Monday night, Nov 10: Finished all 700 plus pages of Blood Memory. Greg Iles’ look at incest within the genre of mystery is daring. Depressing yet liberating. Evocative. Suspenseful. Race is the focus of another of his books and religion yet another. A sociologist. Grew up in Mississippi. Calls his writing Southern Gothic. Early this evening R and I dined at Oliveto café. At the moment I’m taking a break midway through apartment cleaning. Why is honesty about personal experience rare? Doesn’t that make life harder…the facade? Well what do I know? Two decades reclusive.
Monday night, Nov 3: I decided we should go to Orinda this afternoon and do nothing. Excellent location for that. Sat in the sun at a café. Wandered the hardware store. Bought a few necessities. Came home. I gave up on Cara Black after reading two-thirds of her first “French” mystery. Forced myself to make it that far. Plan to finish Good Arabs—belatedly. We set up a Skype date with the Torontans Sunday after next. So engrossed in online shopping I hadn’t emailed H or S for weeks. Wonder how the little girls are. If H likes the school he was assigned to teach in. Whether S is back at work…she was imagining a road trip.
Monday evening, Oct 27: R and I cased downtown Oakland to see if it changed in the past year. No. After the flurry of construction and reconstruction of offices and housing all development halted. It remains skanky. Desolate. Vacant commercial spaces. Fast food. Coffee. Conveniences. Like a failed mall. The few fancy restaurants survive by serving the white collar lunch crowd. Evenings and weekends it’s a wasteland. We plan to see M and his wife K and to Skype with the Boston branch soon. I feel sort of normal. Happy to interact with family. No terror. I half-expected to die alienated.
Monday evening, Oct 20: More on white trash. Today I googled and found the prime exemplar from my class at Quincy High. She married her high school sweetheart. Second husband died a few years back. A photo of her gone to seed depressed me horribly. She once unjustly cursed me for speaking poorly of her. Saw into the future. Her childhood home was among a cluster of shacks similar to those of town blacks. Another of the trashy girls died quite a while ago after a financial scandal. Possibly by suicide. My admiration is foolish. Revel in your own misfortune.
Tuesday evening, Oct 14: Because of a few consecutive days of internal tremor I went to sleep early last night and today nixed praline glazed peanuts as well as Dexatrim which R says contains caffeine. No shaking. Tomorrow I’ll take Dexatrim to see if it recurs. My new Affliction philosophy is one order a month. What I want is to be white trash. I need a mobile home. Or a shack. Skill at landing a punch. My early envy centered on goody two-shoes. From age nine on…trash. That’s what R is. Plus a genius. His relatives mostly are minus the brains. I learned from him to win just about any argument by playing dirty. I can also eliminate insects. That offends R.
Monday afternoon, Oct 6: Last night R and I discussed my recent tension and accompanying urge to do something without knowing what. Contradictorily when we go out I tire quickly. I went without Dexatrim all day so he suggested I take one. I did. Two more today. He says my tension is the type that led to my obsessions such as becoming ultra-orthodox but since I stopped positing ways to improve my life it’s free-floating. My former promiscuity was fueled by a similar energy. R also reminded me I’m frustrated by writing only the diary. An hour after I woke up this morning I took a long nap on the chance my anxiety is in fact exhaustion. Unfulfilling but relaxing.
Thursday morning, Oct 2: Yesterday we walked along San Francisco’s 24th Street in the beautiful Indian summer. Haven’t visited Noe Valley for years. Lengthy BART ride. We got a few guitar accoutrements and a bracelet for R plus nail polish for me. The last I wore any may be when I lived in Berkeley. My euphoria’s gone the way of the world. At any rate it seemed devoid of love for God. Sudden new philosophies rarely if ever last. I was infatuated with them until I gained faith in Christ. I’m near the end of my first mystery by Jack Higgins. Almost no texture. Movie-traileresque.
Tuesday night, Sep 23: Sometimes I choose to be unhappy. Because what’s good may be temporary or else will never improve if I accept it. How about believing God won’t either do a bait and switch or entrap me? If I can feel happy…let it rip! Carpe diem. Why worry? Why be demanding? I totally love everything as it is! Seems like mania but it’s the opposite…calculated. Today I practiced in relation to doing laundry—the nadir of every week—and was mostly successful. My usual feeling is: For a weekly bash the Devil commandeers the laundromat. Spinoza wrote that if we understood the world we’d know it as perfect.