Old Me: Love is a cunning weaver of fantasies and fables.

It's still September 1992.  The "rowboat" develops:

I have big huge problems.  I can't talk.  Duh.  This is the dumbest problem but it's true and it's terrible.

The problem is he doesn't understand me without me telling him.  Nobody's ever cared enough to pry things out of me like this and I'm annoying the hell out of him.  But he's so rude.  (Why, he'll want to know why!)  (I hate that question.)  He's so rude because everything's my fault.  He doesn't understand that I've never had to "share things" like this.  It's really sweet though.  [How many contradictions can I fit in one paragraph?  A lot, obviously.]  I've never had or wanted to care about anybody else before.  I guess I don't understand how this relationship thing works.  That would explain most of my life then.  The only person I've ever had to care about was myself.  And I've never had to explain myself to anyone.  Not even Sarah.  I want to, I just don't know how.  I might do it for the attention (a little bit) but        [What?]

This will sound really childish but he makes fun of me.  I hate that.  That just makes me not want to tell him anything more.  My mom always yells at me and tells me no one can read my mind and I guess it's true.

This is starting to sound like my diary or something.  Time to move on.

But do I really want to?  What I really want to do may be a bad idea.  It might be too soon.  I want to apologize to Dave for being such a weed.  But why?  [Seriously.  Why?]  Because I'm totally disfunctional [sic] (that word isn't even in the dictionary!)  (How am I ever expected to learn how to spell a word if it doesn't even exist!)  [Maybe if you could spell it right you would find it in the dictionary.]


Let's get down to the real truth:

Why do I really want to apologize to Dave?

Because I cause him so much grief.

Because I want his forgiveness.  Because I like talking to him, because I like the attention, (I guess I can't hide from the truth) because he's my major source of enjoyment (that says something).

But!  Do I like him as a person or him as an attention giver?  That's a good question!  What's my honest answer?

Like - to be pleased with; enjoy

Yes, I like him but why am I pleased with; enjoy him?  I enjoy the attention, who wouldn't.  And I enjoy him as a person but am I pleased with him as a person?  Sometimes, yes.  But not always.  I'll have to think about that one.

[Later]
Guess what I'm going to write about!?  You're right!  How'd you guess?  I'm going crazy!  I can't believe he means this much to me.  I really want to talk to him.  I miss him.  It's only been two days!  I want to call him and apologize so bad!  He's been deliberately avoiding me in the hallways.  Dave #2 says that he said he's not but I know he must be.  Not necessarily though.  I didn't see him at all the first day of school...so.  He's not making any attempt to see me though.  I'm not exactly going out of my way either.

Tomorrow.  I'll think about it tomorrow.  Yeah, right, it's all I'll think about all night.  I'll apologize tomorrow.  Whether he'll accept or not is yet to be seen.

It's today.  I'm not even sure if he's here.  I hope he is.

Somebody really gets on my nerves.  A female somebody who thinks she's something great (I.M.O.)  But I can't stand her.  I was standing there, talking to April [my bff] and she comes right over and starts whispering something.  All I could do was stand there and give her dirty looks.  I've always hated her.  For over two years now.  [Always = over two years.  And I now have NO IDEA who I was referring to.]

I'm all wrote out about Dave and now I can't think of anything more to say about anything.

Sarah.  Sarah is one of the greatest people in the world.  But I'm a total weed.  She told me to call her but I haven't yet.  I really want to, though.  I wish I could just do it.  It could mean great things.  But it's just not happening.

I was just thinking - Dave (IMO) is impressed very easily.  I don't know why I'm thinking about that.  I believe it to be true from what I've seen.  If he doesn't accept my apology I'm going to be a miserable thing for a really long time.  Please, Please Please, Please, Please!  (A little begging never hurts anyone.)  (As long as it doesn't become a habit.)  I'll really try to do better the next time if he'll give me another chance.  [Gag.]

I lost my rowboat [for some reason we couldn't use the word "relationship" so we said "rowboat" instead].  It's gone off radar.  I don't know where it's going or why I would even be in a rowboat.  But I must say I'm thoroughly enthralled in what there is of this rowboat.  It's pretty damn interesting I think.  (I'm having trouble getting other people to think so.)

I honestly can't figure out how Doug and April have gone out for four months.  Whenever I'm around them they hardly speak.  But I can't say because I don't know too much about it.  April doesn't really talk about it and I've never asked.  She always seems to not really want to be around him (in school, anyway).

Sunday, September 20, 1992.  I'm terribly perplexed.  I guess I'll call Dave tonight.  We never finished our conversation from Friday night.  Things are getting pretty furry now.  I'm seriously considering forgetting about any thoughts I ever had about being more than friends.  I really don't know if it would be worth it.  But what am I going to tell him?  He won't tell me what he thinks and I don't know if he wants to be more than friends but he'll tell me things like that he really likes me (twice) and the kiss thing and then it's like he didn't mean it.  I don't know if he does or not.  And he's told Dave #2 that I wanted him to ask me out!  He's so ignorant.  I don't know what made him say that and I don't know why it bothers me so much.  And I also can't figure out why I like him so much.  I really can't understand it when he's such a butthead (great choice of words) sometimes.  That's what he wants to know and I can't seem to explain to him that I don't know so how can I tell him.

I wrote down everything I wrote there in a letter to him.  [I don't doubt it.]  I haven't got his reaction yet.  I don't know what to expect.

But I had a really good day - afternoon anyway.  Well, really just 5th and 6th periods.  But it's not important.

Have I mentioned that I had a perm at this period in time?  A curly perm.  My nephew once told me it made me look like Sammy Hagar.  And I would wear tights with cut-off shorts and my dad's work shirts.  Hot mess.
Next time I begin obsessing about Thanksgiving (it's still September), continue obsessing about "Dave," and give my opinion on "A Perfect Day for Bananafish" and the movie Singles.  Look out!  

New Year, Old Me: If you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.

Fall of 1992.  I was in tenth grade, 15 years old and extremely redundant.  These first entries will be from a journal I had to keep as an assignment for class.  It's crazy embarrassing but I'm going to type it out for you as is, only changing certain names to protect... yeah.  I'm just going to change the names.  Anything in parentheses ( ) was originally written that way.  Any additions in the present will be shown in brackets [ ] and italicized.  I'm startled by how much I haven't changed, the major exception being that I'm less corny.  I think.  This journal eventually devolves into one-sided conversation with "Dave," my "boyfriend" at the time.  God.  Have fun out there, kids.   

9/2/1992 [Note that what follows spans multiple days, I just didn't write down the date each time I began writing again.] 
This is when I have the most trouble writing, when I'm told I have to.  I can write pages and pages depending on my mood and my best stuff comes out when I'm depressed.  Most people write their best when they're depressed (I'm a poet and I know it!).  Madonna says she does.  (Little Madonna references are good for your soul.)  My 12 year old nephew loves her so much.  So do I but I don't think I like her as much as he does.  Her face is plastered all over his bedroom walls.  I'm a Red Hot Chili Peppers fan myself.  I think they're great.  However arranged.  Be it Anthony, Flea, Jack and Hillel (now deceased) or Anthony, Flea, John and Chad or Anthony, Flea, Chad and Eric (pronounced ah-reek).

You want 4 pages a week of this stuff!  Ugh!

Well Dave spoke to me today and I spoke to the other Dave about the first Dave and the first Dave about the second Dave.  It's a very complicated subject.  I don't know if I should be telling you this, but you said you don't read it anyway, but I love the first Dave.  I think I do anyway.  I don't know if he knows, I don't think he does.  He [*scribbled out* then the word "before"] but I don't know.  That was way back at the end of July when we last spoke (well, wrote).  I feel ill and giddy.  I love the word giddy.  So I must really love him.  The horror!

[Sometime later]
I don't know about that.  Dave came to our little family shin-dig Monday.  I like him, but I think it's more of a friendly thing.  I think.  I want to find out what it is but I'll have to ask him somehow, some way.  He always mentions his "girlfriend" and it's starting to bug me now.  It didn't at first but...  That must prove I like him.  I think the fact that I'm saying all this is because I don't want to like him(?).

Ugh!  I don't know.  We'll talk on the phone for hours sometimes but not much ever comes of it.  So I'm going to write him in study hall and I'll have to call him tonight.  It's safer to talk about things like this instead of writing it because someone could get their grubby paws on it and that could be potentially devastating.  (That was a little melo-dramatic but that's what I'm best at.)  [This is like, foreshadowing.  Not that I knew it then.]

I hate school.  I hate the thought of school.  It's more the thought than actual school.  Actual school I like for the most part.  But I think it's bogus to be a teenager.  A teenager the way most are.  I'm nothing like a typical teenager.  I think a lot of that stems from not being a people person.  (I just realized how moronic this is going to when I read this at a later date.)  [Yup.]  I'm not into all the socializing and gossiping.  It's boring.  I want to do more, other things.  I just don't know what that is.  How come nobody talks about the important stuff in life?  How come I don't talk about the important stuff in life?

Back to Dave.  He gets on my nerves so bad but I guess he's just being normal.  I'm such a problem thing.  He gets mad at me because I don't answer his questions to his standards.  But I can't help that.  That's how I've always been.  Communication of the verbal kind was never really part of my family.  We're such dysfunctional things.  I come from a long line of dysfunctional things.  It's part of being a child of an alcoholic I guess.  You never let anybody get close to you, you can't tell people your real feelings and your life just ends up being nothing but a bunch of disappointments and empty relationships.  It's horrible but I don't know what to do about it.  That's part of it, too.  Not being able to do anything about it.  You want to but you just feel like you can't.

And I really like Dave but I know I'm going to ruin it if I haven't already.  This has been going on for almost a year, too.  Months, anyway.

My sister's going to tape the MTV awards for me.  I'm so excited but I won't see it till after everyone else.  And the Chili's are going to be there!  Performing live!!!  And I won't even see it till this weekend I'm sure, ugh!

I have more stupid crisises [sic] than I should.  Actually if I didn't have what I did I'd be in a coma.  I can hardly say I have a life.  But I like what I do have which I don't think anybody could understand but I'm really happy the way things are.  I'd like [*words scribbled out*] and get away from my mother but otherwise I'm happy.  Except when people like Dave try to find out about me.

I've got to make a phone call but I'm afraid he won't talk to me anyway.  He said he was never going to call me again.  I don't know if that means he won't talk to me if I call him or if that's what he wants, me to call him?  Why do I torture myself?  He's so abusive.  Really.  I should realize that and forget about him.  Abusive as in saying he's not going to call me and telling me he hates me when he doesn't just to get me to say things.  [What the fuck?]  He's got a self-image problem.  Poor boy, and you can't help but feel sorry for him and despise him at the same time.  He's just as difficult as I am.  I must be obsessed or otherwise why would it concern me so much?  I know he probably thinks I don't care about him.  But he makes it so difficult sometimes.

Great, now he's not home.  You always know after the third ring that nobody's home.  Ugh!  I need to talk to him.

My father's here.  I hate him.  He's just looking for his check but it's not here and he'll probably be harassing my mom for a place to stay.  She won't (pretty sure) but if she ever did I wouldn't stay with her.  I don't want to go into that now.

I wish I knew what happened to Sarah.  It's like she just disappeared off the face of the earth.  And I don't know if I should try to write to her again, I'll wait a few more days before I write again.

Now I'm mad!  He hung up on me before I got a chance to hang up on him.  It's not fair!  I never get to hang up on him.  Ugh!

More news of this subject.  Last night we talked on the phone till 12:30am.  About stuff.  I learned a lot of interesting things.  I don't know about him but I think I like him.  There's something I haven't said before.  [This appears to be sarcasm, I think?]  But I'm afraid we'll fall right back into doing things just like before.  We fight with each other and then late at night he tells all kinds of things, good things, that I want him to say.  (This music is terrible!)  [My teacher would play new-agey music while we were supposed to be writing in class.  I mention it a number of times.]  I just hope I'm telling him things he wants to hear.  But I don't think I am.  And I lied to him.  I wish I hadn't have but I did and I feel awful but it's not something I'm going to go back and tell the truth about.  I couldn't now.  It's not even that important.  [Clearly, since I have no idea what it could have been that I would have to lie about.]  But he's so sweet sometimes.  Sometimes.  Not as often as I wish he would be.

I did finally break down and tell him all the bad things about him.  The bad things he does to me anyway.  Which I previously wrote.  And he apologized profusely for being mean to me.  He blamed alcohol.  Which worries me.  [♪ If you could see me now...♪]  I wish he didn't drink like he does or says he does.  [*Words scribbled out* Upon closer inspection I can see that it says "and I wish that he didn't smoke.]  Another somehow related to my Pa.

He always wants me to ask him questions.  Questions I don't know to ask.  He can talk forever but that's my problem.  I can't.  And a lot of times he does most the talking.  That probably doesn't bother him but it worries me.

So, that's enough for now.  I'm disturbed by the number of times I wrote "Ugh!" like it was a thing I should write.  I'm fascinated by the way I switch from topic to topic but always return to talking about "Dave."  I'll try editing some of it down next time since, like I said at the beginning, it is very redundant.  Hearts!