Nov. 2, 1983… Got ready to go to the library But No!… my bowels did not cooperate. Norm has the laughable habit of setting the gummy caps of toothpaste tubes on the sink, thereby leaving a characteristic green ring. After several days, the green rings gradually but steadily accumulate and I break down and rinse away their interesting circular design. One day, while preparing to brush my teeth, I called Norm in to observe my progressive "cap off, squeeze on brush, cap on" movement, which allowed me to replace the cap without marring the sink top. I laughed, he smiled, and the day passed with no further green rings appearing upon the sink. The following day I found 3 rings, made doubtlessly, in quick succession and accompanied by a note saying, "Old habits are difficult to overcome." I thought that was great!
Nov. 4, 1983… Upsetting is the relationship between Jon and me, for I know it will go nowhere. I feel more at ease here where I know I'll be listened to and understood. I feel as if the better part of myself simply blows past Jon in my attempt to speak or read my thoughts. He misses my meaning completely. I couldn't take living in an atmosphere where talking proved only to be a one-way message, never to be received and merely bouncing off the walls until it eventually buried itself in its own silence.
I found a postcard that read. . . "If you love something… set it free. If it comes back… it is yours. If it doesn't… it never was." I never sent the card.
Nov. 7, 1983… I had an odd sensation while drying the supper dishes. Perhaps "disturbing" would better describe my fleeting emotion, for I experienced a strongly chaotic urge to impale myself with a steak knife while drying it. The feeling was so brief, yet so very intense, that I almost wonder why reflex action alone did not carry through with the brain's message. Self-preservation reigns first and foremost, perhaps, even within the most morbid thoughts.
Nov. 9, 1983… The folks went to bed half-cocked at me this evening. Mom started up the endless preaching on the irrevocable horrors of alcohol and drugs, leaving one to stand alone in a flurry of statistics and evil stories. This led to the adolescent eccentricities and peer pressure and curfew and all the topics on which they hold themselves as authorities. "I never had to break away when I was a kid. . .never." Well, he (Dad) was given slack and choices and he chose abstinence and church. OK. So What? But he still can't, nor can she… understand the grip they held, and always will hold; that "I told you so" dangling over your head when the party didn't live up to your expectations. . . the solid 12:00 curfew, at which time the pumpkin would explode if one wasn't home, let alone the knowledge that you weren't doing anything BAD anyway, nor would you if you stayed out 'til 4:00 A.M. Lack of trust or what? The inability to make one's own decisions can be a painful blow to one who knows he's capable of making competent decisions. A little less questioning, a little more room to breathe, that's all. Perhaps I became so tense tonight because I sometimes feel the walls closing in on me now… the way it had during those painful times in high school. I feel no longer I'm in control… I've somehow relapsed into mommy's and daddy's little Laurie Annie. Sometimes I need backing… when I freak out or feel sick… but I'm supposed to be a woman. I can vote. I can drink in my own state. Very Big Deal. And a lot of good it does me now. Rationalization: Good thing I had the ability to have fun with and around liquor before the bomb broke. It was fun, but I liked life fine without it, too. It's no integral part of existence, but it has it's place. I only wish they would understand that. At least I can write without being reproached. When this is read, I won't be around to counter attack.
Nov. 16, 1983… A guy called asking about Greece. His sister has cancer. . . much of her face was removed, as well as other lymph nodes near the neck; also one breast was removed. She "eats" through a tube in her nose. Boy, have I ever got it good. I'd kill myself before resorting to that sort of butchery. I told the guy straight truths as I knew them; I didn't feel the treatment worked for me, but others would bet money it helped them. I advised to really consider before going, as it was a difficult trip for even those of hearty stock.
Nov 17, 1983… I ate breakfast and shoved off around 8:30 for Dubuque. It was a beautiful drive due to the mist-shrouded lowlands and the frost which lay over all things, both alive and inanimate. I saw a particularly picturesque scene, complete with grazing horses amongst the white grass, so I determined to pull off the highway and retrace the road to the best point. I had snapped two photos when a highway patrol pulled over across the road from me. I felt certain that I would defy my potty-training for a moment. "Is that your red car parked up there?" to which I answered "Yes" and a hasty, "Is it OK to be here?" He had thought perhaps I had engine trouble and he was going to help. I thanked him and he replied that I could take as many pictures as I wanted. I have a deep fear of cops which has no real basis, especially of late; I don't break the law by speeding. Rest-at Sharon's. . . attended a weaving open-house.
Nov. 18, 1983… Sharon and I drove to Mt. Horeb after breakfasting at "Spikas." Again there was heavy fog and Sharon pulled on the headlights; I made a mental note of her action to avoid leaving the lights on for the length of our spree. Unfortunately, I misplaced the mental note, and the lights were grinning at us upon our return an hour or so later. The engine was "deader" than a frozen road apple; luckily we'd parked along side of a gas station and the attendant promptly "jumped" us (or rather, the engine). It cost 2 bucks. Big deal. Sharon drove back after our rather short spree… I'd hastily gotten sick after drinking some tea. I left for home around 3:00. . . experienced fair amount of diarrhea once home… oh well … we ate at Bishops for supper… it's Friday, after all.
Dec. 21, 1983… I talked with Mom for a good amount of time. . . I asked if she believed that I wished cancer on myself. . . I was past my depression when I once again found out the bad news; moreover, my depression subsided after some changes were made in my life. . . quitting Sears and dropping a class I didn't like… anorexic tendencies had dwindled as I made those changes.
Then I asked if she believed that one could cure ones self through the desire to beat the disease. Question 1: Why would a person who didn't want a disease, contract one? Question 2: Why wouldn't it work for every one? Or would one have to believe. . ."know." . . .that he would be cured if he simply believed in such a thing? It helps to talk of such issues, for at times I do become confused. I feel instead that I have resigned myself to my problem realistically… I don't care for rainbow chasing. . . it's a long drive down the alley of blind hope. I prefer not living in the shadows.