December 31, 1992: a cemetery of the mind

This is a very special episode in which I attend a party. I’m going to need you to mentally and spiritually prepare yourselves, because it’s excruciating.

How I prepared for writing this post.

I start out with a poem

I haven’t what would buy a meal
to feed a starving louse.
And I must beg, and I must steal,
or moulder in the house.
Will any kindly clergyman
explain the reason why
God sent me here to mar his plan
of earth and sea and sky?
-H.O. Meredith

Meredith was a college friend of E.M. Forster’s. I was reading Forster’s biography during break.


It’s suddenly dawned on me that I’m being badly melodramatic. Life really isn’t this way all the time. I just haven’t found any subtle humor in life for quite a while…I understand things better when I’m happy. Since I’m not in an extremely dreamy mood at the moment, maybe I should go to one of the parties I’ve been invited to.

Don’t do it!

One tonight and one on saturday. E invited me to one and AK to another. Since S is going to both, I think I’ll ask her. S thinks I should take the plunge and actually go to both (gasp), but I think I’ll play it safe and go to this one before I make any promises. I will also bring lots of books and pens and stuff to keep myself occupied.


I love S. I sometimes believe that she understands me.

S ignored my bullshit. Or saw through it. I was grateful to be encouraged.

So, the rest of this entry is me actually writing in my journal at the party. On the plus side, the reader will get all of my impressions fresh, as they happen.

I’m sitting in the kitchen of this person’s house. The table is strewn with eating paraphernalia. It’s rather a mess. The people here are obnoxious and they remind me of [vendors??]. People keep popping in and out. No one has any wine. I think AK does though. Everyone tries to be different, but since they are all trying to be different from the same thing, they all end up being exactly alike. Since I’m sitting in the corner writing, I’m the strange one.

You are, though…

AK did bring a bottle of wine, which I have a feeling I’m going to drink most of. I love wine.

That’s good. Wine is going to help you through a lot.

I think I’m going to attempt to retrieve my Biography of E.M. Forster so that I may underline. I think I scare people. The wine AK gave me is very very sweet.

My parents let me drink at home and I was an early snob about alcohol. Also, I’m thinking that maybe I could market a line of merchandise associated with this blog with themes like:

I ♥ E.M. Forster
I Underline at Parties
Theologize with Me!

There’s a boy here who claims he knows me. He says that I took an art class with him and he asked me for pens and [money?] and such a lot. I do remember him, but for some reason I don’t particularly want him to know that. People keep asking me what I’m doing. “I’m reading.” “What are you reading.” “A biography of E.M. Forster.” Quizzical looks.

Okay, so I’m going to call bullshit here. I vaguely remember this evening. All the lights were out, because it was a high school party and that’s how you get ambiance… Or I guess people might have been making out or whatever it is normal people do at parties. I’m legally blind and could see almost nothing. There was a lamp with weak light and I was struggling to read – with my head an inch from the page. Everything else was vague shapes in the darkness. By God, there was barely light enough to underline! I could not have seen any quizzical looks.

The real reason I came here tonight was in hopes of finding an idea for a story, ideas for characters, or just something to write about.

I really don’t know what I was hoping for from this party, but this is just me lying to myself.

They are very drunk and keep saying obscenities. It’s kind of amusing to talk philosophically to these people when they are in this state…Oh great. Someone (that boy who says he knows me) has sat next to me which upsets me very much. I now don’t have direct access to my bag.

Maybe, this guy was flirting with me? I’m still no good at this, either flirting with people or recognizing when it is happening to me. Just last year, I truly believed someone was offering me free accordion lessons, but my friend told me he was just flirting. Once, a guy thought that I was flirting with him when I told him I was blind. Like, he thought I was flirtatiously joking around about being blind. Is this a thing non-disabled people do? Flirting makes no sense.

I could do this at home. There’s no inspiration here. It’s a cemetery of the mind.

This line almost makes it all worthwhile.

Everyone has left the kitchen. I am alone. I must really be a boring person. That might have something to do with the fact that I ignore everyone, but I’m not sure what to do.

Ten, twenty years ago, a person on their own at a party could smoke a cigarette and appear to be occupied. As an adult, I no longer bring books to parties, but I also don’t go unless I have a dependable “buddy,” especially if it will be dark. Another trick I’ve learned is that if you can find the host’s pet or child, they will usually hang out with you. Sometimes the kids will teach you play video games.

I think maybe I would have better luck writing after the fact, instead of writing while things are going on. People have now reentered the kitchen. This will be interesting to read tomorrow…I’m glad I came, but I want to go home now. I think that I’m going to go to the [scribble… farth?] and then walk home from –

This is the end of the entry! What happened? Did I make out with someone? Did I go to the next party? Was I murdered?????


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