December 17, 1992

Once again, I am in English

They were writing a message for the top of the petition. Whenever they wrote a successful word or phrase, everyone, including the teacher, would howl and become elated. I don’t think I ever get that excited.

In approximately 22 years, you will meet a Saint Bernard puppy on a sidewalk in Washington, DC and you will know this feeling.

Mr. J always asks me what I think. I think he thinks that I know what I’m doing because I write a lot. I think he wants to be my friend or something. E thinks that he is a child molester.

If you are a teacher who cares about what you’re doing and you try to engage the quiet, weird blind girl frantically scribbling in her journal, chances are someone’s going to think you’re a child molester.

We’re going to go visit E and my eye doctor today during lunch with M.

E was always going on and on about the amazing and disgusting eye-disease books he had, but I never saw them.

I can not do Geometry. I look over the chapter before a test or quiz and get a B. I can’t stand the busy home work she gives us. It’s a waste of time. I can do geometry. I don’t have to practice it. When I’m dying is it going to matter that I didn’t do the work? This is mindless busywork. I would do the homework if we were given only 2 or 3 problems, but 6 or 12 are stupid, pointless, and bureaucratic. I can’t stand it anymore. I get a lump of lead in my stomach before that class.

Generating a constant stream of complaints every day about things I don’t have any control over is also how I pass my time at work now that I’m an adult.

I feel a bit jealous in a way. E, M, and I were to go out to lunch, but E’s “boy” friends offered to drive us. That’s okay because they’re nice and all, but there were too many of us and I didn’t feel like sitting on someone’s lap. I’ve never been too comfortable around “boys,” probably because I never found one I could have an intelligent conversation with.

First, declining to sit on the lap of some teenage boy in a bouncy, moving car was probably a good move, which I support, though this was clearly social anxiety. Second, I probably hadn’t had a conversation with a boy, that wasn’t my brother or father or otherwise related to me, for years. Third, I don’t know why I kept putting “boys” in quotes, but I’m thinking of starting up again, but with “men.”

I plan to write a lot during Christmas vacation. Here’s a list:
1. S’s vampire story
2. Magazine article things
3. Letter to board of Ed to degrade their school policies

“Degrade” was an interesting word choice here, I think.

I also plan to read. I want to at least read Milton by William Blake. I also have to get some poetry of Milton’s. I want to read the full commentary of The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, also. And I also have to read: Essays by Montaigne, the rest of The Decameron, the rest of Zhenia’s Childhood, and all of the analytical books on E.M. Forster.

Whew. For a moment I was afraid I wasn’t going to include any E.M. Forster. Although, I suspect I did not read the entirety of this list over Christmas, I did actually read all of this before I finished high school. I may not have re-read any E.M. Forster (or thought much about it) as an adult, but I do still like to read Blake a lot. I used to quote him to my cat.

002king of fire prince of the sun

Arise, my son! bring all thy brethren, O thou King of Fire!
Prince of the Sun! I see thee with thy innumerable race,
Thick as the summer stars;
But each, ramping, his golden mane shakes,
And thine eyes rejoice because of strength, O Rintrah, furious King!

It’s nice to have a purpose. I always feel like I fit in with everyone when I have a purpose.

More social anxiety. I thought that reading through these might work as therapy and I feel like this line deserves a rainbow animation or something. Have I ever baked a cake for your party? Tried to help with your wedding?  Tried to entertain your children at a party? Ended up in a corner, talking to your anxious dog? It’s because I need to have a purpose – be of use, have a formal role – or I might as well go home. And I have gone home when I couldn’t find something to do. Even carrying this journal everywhere and writing in it gave me a sort of purpose and occupation while I waited for class to start, or sat at lunch. I need to cut this out.

Now that I’m on the topic of purposes, I decide to think about my future

But do I have a general purpose? Could say a general goal, but I don’t think I have a real goal set. I’m thinking of selling ladders or putting those clicky ball point pens together or something of that sort.

Ladders again…? The ball point pens idea was based on my enjoyment of mindless tasks. I didn’t realize at the time that there are actually places where blind people are given jobs putting pens together in an assembly line for less than minimum wage. I used to have a box someone gave me of Blind-Made pens, but now the organization is called Skilcraft.

[My brother] M says I should be a cab driver, but since I’m not going to be able to drive, that’s not likely…I remarked to my family once that eventually everyone will have a great successful job, making lots of money, raising families, etc. and I’m going to end up smelling cheese in France.

Man, I wish I had followed up on the cheese obsession I had. I read a book around this time about fungus and how it influenced civilization through the foods and beverages! that could be made with it. Beer, wine, bread, cheese, truffles. It’s all fungus! I once knew quite a lot about the process of cheesemaking. This was a real missed opportunity. In any case, I end this entry with an awful pun about liking things that involve “culture.” Ugh.

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