When all the world is sleeping peacefully,
I try to catch my dreams as I run through the forest.

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October 30, 1989

Funny how things pass and don’t seem important anymore.  Last year, at this time my grandmother was not expected to live beyond that week but she is very much alive and well.  Also, last year was the big GDI fiasco with G. This year I went to the formal with him and has the most wonderful time.  I showed him which one G. was and G. just showed him out.  We did dips and kicks and twirls.  He tried to make G jealous.  I don’t know if he did but I know I had a great time.  Afterward, J. came over and we took $140. worth of booze. Oh, but the formal was incredible.  I had a wonderful time.

Really that is all I had to say.  I am still dreaming about S. and how I lived with him when I was sleeping.  But now I have added that he lives in C. too and we are going out together.  I would like a boyfriend just so that we can share things.  Secrets, stuff like that.

As I close my eyes to dream my dreams
I feel the world fall away from me
Never to return, it sometimes seems.

When I Dream at Night…

When I dream at night, I dream of going to a small pond in a clearing in the middle of a large forest.   The moon’s reflection dances on the water like tiny sparkles.  Those sparkles are repeated in the sky with millions of stars shining brightly.  As I sit on the grass, next to the pond, listening to the sounds of the night, I patiently sit and wait.  It is neither cold nor hot…

January 31, 1988

Dear,

I have a story for you…

“Cindy, Cindy, please open your eyes!” Her mother had begged.  Cindy had been in a coma for six months.  There was no hope, yet every Sunday the mother came to her daughter’s side to try and awaken her.

Let me take a few minutes to stop right here.  I am looking out my dorm window. I am looking onto the practice football field.  I am watching some girl through my window.  She is running up and down the bleachers.  She doesn’t even know that I am watching her.  There is no way she can see me through the window.  She thinks she is all alone but she is not. She is sharing the moment with me. Do you think she can feel me? Does she feel less lonely? I wonder what she is thinking?  Shoot, I think she is leaving.  Yes, she just left but the poor thing. I will never forget her.  Do you think she will come back because she feels a kindred spirit?  Will she choose to run at this time hoping to feel the solditarity she felt today?

Sorry, back to the story.

“It is no use,” the mother thought sadly.  As the mother reached the door to leave Cindy screamed “Thomas”.  It was only one word but the pain felt by the mother was so strong she wept for sadness even though she was so glad to hear her daughter’s voice.  And then the mother became frightened. Could this Thomas, would this Thomas, drag her back under her deep sleep?

I don’t want to write anymore.  I have a headache.  I am hungry and the girl and my will to write are gone.  Should I

Another Sunday apart wish we were together,

 

October 8, 1989

P.S. The bleachers have been torn down!  I noticed as I walked home home from school today.I don’t know the exact moment they did so as I don’t usually walk this way.  So sad…

 

January 30, 1988

Just a boring Saturday, painting, listening to Sade. Feeling slightly guilty because I am not doing homework.  But I did do the laundry.  Big deal. I have been thinking about going to that other college again.   I wish I could definitely decide.  I think I only want to go when I am bored.  Which is stupid because I will be twice as bored back home.  This is the weekend that we are moving into the new house.  Too bad I won’t be there to help move.  Oh well. I am dreaming a new dream.  I see a man murdered and he is part of the mafia so a CIA agent and I go into hiding. But a lot of cops and agents are involved so we go over seas to hide.  We spend some time in Paris but then we are discored.  That is all I have so far.

I need to write a great story.  I can’t think of any good ones though.

Let’s change the subject.  I am trying to write a collection of 1920’s slang words:

  • Cat’s pajamas
  • Bee’s knees
  • Take a powder
  • Scram
  • Hit the bricks
  • Humdinger
  • Don’t give a hoot
  • Buddy
  • Yammerin (talking)
  • Be a pal
  • Hooch
  • Bronze Cocktail
  • Dance the hoochie coochie
  • Cocking with gas
  • babykins
  • bear cat
  • shiek
  • eatn  him (bothering him)
  • floozies
  • lover
  • take a hike
  • In the flesh
  • Kick off your shoes
  • Scotched it (Messed it up)
  • Says you
  • Come on in, the water is fine
  • That’s what I figured
  • Rag top (Convertible car)
  • Big Shots
  • Go on
  • So long
  • It was a real gas
  • Piece of talent (girl)
  • Living it up
  • Out of the running
  • Great time of things
  • Swell
  • Can (butt)
  • Hittin on all six’s
  • Stiffo
  • Brother
  • Swell digs
  • How’s about
  • Stick around
  • Dime a dozen
  • It’s been a ball
  • So long

Check out H.C. Handy, the father of blues, Scott Joplin, Jelly Roll Morton, Duke Ellington, and Bye Bye Blackbird.

January 27, 1988

Three days since I have written, how will you ever forgive me? I am here listening to “Somewhere in Time” in between homework. Hey, I have a class with C. So of course he is talking to me. I would love to have him like me. It would serve him right. I am having a dream. I am going out with a smart, funny, sexy farmer who is a senior. He leaves to go to medical school. We write to each other but our letters dwindle over the years. Now, I am like twenty-three and I am at a party with a guy who is my husband but I have realized that I do not love him. Ryan, as I call him in my story, sees me from across the party. Our eyes meet and my breathe is taken away as he keeps his eyes on me as he walks towards me. And that’s it for now.

Goodnight My Dearest,

January 11, 1988

Dear,

Why am I felt to be the horrible person?  I am very upset. Let me just get it out.  She is controlling MY life.  She can’t; what would have happened if I had stayed here and not gone to school?  I had another Steele and Holt dream.  This one is much more provocative.  And, here I am, trying to change the subject.  I don’t want to say I will never come back and visit my mother but things have to change. I am writing nothing more about it. Soon it will not matter for the moment I will do nothing.

My Dearest Catherine,

I can not remember the last time I saw your sweet beautiful face or your blue eyes that seem to make the sky look dull. I only can remember the sorrow and the depression. The death that floats around me like a never ending cloud.  You are like the sun.  But the cloud is blocking you out, I know you are there and I pray soon that I will feel your warmth upon my cold and weary body.

I can not fight anymore.  It seems there will never be an end until all are dead.  I have put in my resignation.  I will be coming home.  To forget, to heal, to love, to grow old with you and our children.  To run across the field like we used to and worry about anything.  To feel my hands in your hair.  To feel one with myself and my God.  And to be able to look you in the eye, Catherine.  Without you there is nothing.

I can not wait to see your beautiful face.

Thomas

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Was that too sad for you?  Oh darn, I don’t imagine you are upset.  Damn it all, don’t you have any feelings, any compassion?  Do ou know why R. Steele likes the movies so much?  Because it was an escape for an unhappy boy.  Like me.  I would like to stay and write more, however, I have pressing engagements like…oh who am I kidding, nothing.

Your Adoring Fan,