"You were my savior," he said, and I just let that comment lie there.

He turned onto Halsted. Northward.

There were stretches of silence during the drive. And at some point, he started reminiscing. About our countless drives up Southport on those sweltering summer nights.

"What was the name of that store that you always used to scream out whenever we would pass by it?"

"WHIMSY!" I shouted.

"Yes! Whimsy! Oh my God - and remember that big weird Deutschland place that looked like it was made for Nazi meetings?"

"Oh yeah! You were obsessed with that place. You'd slow down as we passed it to stare at it."

It was during the drive that he told me he had done "a little reading" on the Actors Studio. He said, "From what I know about the Actors Studio - it's a place where famous actors can go, and work privately - is that right?"

"Yes. You're right."

He nodded, intent on me, intent on the road. I loved how he drove, leaning forward, involved. I remember he was trying to ask me about the makeup of the program, and he wasn't really expressing it but I knew what he was saying, so I said breezily, as we hit Belmont, "Oh, I'm sure it'll be a mecca of multiculturalism."

He laughed as only he could. He never missed a signal from me. He always got me - got my tone, the jokes, the snark, the points I made. Never had to explain myself twice to him. So he ROARED - roared at my word choice, but also roared at the fact that I had understood what he was getting at.

He looked over at me. I smiled. I felt very soft, very loving. He smiled, too - but there was so much else in it. A painful wince. What could he do to bridge the gap? How could he get more involved? It was never enough, with him. He always wanted more, more, more. But he cannot have it anymore. The gap will just keep getting wider. This is the nature of life. But it's hard for him to deal with that. There's a gap between his impulse and what he is allowed to do. It makes him wordless sometimes, caught. He can't reach out and kiss me. And in lieu of that ... what gesture would be appropriate? We never found the right gestures.

He finally said, "Well .... I think it's all wonderful."

Jim's voice, quiet, came from the back seat, "We're really excited for you."

They started asking me about neighborhoods in New York, where I would be living. I mentioned my classes down in the West Village, and he got so worked up he started riffing on his imagination:

"Oh, I can just see it. You'll be walking down the street in the Village, holding books in your arms, and it'll be chilly and crisp enough that it's time to wear sweaters again - and you'll be with a guy who looks vaguely like Bob Dylan ..."

He would do this to me all the time. Flesh out hypotheticals, imagining me in different circumstances - evidence of his visceral involvement with me. It always killed me when he would do that. I loved it, but it killed me. I need to be loved like that. Anything less will not satisfy, from here on out, and that is awful, and beautiful. Awful because I had to say goodbye to it, and never really could say hello to it - beautiful because I almost had it. I got a taste. Just a taste. It changed me for good.

When he went off on his fantasy of me in the Village, I turned away from him, hand clamped over my mouth, pressing my head against the glass. Here it comes again.

"Please stop ..." I managed to say. He looked over at me, stopped, turned back to the road. Jim reached up from the back of the van, and rubbed my shoulders, so nice. Then we reached Addison, and I had Breakdown # 89. I said, "What is wrong with me? I don't want to leave. This is my home. This is my home. What am I doing?? Am I insane?"

They bombarded me with positiveness. With love.
Sheila, it's gonna be so great.
This is a great thing.
It's right.
You're gonna do so well.
Everything is going to be okay.

Finally, he turned onto Wayne. There was my homelight gleaming. Silence fell over us. The end was here.

"Wind chimes," he said, as he pulled the van to a stop.

No one said anything. He got out of the van - ready to walk up the porch steps with me. Once he was out, I turned around in my seat to face Jim.

"Well, Jim."

"Well, baby."

I leaned back and we hugged for a really long time.

"Thanks for the fond care, Jim." A joke from way back when. A raunchy conversation had taken place - and Jim had apparently (behind my back) said something raunchy about me, and it had gotten back to me. I of course then had to go and bust on him about it, "Oh, so I heard that you said such and such about me ...", and he was mortified. His defensive response was, "I meant it with fond care." Now that is a joke that just keeps on giving.

As we pulled back, his eyes were all shiny. I said, "I really hope our paths cross again."

"I'm sure they will, sweetie."

I climbed out of the van, where he was waiting on the curb for me. He took my hand, the street was so quiet, in such a Wayne Street way. It wasn't a main street, so there were the big trees, and the crickets, and the silent darkened houses - but Addison was half a block away, so there was also the urban hum of a busy street, underneath the quiet. And the haunting occasional "ping" of my wind chimes, weaving through it all.

We walked up my steps. Neither of us leading or following. Then his arms were around me, and I went off into Waterworks again - the wind chimes like mistletoe - there was a wet patch on his T-shirt from my tears when I finally pulled back. But I was holding onto his big body so tight - and we said what we had to say. It's all kind of blurry now, that part.

You mean everything to me
I will miss you
Thank you for everything
No. No. Thank you.

Then he pulled back - gripping my arms - he made me look at him, forced me to - and said, with a fierceness and seriousness I had never seen, "And remember, Sheila. Always remember. If you ever have a day where you feel like you are not loved, where you feel like you are alone - just know that I am here. I am out here - even if we don't talk or communicate - I want you to stop, and just know that I'm here and I love you." He was shaking me. My arms were bruised from his fingers the next day.

"Okay, okay ... " I said. That was all I could say.

Then he left me. It was hard for him to do so.

The night started with him being far away from me, onstage, me on stool in the back, then closer - he got bigger - I was standing beside the stage - he was above me - then we were one on one, eye to eye, and then - he walked down my porch steps, getting smaller again, and then he was in the van ...

As he broke away from me and went back to the van, I heard an insistent "MEOW" coming at me. These were in the days when Sammy had discovered a way to escape by squeezing his body between the screen and the window. So I would leave for work, for the show, Sammy would be inside, it was heat wave days - so the windows were open - I'd come home and Sammy would come bounding over from a neighbor's yard. Like a dog. He tasted the fruits of freedom that summer. Unfettered.

So - as he got into the van, as Jim moved up into the front seat, window rolled down - there was Sammy, coming down the dark sidewalk towards me, meowing like crazy. Hello, hello, hello ... glad to see you? Am I in trouble? Is it okay that I escaped? Is it okay?

My face was wet from the tears, the collar of my shirt wet, my sleeves, the cuffs ... I came down the steps, "Hi, my baby boy! How'd you get out?" I scooped up my purring beautiful cat who has been such a comfort to me, curling up by my head as I cried myself to sleep.

Jim laughed from the van, a soft sound, and I laughed too. Everything felt soft and gentle and kind and summery, bittersweet. "He escaped!" I informed Jim.

The van started up - I could only see his hands on the wheel. Jim was on the passenger side. I stood there, watching - Jim called out softly to me, "We love you." I waved my fingers at them. "I love you too." The van started to move, I watched it go. Both men had their arms out the windows, waving goodbye, as they drove up Wayne and out of sight. I could see his arm coming up over the van, so he was steering with his right hand, and Jim's arm coming out of the passenger side - pale arms - waving - coming out to me through the darkness, getting smaller and smaller and smaller ....

The last time I saw them.

I must add something to all of this, having just read over what I wrote. I needed to write it. And I just have. I cried as I wrote it. But after all of this - I know that this is not the way it happened at all. It eludes language. Life, love, goodbyes. This is a reconstruction. A facade. It didn't happen that way at all. The real event is between all the words.

Diary Friday

I'm all emotional today because I hung out with Keith M. for a marathon 10 hours ... he was in town this week, and we met up, and had this awesome time together, and ... he's my childhood friend. It's a strange thing. I'll write about it more when I'm not so under-slept, over-whelmed, hung-over ... and any other unders and overs you can think of.

I wrote about Keith M. and who he was to me here (and, I guess, who he still is to me).

See, I'm all teary-eyed right now. How often in life do we get such a chance? To reunite with an old old friend ... someone who "knew you when" ... and not just in a superficial way - or not just a catch-up talk at a high school reunion (although our last reunion was really intense - for both of us - we talked about that too) - but a serious re-connecting? Like in a real life kind of way? I just feel so lucky, so happy right now, and I'm crying. I obviously have a lot of great friends from childhood, who are still my friends today. Thank you, God. These people are my rocks, my anchors, my dearest friends. Betsy and Michele - from grade school, and then Beth and Mere from junior high. Keith and I talked a lot about that, and why such friendships are so poignant - and important - like what exactly is it ... it's not just nostalgia. It is something else.

We hashed that one out yesterday (in about hour 2 of our marathon day) - sitting on a bench in Central Park, watching little kids play - just like he and I used to play. There were kids on the swings, kids chasing each other, sliding down slides ... and I was listening intently to Keith, commenting, talking, listening, nodding, all that stuff - but I was also sitting there, and seeing in my minds eye the ghosts of us - when we were little ... at recess ... doing the very things the kids around us were doing at that very moment. Chasing each other, screaming, dangling precariously from jungle gyms, running as fast as we could, etc. Keith is a man now. I'm a woman. But we were children together and ... those kids we once were ... are still there, they are still us, they are part of us. Maybe that's why I'm writing this with tears streaming down my face. I talked with Keith, and I knew him, even with the "20 year gap" in our friendship. Amazing. I just feel so freakin' lucky. We have grown and matured ... but he is that person I remember from 2nd grade, 3rd grade, high school. There is a continuum here - a piece of myself that is somehow contained in Keith.

We are not islands. Memory is a collective thing. Little pieces of who we are, memories ... are contained in other people, not just in our own minds. Like we were just batting back and forth the memories yesterday, throwing out names, telling stories, having the past wash over us, bolts from the blue - "remember that??" Talking with Keith for 10 straight hours yesterday was not hard at all. There wasn't one awkward silence. We got into it, man. hahaha Like - no small talk. We went right to it. Politics, God, relationships, our childhood, issues we struggle with - who we are - our flaws - what we want - our dreams - sex, life ... It was a marathon. Lots of laughter, too. He said to me within the first 5 minutes of seeing each other, "It is my goal that by the end of the night you will either be crying - or laughing so hard you piss your pants." hahahaha It was that kind of reconnection. And we could have kept going. It's just that it finally was 1 a.m. and we were wiped out. I need to just let this percolate for a while. It was so so good to see him, sweet, strong, intense, poignant, and also just plain old fun. How much fun it was to sit in a bar with Keith - KEITH! - my childhood friend! - and drink beer, and talk like maniacs about our lives?

So in honor of him, and to embarrass him - here are a couple of Diary Friday entries - I've posted them before ... apparently I wrote about Keith in my diary a lot as a high schooler ... this was something I did not remember. I always had a fondness for Keith, I always liked him - but after grade school, our cliques diverged ... but I was always aware of him. Not in a stalker kind of way - just a kind of familiarity that I found comforting. And also (judging from these diary entries) exhilarating.

But first: a picture of us then. And I'm bummed - we kept saying we needed to take a picture of us together now - but we were just so wrapped up in our conversation for 10 hours that we never took the picture. I did take a picture of his back as he walked away from me in one of the bars we hung out in. Yes, there was more than one bar. hahaha But it's a blurry cell phone photo ...

Guess the ghosts of us then will have to do:

Keith and me - we're 11 years old here. sniff, sniff. I'm a mess.

These two entries are from my junior year in high school:

NOVEMBER

WHAT A DAY!! I've got to tell you! Have I told you about Keith M? It feels like I have. He is -- the -- (I swear to God) nicest guy at our school. Wow. My heart almost hurts. He is gonna grow up to be one fantastic guy. He already is. It's unusual. I mean, the popular guys in our class - they're nice and everything - but not very sensitive. It seems like they make fun of everyone. They can be mean. But Keith! KEITH! What a name. [Uhm, okay - not only am I probably embarrassing Keith reading this, but now I'M embarrassed. It's the "What a name" moment that got me. Okay, onward.] He never makes fun of freshmen or unpopular kids. He's nice to everyone. But he's not overly sweet. He's sort of a tough guy, you know? [I ADORE my complex character analysis here.]

He's in my Chemistry and Math. He is a good student. He wants to understand and do well. It gives me a thrill whenever he says my name. [AHHHHH! How embarrassing!!] It's like: "He knows who I am!" But of course he does! I've been in his class since first grade. We were a "couple" in 4th grade. (Really heavy stuff. You know. I stole his comb and giggled when he came near me.) But in junior high, I drifted apart from all my old friends. They all became popular - Keith, Andrew - but now - this year, I just love being in classes with him. My old childhood friend.

I keep thinking I've told you this! [Er - I believe the "you" is referencing my journal] There's that moment in gym class - where a retarded kid showed up and he'd be doing his best, and everyone would be snickering- but Keith M. sat there, staunchly, firmly, calling out, "Great cut! Okay! Keep your eye on the ball! That's it!" You know -- pep talk. Whatever. GOD.

Keith M. has such a great start on being human. I told my mom that story about Keith in gym class and she went, "Now him. He will grow up to be an even nicer man." She's right. He's so friendly. We can talk to each other. I don't know. I feel comfortable with him.

[I have to just interject here. The fact that I wrote about Keith M so much and so rapturously in my journals is kind of surprising to me - not that he isn't a worthy object - but that I don't remember doing so. I don't remember having RAVED about him so consistently - his name comes up constantly in these old journals - and it's really amazing to look back and go: "Wow. He really meant a lot to me. Who knew??"]

I had gone on a field trip today with Drama to see Glass Menagerie and I came home and wondered who to call from Math to find out what I missed. I really don't know anyone in my class, not well enough to call anyway - so I thought of Keith - not that I know Keith like a brother - but God, the opportunity was there - I grabbed it. I was nervous though. I practiced what I would say. O God! [I am striking myself as unbelievably sweet here. Also, I love that I didn't write "Oh God" but I wrote "O God" ... it's a much more dramatic and poetic spelling, which was completely appropriate - seeing as I WAS ABOUT TO CALL KEITH M! I was so dramatic. Sheesh] I looked up his number.

I remember every second of this phone call. Keith has a distinct way of talking. His voice ... it sounds - not sharp - but clear. He is the best looking boy in our class, I swear. Heart pounding, I said to myself, "Cut it out, Sheila!" and dialed.

It rang twice.

"Hello?" It was his father, I guess. I could hear the news on in the background. Just saying, "May I please speak to Keith" gave me a heart attack. What was he thinking as he came to get the phone? Would he be bummed out that it was me? But really what I was thinking was just his name ... Keith. [Sheila, his name is Keith. Please get over it.]

"Just a minute," and he went off to get Keith and I thought, "Oh my God, he's home!" I wasn't nervous - just - I don't know. I really like him. But 4th grade is so far away now.

There was a pause - then I heard this sort of close voice, "Yeah! I got it!" His sharp clear voice. He picked up the phone. [Listen to how I am writing about this - I am writing as though calling Keith to get the math homework is literally the biggest cliffhanger ever. O God!] He said "Hello?"

I pushed on - "Hi Keith? This is Sheila from Math class." Dumb thing to say. We have been friends since six-year-old-dom. But he said, "Oh! Hi!" Really friendly. Not sort of suspicious, like: "Oh no - what does she want?" I once called Andrew in the 6th grade - Mary Lou answered and went running off screaming, "ANDREW! IT'S A GIRL!" [hahahahahahaha]

I said, "Uh ... I was wondering, since I wasn't there today if we had a quiz or what the homework is ..."

"Oh - okay. Uh ..."

I love how -- I just -- He just was so nice - very amiable. I have such an inferiority complex, especially with boys. I think everyone's suspicious of me. And I think that if they guess that I like them - they will be bummed out about it. It's weird.

He said, "We didn't have a quiz today but I believe we're having a test on Friday and - okay, the homework is the - uh - Chapter Review - Chapter Summary - whatever, and that's on page ... Do you have your book with you?"

[Look at that. I have almost no memory of this enormous cliffhanger of a moment in my life - but I would bet that that's almost word for word what Keith said. I had a knack - and still have it - for remembering conversations, no matter how benign or trivial - with word to word detail.]

"Uh - no -" I whipped out a pencil to mark it down. He said, "Well, it's either on 109 or 129 - I'm not sure - but one of those." I wrote that down quickly on my Glass Menagereie program and said, "Okay. Got it. Thanks a lot, Keith." "Yeah, sure." "Okay. Bye." "Bye."

AND THEN WE HUNG UP!

[If you could only see how huge those letters are in my journal. Hahahaha They're enormous. I am shouting "AND THEN WE HUNG UP". As though hanging up the phone is the most AMAZING development in this whole cliffhanger.]

Keith seems so natural - not inhibited - I can't explain this. I don't idolize him - even though I sit here going, "HE KNOWS WHO I AM!" It's not like that. I don't idolize him. I just care for him. He is special. That�s all. His whole personality. I know that conversation doesn�t sound thrilling � but Diary � all the other guys � I mean, I don�t know if they even know who I am � but you had to have been on that phone. He was not � Okay. I know. I remember. I know why he's different, and special. That�s what matters. I mean, I don�t think he likes me or anything, but it is the fact that he treats me so kindly, like a pal, like a friend � It comes so easily to me when I am with him. With all other boys � even the ones I grew up with � it�s always so weird and awkward. They act like I want something from them � just by talking to them. Keith never does that. Conversation comes naturally with us. Me, Keith, and Bill always end up sitting near each other because of our last names. That last sentence had awful grammar, and sorry about that. Anyway, in Chemistry, I sit in back of Bill who sits in back of Keith. One day, Mr. Amoeba started handing out papers for a �pop quiz� � ooh, isn�t he cool and scary � [Uhm, can you tell I despised that teacher?] Keith groaned, "Oh, great. Here goes another grade down the tubes." I said - not really to him - just to myself, and anyone who felt like listening: "Think positive!" Bill heard me. He leaned forward, tapped Keith on the shoulder, and said, "Excuse me, Keith. Sheila O'Malley wants you to think positive." [hahahahahaha] Keith turned around and grinned at me, giving the thumbs-up sign.

I can't believe how much I care for this kid. How has this happened? Just a friendship is more than enough.

Aren't human beings and human nature the most wonderful things in the world??????

DECEMBER

Oh, the weirdest thing just happened to me! [Sheila, please don't share it. Oh God ... you're gonna share it, aren't you?] Isn't it wonderful when life looks so humdrum and a tiny little thing pops up to take away the humdrum-ness?

Just now - I was in my room alone working on a new story I just started, listening to the radio. Today was a good day. I wasn't depressed or anything, and Freeze Frame came on the radio. [HAHAHAHA] Music is my savior. No matter what kind. It uplifts me. [But I thought you just said you weren't depressed??] I love music. It does something to me. It revitalizes me. (Ooh!) [Uhm - okay, I don't know what that "ooh" is about.] Anyway, an old wave of happiness flooded over me, remembering when I loved that song and Mere and I made up a dance to it. [Mere, I am sure you can see those dance steps right now. It SWEPT THE SCHOOL!] So I leaped to my feet, turned up the volume, and started bounding around dancing. I love dancing - I feel so happy and uninhibited when I dance. I went wild, like I usually do at dances. [Yes, but Sheila, did you press your sweaty Irish head up against the tiles?] I'm glad no one was watching me though because I went berserk. I did the little dance, I really got into it. I'm cool! [Uhm ... ya are?]

Suddenly I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. My cheeks were all flushed. I was smiling. I looked okay in a very athletic out-of-breath way, that fun song was in my ears - I felt energy fizzing on all my nerve endings. I had nothing to do with the grin spread across my face. I was just lit up inside and it came out in a smile.

Then - [Oh God, there's not more is there?] I felt this surge inside - really - that's the word. It felt like a little cherry tomato exploded inside me. I felt no more doubts. I saw myself (well, not really saw - it wasn't like these visions slowly drifted past me - they all assaulted me at once, making it all the better) - I saw myself going with Dave to the movies, sitting at Ricky's with him, [RICKYS! HAHAHAHAHA] - kissing him - dancing with him - talking with him - It was wonderful. Just suddenly - for one brief flash - I felt: Of course something's going to happen. Of course! Ecstasy flew through my brain and I felt like leaping and screaming and laughing!!! [Wow. This is really sad. Nothing did end up happening and I spent the entire next summer staggering around in tears because he turned me down to go to the Junior Prom. God. It sucked, really.] But it paralyzed me in a way. I just stared at my reflection. The next minute, that feeling - if that's a word for it - was gone - but I still feel all wiggly inside. I wish I could say in here: Of course it'll work out! I want it more than I have ever wanted anything!!!! [Oh, sweet girl. Sorry. Heartbreak's comin' at ya. Hunker down.]

Yesterday in Chemistry, we saw a filmstrip, and Keith ran the projector. So he pulled a desk up right next to mine. I'm not in love with him, but I do find him very attractive, and he is such a nice and real person. I wish I could get to know him better, like we used to know each other when we were kids. Anyway, the room was dark and the narrator was droning on and whenever the beep beeped [uhm you might want to re-word that], Keith would turn the knob. I was just sitting there, taking notes like a good doobie, and I happened to glance at Keith, and I happened to look at his hands. Very nice hands. Big, with long rough-looking fingers - looking as though they were sculpted out of wood, just casually curled around the projector. Sometimes just slightly moving, not for any good reason - or reaching up to scratch his chest. Then - to my shock - I suddenly felt like reaching over and taking his hand in mine - feel his fingers gently squeeze mine. I had to quickly look back up at the screen to keep myself from doing just that. I didn't concentrate on the film AT ALL after that, but you know what I think? I think holding hands is about the most romantic thing of all. Of course, I've never done it. I HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING. But I think that holding hands might even be nicer than a kiss. Of course, if I am ever kissed, I will probably think differently, but holding hands ... Oh God, its too romantic to talk about.

Of course, next in French, I glanced back at Dave's hands. Talk about big hands! They were beautiful - with ragged bitten nails. [hahahahaha Yeah, Sheila, they sound really "beautiful". Love is blind.] He bites his nails too. A cut on one of his knuckles. Rounded blunt fingertips. I couldn't get the vision of us strolling along, with our hands clasped, out of my mind. I want to hold hands with him.

You know what? It's just occurred to me that it must look to you as if this whole relationship is in my brain. [Er ... yeah. That is what it looks like] But it's not. It's not like the thing with JW. I admired JW from afar and tricked myself into believing that he cared for me just as much as I loved him. HOW could I have been so STUPID??? Why didn't I see? We must have had 6 conversations in all - I had fantasies of our romance, but it was all so illogical. He was so far from me. But David - suddenly this year - there is a friendship growing that wasn't there before. [This is not a lie. We were friends.] And this time - I don't lie on my bed dreaming of a sudden dalliance. [Dalliance? What is this - Les Liaisons Dangereuses?] I think about our real-life happenings which is so much more satisfactory. Me asking him to dance, us in Project Adventure - him talking to me - and just thinking about him -- DAVE - who he is, what he's like - what he thinks about - if he ever thinks of me.

It's impossible not to imagine us going out and what it would be like and how wonderful and fascinating it would be, but Diary - oh forgive my awful forwardness - I think it could work! [I love that I am apologizing TO MY JOURNAL for my "awful forwardness". It's so Victorian of me. I was a Gibson Girl, even then.] I think it honestly is in my grasp.

Isn't that wonderful?

I don't know how to go about "going for it" - but if nothing happens naturally - I'm gonna find a way. [Bummer, man. Headin' for a fall ... a big fall ...]

Here's the entire Diary Friday archive if you're interested.

DECEMBER

Oh, the weirdest thing just happened to me! [Sheila, please don't share it. Oh God ... you're gonna share it, aren't you?] Isn't it wonderful when life looks so humdrum and a tiny little thing pops up to take away the humdrum-ness?

Just now - I was in my room alone working on a new story I just started, listening to the radio. Today was a good day. I wasn't depressed or anything, and Freeze Frame came on the radio. [HAHAHAHA] Music is my savior. No matter what kind. It uplifts me. [But I thought you just said you weren't depressed??] I love music. It does something to me. It revitalizes me. (Ooh!) [Uhm - okay, I don't know what that "ooh" is about.] Anyway, an old wave of happiness flooded over me, remembering when I loved that song and Mere and I made up a dance to it. [Mere, I am sure you can see those dance steps right now. It SWEPT THE SCHOOL!] So I leaped to my feet, turned up the volume, and started bounding around dancing. I love dancing - I feel so happy and uninhibited when I dance. I went wild, like I usually do at dances. [Yes, but Sheila, did you press your sweaty Irish head up against the tiles?] I'm glad no one was watching me though because I went berserk. I did the little dance, I really got into it. I'm cool! [Uhm ... ya are?]

Suddenly I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. My cheeks were all flushed. I was smiling. I looked okay in a very athletic out-of-breath way, that fun song was in my ears - I felt energy fizzing on all my nerve endings. I had nothing to do with the grin spread across my face. I was just lit up inside and it came out in a smile.

Then - [Oh God, there's not more is there?] I felt this surge inside - really - that's the word. It felt like a little cherry tomato exploded inside me. I felt no more doubts. I saw myself (well, not really saw - it wasn't like these visions slowly drifted past me - they all assaulted me at once, making it all the better) - I saw myself going with Dave to the movies, sitting at Ricky's with him, [RICKYS! HAHAHAHAHA] - kissing him - dancing with him - talking with him - It was wonderful. Just suddenly - for one brief flash - I felt: Of course something's going to happen. Of course! Ecstasy flew through my brain and I felt like leaping and screaming and laughing!!! [Wow. This is really sad. Nothing did end up happening and I spent the entire next summer staggering around in tears because he turned me down to go to the Junior Prom. God. It sucked, really.] But it paralyzed me in a way. I just stared at my reflection. The next minute, that feeling - if that's a word for it - was gone - but I still feel all wiggly inside. I wish I could say in here: Of course it'll work out! I want it more than I have ever wanted anything!!!! [Oh, sweet girl. Sorry. Heartbreak's comin' at ya. Hunker down.]

Yesterday in Chemistry, we saw a filmstrip, and Keith ran the projector. So he pulled a desk up right next to mine. I'm not in love with him, but I do find him very attractive, and he is such a nice and real person. I wish I could get to know him better, like we used to know each other when we were kids. Anyway, the room was dark and the narrator was droning on and whenever the beep beeped [uhm you might want to re-word that], Keith would turn the knob. I was just sitting there, taking notes like a good doobie, and I happened to glance at Keith, and I happened to look at his hands. Very nice hands. Big, with long rough-looking fingers - looking as though they were sculpted out of wood, just casually curled around the projector. Sometimes just slightly moving, not for any good reason - or reaching up to scratch his chest. Then - to my shock - I suddenly felt like reaching over and taking his hand in mine - feel his fingers gently squeeze mine. I had to quickly look back up at the screen to keep myself from doing just that. I didn't concentrate on the film AT ALL after that, but you know what I think? I think holding hands is about the most romantic thing of all. Of course, I've never done it. I HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING. But I think that holding hands might even be nicer than a kiss. Of course, if I am ever kissed, I will probably think differently, but holding hands ... Oh God, its too romantic to talk about.

Of course, next in French, I glanced back at Dave's hands. Talk about big hands! They were beautiful - with ragged bitten nails. [hahahahaha Yeah, Sheila, they sound really "beautiful". Love is blind.] He bites his nails too. A cut on one of his knuckles. Rounded blunt fingertips. I couldn't get the vision of us strolling along, with our hands clasped, out of my mind. I want to hold hands with him.

You know what? It's just occurred to me that it must look to you as if this whole relationship is in my brain. [Er ... yeah. That is what it looks like] But it's not. It's not like the thing with JW. I admired JW from afar and tricked myself into believing that he cared for me just as much as I loved him. HOW could I have been so STUPID??? Why didn't I see? We must have had 6 conversations in all - I had fantasies of our romance, but it was all so illogical. He was so far from me. But David - suddenly this year - there is a friendship growing that wasn't there before. [This is not a lie. We were friends.] And this time - I don't lie on my bed dreaming of a sudden dalliance. [Dalliance? What is this - Les Liaisons Dangereuses?] I think about our real-life happenings which is so much more satisfactory. Me asking him to dance, us in Project Adventure - him talking to me - and just thinking about him -- DAVE - who he is, what he's like - what he thinks about - if he ever thinks of me.

It's impossible not to imagine us going out and what it would be like and how wonderful and fascinating it would be, but Diary - oh forgive my awful forwardness - I think it could work! [I love that I am apologizing TO MY JOURNAL for my "awful forwardness". It's so Victorian of me. I was a Gibson Girl, even then.] I think it honestly is in my grasp.

Isn't that wonderful?

I don't know how to go about "going for it" - but if nothing happens naturally - I'm gonna find a way. [Bummer, man. Headin' for a fall ... a big fall ...]

Diary Friday

This entry is from the summer between my junior and senior year of high school. I appear to be quite a little horndog. Yet I also have a good head on my shoulders.

Nothing has changed.

JULY 4

It's only 11:00 on this patriotic day so nothing happened so I shall describe yesterday. [Not sure how A follows B there, but I suppose it's irrelevant. Moving on!]

J. was working and she called me to come up and have lunch with her. So I walked up and we walked down to Ricky's Pizza. We picked up right where we left off. I swear - that's all we talk about when we're together. I've said it before - we're kindred souls. I mean, she'll say something about how she feels or what she thinks, and it could have been me talking. It's really weird but so nice to not have to explain myself or have to try to convince her. I mean, it's stupid but even in here I feel like I'm - I feel like I have to continually stick up for myself as though "someone" is thinking, "Right, Sheila. We believe you." (sarcastically) J. and me - we just talk - I know she doesn't lie about her feelings and she knows I don't lie.

I guess the thing is - It's just unfair.

And - already I'm hearing that stupid "someone" saying, "Oh yeah? Well everything's unfair, Cookie." I seem to have a great scorn for myself but - what I feel is what I feel, and it's just too bad.

EVERY single cute guy I see - I look at, and I wonder about him. And I never get any looks like that. I mean, I know that glances across a pizza parlor mean nothing - but still. It'd be nice to get some recognition, have someone notice me, whisper about me. I don't ever get second glances from guys. Shit, I look EVERYONE over. So does J.

We walked into Ricky's and both silently inspected everyone. J. said, "Nope. Nobody." Then we were both laughing, "Oh God! We're awful!" We got our pizza and talked and talked about everything. I was sitting with my back to the window, she was facing the window. As we were talking, suddenly I saw her eyes get all buggy and I knew immediately that GUYS were out the window. [Like some rare species of animal!] I turned around and just glanced, because it was so obvious anyway. I saw very briefly 2 guys getting out of this old white car. I turned around and we gaped at each other. They came in and they were so cute! In shorts, battered white sneaks - and their shorts were khaki and oversized. They had on sweatshirts and were sort of bronzed by the sun and they were adorable. They sat up at the counter and were laughing HYSTERICALLY about something. They were about 18 or 19. There are advantages to living in a college town. Wherever I go, I am on the lookout for gorgeous men. [Sheila, you're 15 years old.]

Then the guys left and we sighed.

We talked about sex. I suppose you --- Wait a minute. There I go again. You are a book. What do I care what "you think"? You're a fucking book. I think about sex and it's like this big mystery. I wonder about it. Is it fun? I mean, sometimes I think about sex and I know I'm not ready now. And I don't think I'll be ready for a while. I think I'll know when I'm ready. I'll know when it's right. But it seems like - EVERYONE'S having sex now. I mean, some people you just know are not virgins anymore. I mean, A. has been going out with the same girl for about 3 years. She goes to the University of Colorado - she graduated a year ago. Guess where A. is going to college? I'm SURE they're having sex. I can't help but look at some people and wonder: "Have they?"

I don't plan to get married for centuries. Maybe in my late 20s or early 30s. Or whenever it is that I find HIM. I'm not gonna get married until I make something of myself, make something of my life. I'm not gonna get married the day after college graduation. I really want to be on my own.

I do want to have kids though.

But still, Catholics say that sex before marriage is wrong. And I can see that point. But I also think that sex before you're ready is wrong too. There's an emotional side to all of this.

And DIARY. What if I fall in love with someone - I mean really fall in love with someone - and he falls really in love with me (oh yeah?) and we're only 24 or 20 or something? I mean, what happens then? I won't get married just so I can have sex legally. Now I have no trouble saying no. I mean if someone started coming on to me now (fat chance) I'd be like, "Please get out of my face, you gross low-life." [hahahaha How about just saying, "No thanks"??]

It seems like everything in college moves so fast. I know that I will not sleep with someone unless I want to. Peer pressure doesn't work with me. [ha. I love that I knew that about myself. It's always been true.] I mean, I want to have sex now - I think about it all the time - but I can't, and I wouldn't anyway. There's a difference wanting to and being ready to. I mean, I wasn't even going out with DW but (THE TRUTH) I wanted to sleep with him SO MUCH. I'd get really embarrassed and awkward when he'd be beside me, because I'd be thinking about sex. But I know I'm not ready. Are you kidding me? I think it's a very indiscernable difference sometimes - but a very important one. I hope that when the time comes, I will know when I'm ready.

It seems like such a huge scary thing, like grown-ups are shouting at us all the time, 'OH MY GOD! DON'T HAVE SEX WITH EACH OTHER! IT WOULD BE A TRAGEDY! OH MY GOD!" Meanwhile, kids are sleeping with each other, and it doesn't seem to be all that much of a tragedy. You just have to know who you are. Everything's so confusing now because I feel like I have to make up my mind how to proceed - like, what philosophy I am going to have about sex - but I don't know yet. I hope I don't make any fatal mistakes.

So this is what we talked about. We started back to the library, and she said, "When people drive by, don't you check out who the driver is?" And I said, "I don't believe this." Constantly, I peer into cars. [Please stop doing that, Creepy Girl] Especially when I'm walking around campus. There are all the fraternities on sunny days - all the guys stretched out on the slanted roofs in shorts - they bring out mattresses and radios. As I walk by I feel my heart quicken.

SO as we walked back to the library, this truck drove by with 2 people in the front seat. One who was driving and one - we both saw him at the same time - and he was a GOD! I mean, an incredibly gorgeous human being. Mirrored glasses, sort of deep golden hair that stuck up really punky [please don't say "punky". Thanks] - and his FACE! He was exquisite.

J. and I saw him at exactly the same moment [I am just laughing at the thought of us - two 16 year old girls, strolling around, literally GAWKING at all the male flora and fauna]. As the truck zoomed by we whirled to face each other screaming. [hahaha!!] We stumbled back to the library in awe of this god we have never met and never will again. It's like we're both on this man hunt. Summer would be so boring without our manhunt.

I haven't seen DW for a month. That is strange. I expect to see him wherever I go. His face is still always in my mind. Wherever I am, I sort of unconsciously look for an old brown station wagon. I'm stupid. I am a stupid person.

Last night my family MADE me come to the beach with them ["Family time" cannot compete with "roving manhunt"] even though I don't have a suit. My legs were so hairy I looked male. But my family practically shoved me into the car. I was embarrassed about my legs and was mad. I was even more mad when we got to the beach because the beach was FULL of gorgeous college guys. I looked so ugly and white. I just want to be hip. I try so hard to be cool, to not be so awkward. I don't mean by doing dumb things, I don't mean altering my entire personality like I see some other girls do - What I mean by cool is - A.N. cool. Cool to me is - [okay, get ready for my definition of cool, and please envision the Duran Duran video I had just watched] punky hair, mirrored glasses, fingerless gloves, confidence, secure - secure almost bordering on arrogance. [Fingerless gloves and arrogance ... I am shaking wtih laughter] I just felt so self-conscious last night. I felt so ugly. And the GUYS on the beach - stretched out, in cut offs, mirrored glasses, blonde hair - [I'm in love with these men still] and the LIFE GUARD. He was a BABE. Immediately I sat on my towel to hide my gross legs. I like having smooth legs. I felt really really embarrassed.

Oh, and guess who walked by right in front of me. JW! [He was this guy I had had a crush on a year or so before - I think we exchanged 2 or 3 words - but my crush lasted the entire school year.] Just seeing him was like, "Oh God. Get away from me." He didn't see me. I doubt he even knows me. He's such an egoist. I look at him and laugh! It looks like he's always holding his breath - because he wants to stick his chest out like a big tough guy - But seeing him was a reminder of my lack of social life. This is J.'s picture of our social life.

[Then comes a drawing of us - 2 girls - with tears down our faces and sad mouths - a big barrier beside us - that is labeled 'BERLIN WALL' - and on the other side is a group of people - and an arrow is pointing to the group saying 'OUR SOCIAL LIVES'

10:30 July 4

I am in such a great mood! I just went to the fireworks display. It's a huge deal - I mean, throngs of people go to Old Mountain Field - our town turns into a throbbing mecca. I've only been once before because all the other July 4ths I was at camp.

Well. Unlike last night at the beach, I did feel cool. We went to a cookout at the Quinn's - it was nice talking to Jen - she's a good kid. Me, her, and Katy - you want to talk best friends? We were IT! Three Muskateers. We were ALWAYS together. ALWAYS. We were friends forever. Then Katy and I moved and I went into junior high, Katy went to another elementary school - so we just never saw each other. I mean, it's not like we ever had a fallout - we just saw each other very rarely. So it was really nice to talk to Jen again.

Then we went to Old Mountain Field. Traffic was stopped up all along the highways. There were SO MANY people. The field looked like the beach on a hot day. I had just done my hair so it looked cool. [Yes, but was it "punky"?] I was carrying a blanket - and we (my family) were looking for a place to sit down. And suddenly I heard, "Hey! Sheila!" I looked around and saw TS hailing me. [TS was a good friend of me and also the rest of my core group of friends - he had graduated a couple of years before I did - and at some point during my senior year he and I started dating. He was, I guess, my first boyfriend. We went to my senior prom together.]

Oh yeah - I forgot - this was weird. Mum and I went to this bagels store and as we went in TS and K.O. came out. It was strange. We were talking. I admit that I have a little crush on TS - and I have ever since I met him. I like having him for a friend. I really do. [And we're friends now - after over 20 years of not seeing each other. What are the odds] AND if I don't have a boyfriend next year, I'll ask him to the Senior Prom. I know he'd go unless he was totally broke. I considered asking him this year. Beth wanted me to - kept encouraging me to call him and ask. But when DW said no [DW - my crush of the entire year prior. I asked him to my prom and he freakin' said NO! Now THAT is a tragedy.] I couldn't think of anybody else. NO WAY.

TS was sitting on a blanket holding a guitar. M.M. was sprawled out next to him in that languorous manner he always assumes - and Beth was sitting on a bigger blanket nearby. Turns out that TS was there with his 2 older brothers and their wives and kids. Well, TS motioned to me to come over so I went over and sat on my blanket. You can't believe how cute his family is. All in all - there were about 5 little kids - including a one-month-old baby. And a 2 year old - so cute - and TS' BROTHERS - they are just as hysterical as he is. What a blast it must be in that family. When TS (who was sitting crosslegged on the ground) laughed - he would sort of fall back on his back - and all of his brothers did that - so basically they were all rolling around with laughter. They're all so nice, so close. Oh, and the 2 year old got lost about 3 times while I was there and TS would go off looking for him - he loves playing with the kids - he was playing peek a boo with the 2 year old and a paper plate. There was something so adorable about it. Big men going "kootchy kootchy koo" in a baby voice and all that. TS was tickling the kids and wrestling with them. M.M. was (of course) very blase, didn't even say hello to me. But he was halfway nice. [How is "not saying hello" "halfway nice"??] If ONLY he weren't the best looking guy I have ever seen in my life. He looks like Paul Newman. And with every passing year he gets better. He is flawless. He's even more gorgeous than when he was in high school. [No!] He's also very funny. He makes me laugh. TS is more like a friend - when I laugh with him, it's like laughing with Beth or Mere or Betsy. M.M. makes me nervous a little bit. Of course I don't show it.

One of TS's nieces was cold and she asked if she could wear M.M.'s sweatshirt. he said sure - it was a gown on her. Floor length. The arms dangled on the ground. She looked like a jawa. TS was laughing at her, and he was holding the baby - sort of awkwardly - but tenderly - letting the baby suck on his pinky finger.

The fireowkrs were nice. Beth and I talked with TS the whole way through it, of course. Not M.M. though. He was sprawled on his back on the ground and he got mad at us whenever we spoke. "You just missed the best one!" We were all telling jokes, and he wasn't laughing. TS said to him, "Oh. You don't laugh at our jokes, right?" M.M. said, deadly serious, "Not while I'm watching fireworks." So funny.

Slowly it got dark and the fireworks started. It's amazing how excited everyone got - and it was contageous. Everyone was cheering 'OOH"-ing - TS too. I think I could maybe have a serious crush here. He's such a nice person.

Anyway, TS said, as we all clapped for one of the fireworks, "This is ridiculous how people explode for inanimate explosions." That started us off laughing because after that I found it impossible to cheer for them without laughing and remembering what he said. After every single huge blast, Beth and I would listen for the babies. It was hilarious. There would be a huge BOOM and following right after - babies all over the field would start screaming, in unison.

Beth and I can have so much fun together. She kept hitting TS when he would tease her and tell him that he sucked. "You suck. I hate you."

We laugh, and have fun - it's great. I like TS. I like everyone. And I love America too. (Had to throw that in there, it being the 4th and all) So we all had a lot of fun, and it makes me feel warm inside. M.M. and TS (Oh Lord, they crack me up) were SO funny. They planned this. There was a grand finale - with bursting fireworks all at the same time, and the whole crowd started screaming and cheering. We were all sitting in a little clearing and everyone started clapping, screaming, for the fireworks - and MM and TS stood up and started bowing in the direction of the crowd, nodding their heads modestly, waving. Beth and I were in convulsions on the ground looking up at them. They were these 2 big tall figures silhouetted against the fireworks.

It was FUN and it was also like a miracle, suddenly running into them out of the whole field - so many people there - and I found them. I was dreading running into DW. Maybe it wouldn't have been traumatic for him, but for ME.

TS is coming over in a couple of weeks to come see the movie. [In my group of friends there is only ONE movie ... and that's the one we made together - called "The Troubled Days and Nights of Lovers, Husbands, Wives, Children, in Hope and Despair"] He's looking forward to it. I can't WAIT to show it to him. He'll love it.

Afterwards, we all went to Newport Creamery for ice cream. He said, "I can't wait to see Dolores in the movie." I started LAUGHING, just thinking about her performance. "Just you wait!" I said to him.

Dolores shocked us all.

Diary Friday

A cornucopia of high school mortification. Not only will I mortify myself but I will mortify Mere, Jayne, and Betsy. Yay! I'm takin' you all down with me. (Beth, you're getting off scot free this time.)

This is from the beginning of my junior year of high school (before DW came into my life, and completely took over EVERY SINGLE ENTRY)

SEPTEMBER 1

cadillac
cardiac

[Note: those two words are written in the top left corner of the page. I have no idea why.]

I am now braceless. [I think you mean braceS-less] At least on the top. When I first saw myself I was like, "Ohhh! Put them back on!" [Similar to my crying fit when the brace was taken off my legs as a baby. I missed my brace! WAAHHHHH!] But now - this is a momentous day. I really do look good. I am on my way to beauty. [If you could see pictures of me at this time, you would laugh. But that's neither here nor there. I had felt so damn ugly with those braces - and I had had them for 3 years - so it's nice to see my happiness with my own looks here. Not the normal self-loathing that percolates in the journal] I don't have to smile and hide my teeth anymore! I can look glamorous and grown-up. My teeth are SO straight and I love them!!! I've spent the entire afternoon flirting with my reflection in the mirror. I am on top of the world!

Getting them off really hurt (in fact I yealled once) but after that - it was fine!

Then Mum dropped me off at Mere's and Mr. W. let me in (I gave him an enormous toothy smile) and as i came down through the front hall I heard two pairs of feet pounding down the stairs. When Mere saw me she screamed and leaped around me [I seriously have the best friends in the entire world, and always have] and Jayne came zooming down crying, "Oh, let me see! Let me see!" For a while we just stood in the hall talking about getting braces off and I smled a lot. They (my teeth) feel so loose - like they would fall out if I touched them. I showed them my beautiful swollen bloody gums. [hahahaha]

Mere is such a wonderful friend. So is Jayne. They were both as excited as I was!

We went up to Mere's room. Jayne is leaving for college in Maine TOMORROW! [There isn't a font big enough to reflect how large the word "tomorrow" appears in the journal] Can you believe it? Jayne in college! Her room is a disaster area with all her packing. I can't believe she won't be in school this year! I am really gonna miss her. But she says she's a good letter writer, so I can't wait to have our letters flying back and forth from Maine and RI. It just won't be the same, though. I'm gonna miss her. Classes start on Tuesday and everything. Jayne in college! With a roommate! [Will wonders never cease??] She'll be home at Thanksgiving. THANKSGIVING! [again, see comment above about largeness of fonts, etc.] I won't see her until then! Do you know how weird that's gonna be?

Wow. Everyone is leaving and parting and saying goodbye. [Everyone?] I hate it. [Yup. And I still do.]

We hung out in Mere's room and listened to records and talked. Mere polished her silver necklace, Jayne showed me her fifth grade composition book (hysterical) and then at 20 of five I caught the bus and rode home. (I bought a People magazine with an article about Sting, and I bought their first album).

Also - Brian was in the car when Mum came to pick me up - and he called me over to see my teeth. He is SO nice. I think I have a little crush. (Oh, how philosophical).

I hate myself sometimes. [Woah, nelly, where's the segue??] I am vain, sullen, clutzy, aloof, dumb. I am a dork who thinks she is beautiful. I am an ugly girl who pretends she is a beautiful glamorous star, who pretends she could sleep with Sting and Al Pacino. I can't tell reality. I believe all what I imagine - and I do not like who I am. I wish I were urbane, and smart, and out of high school - so I can start over and not be such a doof.

[I have nothing to say. The self-hatred was real. I'll let it stand.]

I think Mere is bummed because of Jayne leaving. I know those two are really close. Mere was acting sort of quiet - and then Mr. W. yelled up the stairs to tell Jayne to hurry up and do some chore and Jayne said, "What?" and Mere cried, "Oh! Jayne, I forgot. Dad told me to tell you to do it." Jayne said, "Oh - see, Dad? Don't yell at me - yell at her!" Jayne ran downstairs and we sat in Mere's room, and Mere was quietly shoving down cards for solitaire, pushing down the cards sort of violently. Then out of the blue she said, "I hate myself." [It's an epidemic, apparently] Mere is so amazing. Always herself. [Breezy?] Not like me. I'm floundering right now. I'm trying to make myself into somebody I'm proud of - eccentric, weird, like James Dean - but Mere never puts on an act. She's funny and lively - but I know she has a serious side, she thinks about things, serious things. [Mere, Mere, Mere, you're glib.] So when she said "I hate myself" I just stared at her. "Why?" "I just - I always forget things and then other people get yelled at because of me." "Mere, I do that too! You know - 'Oh Mum, I forgot - Dad called 3 hours ago and needs a ride home.'" We started laughing. For a while, we talked about our faults, faults we wish we didn't have.

In NYC last December was the first time I ever saw her down - it was because of B.B. Me, Mere, and J. were sharing a room - and we all came in to settle down and Mere immediately slammed into the bathroom and locked herself in. J. and I got into our pajamas and had an absolutely hysterical time - laughing until we thought we were gonna barf - [That's so sensitive, girls. Mere is locked in the bathroom and you're rolling around in hysterics?] - we were laughing about Playgirl and dildos - we were throwing ourselves around on the beds with mirth. [I actually have a picture of that. We're holding a Playgirl, and we are seriously crying with laughter] Later, Mere still hadn't come out - and J. and I stood meekly at the door, looking at each other, wondering what to do. Finally - we softly knocked. I said, "Mere, all you all right?" The door flew open and Mere threw her potato chips all over the room and stalked to her bed. [Meredith - I have no memory of this. You threw potato chips around?]

I want to be there for Meredith. [Then how 'bout you put the dildo down, Sheila, stop laughing like a hyena, and go and talk to her???]

SEPTEMBER 2

GREAT DAY.

9:00 pm - East of Eden was on. [Member when you would have to wait for movies you loved to actually come on television - and what a big deal it was?] Right as it started, the phone rang and Siobhan called me to the phone. I ran to get it - "Hello?"

"Are you watching what I think you're watching?" It was Betsy.

"BETSY! You're home?" [Where else would you be? Camp, maybe?]

"Yeah! How are ya?"

"Good! How are - Oh! I got my braces off!"

"Really? Do they look good?"

"They look wicked!" [Not wicked good, wicked cool, wicked beautiful, or wicked ugly. Just plain old "wicked"]

"Oh my God, there he is." [meaning James Dean, I am imagining]

"Gotta go."

"Bye."

"Bye."

We both slammed down our phones and I am sure we both raced back to the television. I had never seen the beginning of the movie.

Diary - 3 movies. That man did 3 movies and LOOK at the impact! His movements, his face, the moving expressions, the hurt little boy face, the way he swings his whole body to turn around, hands shoved in his pockets, the posture - he is so great.

After, we went downtown to get my retainer [after? Oh. I get it. It was on at 9 AM. It was still summer vacation, I guess.]. If you do not know what a retainer is, it defies description. Then I invited Betsy to go to the beach with us. We had so much fun! I hadn't seen her in so long. At the beach, we lay out on towels for a long time, talking about Jimmy [you know, first name as well as nickname basis ...] and school and camp and Texas (Betsy went to a Happening conferernce in Houston). And we walked up to the pavilion for a soda - we talked about the Sadies [as in Sadie Hawkins] - and we tried to think of someone for me to ask. Someone from camp maybe. No more stupid macho dorks from our school. NO WAY. I AM DONE. [I had just come off of a thwarted doomed crush with one of those "macho dorks" and was extremely bitter. Hence my eventual crush on DW - the hot band geek.]

The ocean was massively grossly seaweedy that day but we braved it. We had a blast. Slowly we made our way through the seaweed, occasionally saying to each other, in calm voices, "This is really nauseating." "This is so gross." "I am totally disgusted right now." [hahahahaha] We survived though and went out really far where there was no seaweed. We would be bobbing there, having this deep conversation about boys, or God, or camp, and a wave would crash over us, our heads would go under - then we'd come up and continue talking as though there had been no interruption at all.

Diary Friday

This entry is from my first semester of college. I think I was about 3 weeks in at this point - living in an all girl's dorm - referred to by the rest of the college lovingly as "The Dyke Dorm" - thanks, guys! - and trying to adjust to the new schedule, the new life. In the middle of all of this came Hurricane Gloria - and one of the coolest most memorable nights of, I think, my entire life - when Betsy and Kate and I went down to the beach in the immediately aftermath of the hurricane. Anne Shirley would call it an "epoch" - it has echoes in the night when Emily Byrd Starr gets trapped in the church and Teddy saves her. Not the horror part of it - but the sweet soulful part in the cemetery afterwards. Anyway, that's the entry below.

SEPT. 26

Too much is happening. Too much is going on for me to describe. I've already skipped about a million things.

But ....

I don't know.

I can't find the time or the words. [Then please stop writing sentence fragments. Thanks.]

I've been working very hard.

Last weekend Mere and Jayne came home! [Both away at college, too] You don't know how excited I was when Mum called to tell me. I miss her. I miss everyone.

And I never really faced how I really feel here until Mere and I talked. (I slept over on Friday). It was so so wonderful to see her. I can't even tell you. I can't even describe how damned happy we were to see each other. It feels like 10 years since the summer ended.

SEPT. 27

As I write, Hurricane Gloria is whirling outside my window. (I'm home now.) Practically the entire coast has been evacuated. Most of the college has gone home. No classes today - cancelled. If anyone stays - they have to go stay in the gym. So all the dorms are empty. Before Krista and I evacuated - we put huge Xs on our window in tape - everyone was doing that. The wind is roaring. The sky is the oddest white color - almost blinding. Sometimes the wind actually screams and I can hear all the branches slapping against the house. I'm home now. No electricity. The entire neighborhood looks like a disaster area. Leaves everywhere, fallen branches, split trees, chaos. It's almost too dark to write.

A lot has been happening to me. I've only had a few good times so far here at college. I could count them now.

The first time I talked to Debbie - the time we talked for 2 hours and told our life stories - [God, Beth - member Debbie? Not your Debbie - but my Debbie, in the dorm with me??] the first time I saw all the Picnic people again - when Antonio and Brett came to get me and take me out for ice cream - [So weird. 4 years later, Antonio would become my first serious boyfriend.] Yesterday was a good time too. Other than that I must admit it's been grossly disappointing. [It's been 3 weeks, Sheila. Calm down.]

Especially in the male department. [hahahaha As opposed to the English department, you mean?]

I thought that half the things I'd been encountering I'd left behind. I thought it would be so much more open, and not as judgmental. I mean, I don't blame myself. So many damn people told me, "Oh Sheila - just wait for college!! It's so much better!!"

Lie.

This is supposed to be an institution of fucking higher education and the guys are more immature than the idiots in seventh grade. Crueller too. They don't care who they hurt. And it does hurt.

That night Antonio and Brett took me out - I told them all about it.

After the hugging between us, Antonio announced, "We brought you presents!"

This was even more unexpected. I stared at them. I still try to imagine it. The two of them deciding, probably spur of the moment, to come visit me in the Dyke Dorm, and gathering up those bizarre gifts for me - probably with much hilarity. I can see them doing it but I can't believe it. They found the dorm - Brett and Antonio coming to get me, rescue me. I still can't believe it.

I hadn't noticed in my frenzy of hurtling down the stairs to meet them that Antonio had a battered Providence Journal newspaper-bag around his neck. He then took it off and proudly began pulling out my gifts:

-- Two huge red plastic lobsters
-- an old musty-smelling copy of Cass Timberlane

[Okay, I had forgotten about the gifts, and they STILL make me laugh.]

We were all on the floor laughing. Those were my gifts. I stared at the gifts in numb silence as they tensely waited for my reaction - and then we all exploded. It was fantastic.

(I have no idea what time it is. I'm writing my candlelight. I can actually hear the trees falling around the neighborhood.)

My fingers were trembling with excitement. There is just something about Antonio's face. [Foreshadowing!] Brett is so damn familiar to me now - it's a beautiful familiarity - I love him so much - but Antonio excites me. His laughter and smile thrills me.

They were bubbling over, laughing hysterically at the thought of me - the 16 year old girl from the year before - in college. "How are you? How's it going?"

At that point, everything was so shitty. I can't remember exactly what I said. I mentioned something about how apparently I was now living in the "Dyke Dorm" and some guy had seen me sitting at my desk - as he walked by in the street below - and shouted up something rude at me, about "dykes" or whatever - and Antonio's and Brett's reactions were so cute - these indignant "Oh"s - protective hands on me.

Brett gave me a push. "Come on - go get your stuff. We're taking you out on the town."

I was so glad to see them that I impulsively hugged both of them and said, "I'll be back in one second" and tore madly back up the stairs. Poor Kate was sitting calmly back in my room and then I come barreling back in with a dirty newspaper-route bag around my neck brandishing 2 plastic lobsters. I grabbed my key, my jeans jacket and ran back down - I looked so grungy - my sweatshirt, loafters, no makeup, plain hair ... [Sheila ... wanna throw on some lipstick? What is your problem?] I ran back down the stairs and saw Antonio standing at the controls of the Ms. Pacman game in the lobby with Brett hovering over his shoulder. I skipped over and peeked between them to watch.

Brett informed me, "Antonio's doing real good in spite of the fact that it says 'Game Over'."

The fact that Antonio was only pretending to play struck me as hysterically funny - we all were giddy - and then we left. Do you know how odd I felt? A gorgeous guy on either arm? The other cruel douchebags in college can go fuck themselves.

We decided to take a walk on the Quad. The street was shining from the dampness. The sky was all murky and everything was wet and very very quiet. Well - we were making noise. We were talking a mile a minute. I said something about how so far I hated the men in college. I told them about how I had to listen to my roommate and her boyfriend have sex in the lower bunk and how awkward I felt. Antonio and Brett just stared at me. It was so hysterical. Then I told them about the guys who were mean to me and who stood around in my room making mean comments about "You gonna write about this in your diary?" Antonio started looking very ominous, like he wanted to beat someone up. [Foreshadowing!] Somewhere inside of me I was loving this male attention - it was accepting, protective, humorous. Oh, and I told Brett and Antonio about the one drunk guy who made fun of me for not drinking, and then told his friends he bet I was a virgin. The dude said something like, "Yeah, I'm bettin' that Sheila is NOT a partying woman" - in this really mean way. [Oh, I would so kick that douche's ass now. Yes I am a virgin, and no I don't party - and I'm PROUD of it, mo-fo!] Oh, and I told Brett and Antonio too about the conversation about AIDS that started on my floor once - and some guy said this really prejudiced thing about how it started - about how gays all just fuck too much - and I was just being quiet, because I was so enraged - and one guy said something like, "And now AIDS keeps spreading because everyone is just fucking each other ..." Then he looked straight at me and said, "Well. Maybe not everyone." [I have no memory of any of this. Thank God.]

Brett and Antonio were kind of stunned into silence - and Antonio finally said, "Oh, I get it. He wasn't getting anything from you - not getting a rise out of you - nothing - so he decided to just attack. What an asshole."

We went to the center of the Quad and lay on our backs. We talked about classes, requirements, theatre (Brett has one of the leads in Woolgatherer - Liz is the other lead) - Kimber's class - the Meisner technique (which I will try to explain later). It was great. Brett had pulled me to him, so I lay there with my head on his chest, as we talked. I felt like a contented kitten or something, the three of us talking softly.

Antonio picked his head up to look at me and said, "You need someone older, Sheila. You're not gonna find many guys on this campus with your maturity level." It was a fight to hold back fluttering my eyelashes at him. [Foreshadowing! Antonio was 7 years older than me. But his comment here was innocent. Our romance didn't blossom until I was a senior. So he was just being supportive here. Just turns out he was right - and turns out that he, unbeknownst to himself, was talking about himself.]

I said, "I've always felt older than my age. When will I catch up?"

"No, no. The question is - when will you find your match. Don't worry about it, Sheila. I'm sure you have felt older - but it'll be to your advantage eventually. It will."

Antonio? Who is he???

They both just blow me away. There is so much still to find out about Antonio [he was a relatively new friend to me - obviously I had kind of a crush on him] Even though there is nothing romantic with either of these guys - they still just make me feel attractive and good - as a girl.

We decided to go out for ice cream so we stood up, damp with dew. The Quad is always softly lit with orange - only it was very dim cause of the fog. I said to them as we walked, "Thank you very much for saving me from a night of drudgery." We headed back towards the parking lot where Brett's car was. Brett suddenly became like a gangster mafia guy, saying, "Listen, Sheila. If any guy even looks at you the wrong way - just tell us. We'll take care of him." He said the word 'him' so contemptuously, so full of hate. I started giggling. "No, I've got a better plan--" Brett went on. "Tell us if a guy talks to you - asks for your number. If he asks for your phone number - just give him my phone number." We were all just laughing so hard. Antonio throws back his head when he laughs - he laughs with so much joy, it is totally contagious. [This is still true - he has one of the best laughs I know]

Antonio burst, "Can't you see it? 'Hello, is Sheila there?' 'LEAVE HER ALONE YOU DOUCHEBAG.'"

We passed Fiji - the frat that everyone tells you: "Don't go there". They are assholes. They are juvenile. They are despicable. As we walked by, I pointed at it and said, "I have been warned against going there ..." Brett then vaulted over onto Fiji's empty lawn and started wildly flailing his fists at the frat house, muttering, "Come on out, motherfuckers - I dare ya - I'll take you all on - come on out ..." Jumping up and down, sparring like a boxer, flinging his arms in wide arcs. Antonio and I were staggering around laughing, watching him, his black silhouette against the orange street-lamp light. He looked nuts.

If Picnic had never happened - I'd probably still be mooning around waiting for some miraculous change. Now it's like - a little bit of that agonizing waiting has been alleviated. I have actually witnessed and felt the goodness in men and it gives me hope - I don't need to be convinced that Brett cares for me, or Antonio - I can feel it. They are for REAL. They are not figments of my imagination.

Thank God.

Thank God.

I thank GOD for the both of them.

SEPT. 29

I'm back at school. Came back last night because this is the only place in the world with power. I probably ruined my eyes writing reams and reams by candlelight.

On Friday night after Gloria had blown through - totally wreaking havoc along the coast - Betsy called. Our entire house was pitch black and my family was playing Trivial Pursuit around a candle. Betsy was home for the weekend. All she said was, "Want a visitor?" I cried, "Yes! Come over!"

Although the governor made an announcement that no one should drive except emergency vehicles - Betsy drove over. There are trees on the street, felled wires, telephone poles cracked, fallen branches, no street lights - and nevertheless, Betsy eventually did pull into the driveway.

We went and picked up Kate [I am amazed that my parents let me go!! Thanks Mum and Dad!] - the roads were disasters. They were hazordous - but also exciting. No stop lights or street lights - every single house was in shadow - with little flickering candles in the windows. You could also see flashlight beams moving ... or sometimes a candle flame - moving from window to window - you could see that people were moving around.

We picked up Kate and decided to "live on the edge" - so we drove down to the beach.

I will never ever forget the beauty of that night.

I have never seen anything like it. Ever. And probably never will again.

There was a gorgeous night sky. The moon was totally full to bursting and bright bright white. The rest of the sky was totally clear - and not a black color - it was a magical color - almost silvery - moonlit - with stars and stars and stars and stars - dizzying circles of stars. No clouds. It was wild too. Breathless.

The minute we got out of the car at the beach we all quickly drew in our breaths - at the sight of the ocean.

First of all, the moon was right over the water so the whole expanse just danced and shimmered with moonlight. Looking at it, entranced, I practically tricked myself into believing it was alive. It appeared to be a living entity, heaving and sparkling.

Then there were the waves. They were scary. But exhilarating too. Exhilarating. Huge. 20 foot tall waves. The hugest damn waves I have ever seen - and they never stopped. Ranks of them kept advancing in, one mountain after another. They kept crashing on the sand - huge high foam - over and over.

I held my breath. We all just kept gasping and clutching each other. We sat on the sea wall and watched. I swear to God - that ocean was alive. And it was the most beautiful thing in nature I have ever witnessed.

The moon and the water - silverness and thrashing foam and the sound of the crash - the feeling of the boom when the waves hit - I cleansed myself - my soul - watching all of this.

The waves were the closest things to tidal waves I have ever seen. I was looking at something that was dangerous, powerful - something that could rip me to shreds if I jumped in. The almost brutal feeling of the whole scene was part of its beauty. The scariness, the sounds, the chaos, the closeness of it -

Hurricane Gloria was right there.

And we were at one with it. With that damn moon turning the whole scene into something totally magical, beyond belief.

Diary Friday

High school journals have obviously lost their humor for me, recently. I'm all about Chicago now. I know a lot of readers like the adolescent entries - and I'll eventually get back to them - but for now, Chicago. And M. is on the ol' noggin, naturally, so here's another M. entry. This is from 1995. We had known each other 3 years by this point. I think it's March, 1995 in this entry... and I made the decision to move to New York in, I think, April or May -so things are already turbulent here. The ice is starting to break up, so to speak, and I'm starting to look at other options. Or - I'm not even aware that I'm looking at my future and which way I want to go ... but I AM. When the decision was made, boom, that was it. Naturally, I had some setbacks along the road, emotionally, including the 103 degree fever 4 weeks before I moved ... but that's all just how I operate. Always has been, always will. Also - M. and I, at the point of this entry, are about to have a huge blow-out at a place called Gingerman Tavern - that place will always be infamous in my memory, me storming home at 3 in the morning, then speaking to him like he was a halfwit when he called me at 4 in the morning wondering where I had gone - I even slowed down my speech, so he could understand - Bitch!!!, and then refusing to take his calls thereafter, etc. - I can't remember when that occurred - must have been shortly after this entry (I can feel it coming as I re-read this entry - I'm getting annoyed with him already) - and I didn't talk to him for months because of "the night of the Gingerman". Hahahaha So absurd - if the bar was called anything else it might not be so absurd. But once my plans to leave for New York became more and more definite, and I started uprooting myself ... he and I made up, I have no memory how that came about ... but I know I felt like - Okay, this is ridiculous. I'm LEAVING. I'm not gonna hold a grudge and deprive myself of seeing M.

This entry came to my mind today because I watched Dane Cook's Vicious Circle last night - which I love - and he has all of this hiLARious relationship observation stuff, which never ever gets old. That man (on my bench as he is) makes me LAUGH. His whole "you girls are brain ninjas" thing - and his observation about girls getting snacks at the movies (it's so right ON - makes me LAUGH!!!!! - both sides of his observations - the girl side and the guy side. Beautiful.) And also the differences in how the sexes argue. Man, he's so damn funny. But anyway, a lot of this entry reminded me of Dane Cook's observations, so I thought - Okay. I'll post this. Really NOTHING happens ... but it's chock-full of that kind of observational specificity. I am amazed at how I wrote in my own journal back in those days. The obsessive detail. I would never write like this now. Not in a journal, anyway.

MARCH??? 1995

I felt the rumblings of codependence with M. the night at Higgins. There was one point where I felt like I was him. I felt sick to my stomach. I could not enjoy myself with him - he seemed into oblivion, or something. I don't find him to be a closed person, actually. I am way more closed than he is - but there is an element to him that remains mysterious. Holed up in some tower. P. came up. [This was an important ex-girlfriend. A big deal in his life] Let me try to dredge up the source. He would reference her - and I would ask him ?s about what he said. I want him to feel like he can talk to me - I'm not gonna get jealous and hissy - (although I was jealous and hissy about that crazy bitch at Jazz Bulls, that's true).

See? Codependent. He is the last person I need to be codependent with. His behavior can be so FUNKY and strange.

I told him that I did feel a bit awkward at Bitches [this was a show I had gone to see - Mitchell was in it, a bunch of my friends, and also a guy I had gone on a couple dates with. A guy I had to let down easy - like he really thought we were "dating" - and blah blah ... I wasn't into it, though, and had to have a "talk" with him. It was ikky. Anyway, I had told M. all about it.]

M. said, and this was kind of a cute moment, "Oh, because of your old boyfriend?" Boyfriend! We had gone thru the "How could he be in Bitches? Aren't they all gay?" exchange - but I finally got him to understand it was a mix of sexualities in the show. I said, "Yeah, I felt a little awkward - especially since I was dashing here to meet you after." He said, "So you didn't hang out after the show to say hi to him?" I shook my head. M. scolded me. "Sheila! He was probably expecting to see you!" I said, "I know. I feel bad about it now."

What else can I say. I called B. and apologized a couple days later. I should have hung out to at least say Hi to him. It was my duty since I was the one doing the breaking up. I actually, oh God, I have to admit it, rather enjoyed being scolded by M. There was something endearing about it.

When he saw that I knew he was right, when he saw me concede that he was right - my attitude was: Well, it's done now, I feel bad about it, but what can I do now? When he saw that expression on my face, he let me off the hook and said, "Well, I know how you feel actually. I mean, I still see P. maybe once a month - but I don't tell her I'm seeing you or anything - I just leave that stuff unsaid."

He said, "I like simplicity. Simple situations. Simple ... simple ... simple ..." with long slow flat-line gestures with his hands. On his right hand, up near the first knuckles on his index and middle finger is a brownish-yellow stain from cigarettes. I grab his hand and inspect it - holding his fingers 1/2 an inch away from my eyes. It's kind of gross, and yet I am also mesmerized by it.

I don't know what it was - but over the course of the night - I felt M. getting disturbed - but he was pushing it away - As far as I was concerned, he was emanating pain. I felt something very different about him this night. I didn't push him. I didn't want to shatter the spell - I made my inside very very still, and just focused on him. I was a safe pool. And I sent him brain waves. Leap in, the water's fine. I'm safe, M., I'm safe. But he kept trying to shuck off the mood he was in - I don't know, I guess we just don't communicate very well on that other level. As I said before, I'm really not into de-focusing. I can't do it. [Give it time, Sheila. You will turn "de-focusing" into a true art form] He, having made me sad, tried to jostle me out of it. I said, "I'm okay, M. You don't have to cheer me up. I'm just sad sometimes, when I'm with you." He was very kind, very kind. I can't think of another word to use for what he was then. Kind. Assuring me that he was all right. He wasn't angry with me, which I thought he might be - he hates being "pitied" - but he actually seemed to really appreciate the fact that I might feel sorry for him. He validated it.) "I'm really okay, Sheila - don't worry so much about me. Okay? Sheila?" Nudging me. "Okay?"

I said, "Sometimes you just strike me as a very sad person. And that makes me sad."

He - still with this kindness towards me - didn't say anything - but gave me the most common M. look in his lexicon of looks - the incoherent (yet totally clear, to me) fill-in-the-blanks look. I filled in the blank with: "Thanks for thinking of me that way, but it's not necessary. There's nothing I can do about how you see me." I shrugged back at him, giving him my own version of the fill-in-the-blanks look - and my look said, "I can't help but feel the way I feel. You are sad."

We left it at that. [I think it's so curious that I thought we "didn't communicate very well" and here I am - 2 seconds later - describing what is basically an entirely telepathic conversation.] However, we could not get away from this feeling between us. I'm sure a lot of that had to do with me. I won't pretend I'm not feeling something. I'm okay with sadness, and ... that night I felt a piercing sadness. He brings that sensation in me sometimes. It was manageable, no big deal. I deal with my stuff. And I don't think he does.

He's dangerous for me because he can elicit such a motherly fix-it response from me. I want to soothe him, help him rest, give him a respite, help him ... I can't help it when I am with him. He couldn't find a stapler and I looked for one with him with a vengeance. So at Higgins - I suddenly just became preoccupied with M.'s life. And - I was down for the count. Everything he did after that struck me as more evidence of his sadness, how lonely he is, how stuck ... the potential is within him - He is a genius, actually. He's talented, he's opinionated, he's a poet, his MIND! He said - putting himself out to me - trying to shake me out of my mood - "I'm gonna be fine, Sheila, okay? Please don't be sad anymore."

I found myself in a crumpled kind of mood. Very tired, pensive, introspective, and a little bit sad. And none of these moods are condusive to time with M. And I didn't feel like pretending. I should have just gone home. He kept looking over at me - and once, I looked back - and we looked at each other for a while, and then he commented, kind of laughingly affectionate, "You have the most incredibly concerned look on your face." He ended up being very gentle with me, which surprised me. I thought he would get frustrated - but he started treating me as though I were the sad one. He was taking care of me.

The whole thing was so dysfunctional. I am so sucked into this now. I am him, he is me.

M. mentioned to me a couple of times over the night that he wasn't feeling well.

I had - on the night we met up at Southport Lanes - stopped at Osco on the way - I bought myself a Peppermint Patty and I bought him a Snickers. Or maybe it was a Milky Way. He was so pleased and cute, putting it in his pocket. So he, 3 days later at Higgins - put his hand on his stomach. "I don't feel well."

"Are you drunk?"

"No, it's not that. Something besides that."

"Have you eaten anything all day? What have you eaten today?"

He truly thought about this. "Not much. I ate the Snickers you gave me."

"Is that it?"

I think he nodded. I was horrified. And also angry. It was then that I truly took him on. At least for that night. As my responsibility. I had had it.

"M., what is your problem. You are killing yourself. You have to eat." I stood up and jerked on his arm. "Come on. Let's go. Let's go get you some food."

He had mentioned earlier (as though it were some far-off unattainable dream) that he craved an omelette from some all-night joint on Ashland, a place I never heard of. He told me in 3-D detail what he wanted. Exactly. He probably mentioned it 2 or 3 times, in the way that he gets stuck on such things. Dry Sol. Coffee tables. Razors. It was that kind of thing. He spins his wheels. It takes him forever to take action. So I am very proactive with him. To balance things out. I get very butch. I decided that we should go to the all-night joint and put some food into him. Fill him up with a 3-egg omelette like he said he wanted.

I stood up. I suddenly could not stand to be in that fucking bar for one more second. M. hadn't finished his drink.

"Come on, M. Let's go. Let's get out of here and get you some food. You haven't eaten in 24 hours. That is bad." He hesitated - and I went through the roof. "Come ON. Let's GO." I wanted to smack him.

We left. The line of winos sitting at the bar all called, "BYE, M.!!" He's Norm from Cheers.

As we walked out, I geared myself up for the next inevitable confrontation. He parked right outside the door, illegally, of course. The sidewalk was streaked with ice - thick ice. When we got out there, I said, totally friendly, nonthreatening, no big deal, "M., why don't you let me drive." (This is a story I will never tell my parents.) [Hi, Mum and Dad!]

He reacted as though we had had this confrontation 100 times, even though this was the first. He never got angry with me, or defensive, or hostile. He remained affectionate, friendly, amused thru all of this. Kind. But still. He would not give me the keys. He held them back (all 75 keys) from my outreaching hands. "No no no no no no - I'm fine."

"Come on. It's not a big deal. Just let me drive." I wasn't being hostile or threatening. "Humor me, then. Maybe I'm being paranoid - but humor me. Okay?"

He kept holding the keys up over my head - and I started to reach for them - and got a hold of them. We wrestled briefly for them. It became a serious scuffle.

"Sheila - no -"

I then slipped on the ice and fell on my ass onto the sidewalk, which pissed me off. I had a huge bruise on my butt the next day. When I went down, he started laughing and went to help me up but I was too mad at him by that point - and pushed his hands away - got up myself - fuming. "Do you think I can't drive? The diner is 3 blocks away. Give me the goddamn keys."

"No. This car - there are traction issues that you just can't understand." (It was only afterwards that I realized how funny this was.)

"I've driven cars like this one. I can drive a stick. Give me the goddamn keys."

I should not have gotten into that car. I was a 10 minute walk from my house. The tenor of the whole evening was so bizarre. By this point, M. didn't seem drunk at all - our wrestling seemed to sober him up - but still. It was like we were friendly and yet serious opponents. 2 pirates on separate ships. He assured me, "I'm fine. Don't worry." And he opened the door for me, standing there, holding it open for me.

Oh no, wait, I just remembered the worst part - and in the millisecond of remembrance I felt the same flutter of fear and alarm that I felt then. This was when it stopped being a joke to me. Or, it hadn't been a joke - I really did want him to give me the keys - but it hadn't really become a fight yet. When it became a scuffling match, he was holding the keys up and away from me - and I was reaching and jumping - saying, "Give them - oh, Christ - come on - it's not a big deal ..." This was the kind of stuff I was saying. And there was still an element of laughter in all of this - even when I fell. And then he said, teasing, in this evil sing-song (and I get a chill remembering it), "Tonight's the night you die!" With a taunting face.

The second he said it he was sorry. But that was way too late for me. And I went fucking ballistic. I started screaming at him. "HEY. Don't you EVER talk to me like that! My GOD! What a HORRIBLE thing to say to me - "

He didn't mean to say it - and as I went crazy, he immediately started trying to take it back. So underneath my explosion, he was saying, "Oh, hold on a second ... I didn't mean that - No no no - Sheila - no - " responding directly to my fear, and I was afraid. I hated how he said that "tonight's the night you die" to me. It was so so awful. I was in tears - and he was grabbing hold of me - trying to calm me down, but he had really shaken me up with that comment - and I was shaking him off, smacking at his hands, shouting up into his face, "Maybe you don't like your life, but don't you DARE fuck with mine." He was gentle and sorry and soothing - "I'm sorry - you know I didn't mean that - I'm sorry ... Please please forgive me ..." I was tense and tight.

He held the door open, giving me the kindest most reassuring look. "I'm fine. Okay? I'm fine."

I got into the car. I have nothing to say in my defense. As I got in, I didn't want to be a hypocrite and start praying, since I was at that moment exercising my free will - but I was still filled with this sensation of "Please" - sending out - yes, they were prayerful vibes. I was all aggressive with M. too. I slammed the door as I sat down, slammed it in his face.

M., as he started the car, kept up this steady stream of reassurances. "You can have confidence in me. I am a very good driver--"

"Please shut the fuck up and concentrate on what you're doing. Thanks."

[My GOD. Mean Sheila!! M. actually wasn't all that drunk and I wasn't drunk at all ... I remember this night very well. He was driving me crazy - and I was trying to wrench back some control. We never fought. We were not a fight-y type couple. We were relaxed, improvisational, non-judgy, and ... well, believe it or not, he was always - and probably still is - a safe haven. And me for him too. But things spiralled this night. And the Gingerman is a couple weeks in our future. No surprise.]

I felt like I had to be as alert as possible. It was like I was trying to drive the car thru my brain waves. I watched him like a hawk. I put all of my energy into being a total BITCH. [hahahaha]

He drove totally fine, by the way. I won't ever do that again - but he did drive calmly, reasonably, and didn't make one error. He didn't tease me by going too fast, or revving the engine, swerving on purpose - switching the headlights off - He did none of those things. He could sense I was NOT in the mood to be teased. I had put my life into this maniac's hands. I will not be that stupid again. If I was killed in a drunk driving accident, and M. lived - that would ruin his life. [Wow. Notice my codependence here. If I die - HIS life would be ruined. Man!!!] So no. I will never do such a thing again. I don't live my life with that level of denial.

He pulled out of his illegal parking space. I expected to get into a fiery wreck immediately. I gave him orders like an Ice Queen from the Planet of Bitch-Land.

"Stop sign."

"Slow down."

"Stop sign again."

I was being as annoying as I possibly could be. Oh, and I actually made a mistake. We stopped at a stop sign. He signalled to go right and I jumped all over him: "What are you doing? This is a one-way street." He got very cold and contained and controlled. Said to me, "Look closely at that sign and tell me what you see."

I did and I was totally wrong. It was a one-way sign but it was twisted around so it appeared to be facing us and referring to the cross-street - but it wasn't.

I subsided. "Oh. Sorry."

The whole evening's cumulative effect was upsetting. I was depressed. He was being so nice to me. It was killing me. His niceness, conciliatory - I could not WAIT to be at his apartment and to be off the fucking road. I knew I was not being true to myself. This is not how I live my life.

We drove up Belmont towards Ashland. He drove very moderately. I was wound tight as a top. Fuming. Sad. Anxious. Alert - eyes fixed on the road. He started trying to talk to me about something else, and I didn't even hear him. He realized I didn't and then he got all worried about me. For real.

"Heyyyyy --" he said, reaching out and taking my hand. He was serious. "What's wrong?" I couldn't answer. So much was wrong. When I didn't answer, he got even more nervous and prodding - gentle. "Hey." He held my hand tighter - looking over at me - alternatiing watching the road and looking at me.

When he'd look at me, I'd snap, "Please watch the road."

He ignored me and said, "Okay. Sheila. You're very upset right now with me. What is it? Is it me? Or ... is it that stupid thing I said back there? What is it?"

I couldn't look at him because I was too busy driving the car with my brain waves. "I am upset. You make me upset." [Horrible answer. Dane Cook would have a field day with that one, and rightly so.]

He launched into a monologue of justifications, still holding my hand in his lap. Telling me he was fine, he's a good driver, I didn't have to worry about him. He tried to make a joke - it fell flat - I was consumed. He jostled my hand, friendly, trying to perk me up. "Hey! That was a joke!" He seemed really worried about how mad I was, how detached I had become from him.

Even though, this wh