December 14, 1992

It pains me, but I’m just going to start this out with a big quote

English. English is very strange. My teacher tries to be very youthful. He puts us in groups and tries to be very P.C. I don’t usually worry much about this class. The Rat Girl is in here. She looks exactly like a rat. She was once reading a book called 101 Snappy Comebacks. English is very tiring. A neat book to write would be 101 Snappy Comebacks from the Bible. I know one right now. WHORE. See? Now I’m in History. I asked E to illustrate a Christmas card for S. She drew Santa Claus being torn up and axed and devoured by several small demons. There’s large amounts of blood and on the inside is a picture of several dead children. I’m sure S will enjoy it immensely. We’re passing it around and showing it to people. E is very proud of it and she deserves to be. It is very, very good. I’m going to ask E to draw a nice picture like that in here. Christmas. …

As you can see I’m just flailing around. This was my first day back to school with my blank book and I guess I was looking for inspiration from my surroundings. The next topic is Christmas. But before we get to that, I feel like I need to unpack this a little.

  • Rat girl? So, apparently, I was a real bitch in high school.
  • I still think 101 Snappy Comebacks from the Bible is a not bad idea.
  • I write like I’m in fourth grade.
  • I swear, we were not goth or anything like that.

So, the next topic is how much I don’t like Christmas because I feel awkward opening presents and don’t know how to make the appropriate happy faces and noises when I do. I’ve gotten over this. I also mention that my favorite thing at Christmastime is the scene in the Garfield Christmas special where they light the tree and everyone makes an “ooooh” face. I’d forgotten that I’d ever even watched the Garfield Christmas special.

This face amuses me still.

I list all my favorite boy and girl names for my future children. Predictably, most of these names can also be found in E.M. Forster novels. It’s maybe worth noting that E wanted to name her children Tarthang, Vlad the Impaler, and Bug.

This was the pre-cat era of my life and I thought I didn’t like them

E and I have set a goal to steal a dead cat. Why? We want to rebel and since society has gotten to the point where the only way to rebel would be to do something that might involve hurting ourselves. If we get a dead cat we can show it to people and dress it up. I don’t know. Just have a dead cat. A mascot. And of course if we get caught we will be able to proudly say that we are in trouble (I can’t guess how much we’d be in) because we tried to procure a dead cat. I think it would be rather funny to explain that the reason we attempted this “dangerous feat” is because society is falling apart.

First off, I’m pretty sure I just liked writing (and saying) “dead cat” over and over. This is not the last dead animal we will be obsessing over in these journals. There are some sentence fragments that I left there, but I did fix the spelling of rebel, which I was spelling “rebell” and couldn’t bear to leave unedited. Before you start worrying that we were planning to dig up a pet cemetery, we wanted to steal one of the dead cats the school provided for students to dissect. Also, none of this makes any sense and for the rest of my life, when I hear about teenagers doing something stupid and awful who can’t explain why they did it, I’m going to be reminded of this dead cat-stealing plot.

The next part takes a long time to get to the point, which is that E is depressed, I’m depressed, and I wish I lived a hundred years ago. As you can see below, I must have, at some point, gone back and EDITED this passage.


I then essentially introduce another friend, AK, to my journal and give kind of a highlights reel of our friendship so far.

Once we found a dead body in the woods (it was not really dead). Another time, we went to GLP (many beaches) and met a college kid named Richard who we nicknamed, Little Dick and his friend’s nickname was (we had nothing to do with it), Stubbs. We disliked them immensely. We also met a boy named Jonathan F. He was a bit odd.

This passage is FASCINATING to me because I remember that trip pretty well and still consider it one of my fondest, fondest memories, but nothing of what I relate in my journal is what I remember or care one whit about now. I barely remember that we met some older boys who were having a party. I think they gave us beer, which we didn’t drink, and we just laughed at them (I guess this was Little Dick and Stubbs). What I do remember is that we each ate, on average, five Snickers ice cream cones a day during this five-day trip. And, of course, ROCKS!

We were staying, I think, at AK’s aunt’s house in a guest room with two twin beds and ITS OWN ENTRANCE. This part was really exciting for us. After dark, in our pajamas, we snuck outside. It was illicit! And exciting! We were running through the night! And we ended up on this grassy, triangular traffic island in the middle of two forking roads or something and saw the headlights of a car coming and I guess AK thought that it might be her aunt and one of us yelled “ROCKS!” presumably meaning that we should hide behind two large nearby boulders, but instead we both simultaneously crouched down into ball-shapes with our arms around our heads and PRETENDED TO BE ROCKS.

We still pretend to be rocks when we see each other. It’s that kind of story. In any case, lesson learned. In a quarter century, Little Dick and Stubbs will likely mean nothing to you.

The entry ends with the following. Let me first explain, though, that I have no idea what this thing about ladders is and also I swear I wasn’t high.

Elliot. My Elliot is lying next to me. Lethargic, very lethargic. Probably because he’s on drugs for his epilepsy. His little Elliot eyes are closed. Maybe I’ll sell ladders forever. For a future. Ladders. I can handle ladders. Oh, Elliot’s stretching. I love Elliot so much. He’s got to be the most wonderful little brother in the whole world.

Elliot was our dog and he totally fucking was the best little brother in the whole world. I’ll leave you with this weird portrait I had painted of him.

elliot portrait


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