Dear God,

I want to go home.  Just like the old days, no friends, no outside life.  It does not matter if I sit in my room until forever, it is better than what I live with now!  I know I am not making sense.  I am drunk.  It does not matter.  I would be a million times happier if I was at the Korean Bell.

I hate it here.  Thanks, C., you f$%$% B&%#, because of you I think I dream of sand beaches and surfer dudes that won’t stay.  Because of you, I ditched English.  I guess I will always be stupid.

I loved it when I was nothing then no one could hurt me.  I want to go home.  I hate it where I am.  The b@#$% doesn’t even watch the show!  So who thinks about me?  I will tell you who, a f##$$ invisible man.  The man that I have created in the pages of this book.  He doesn’t care if I talk too much or say the end of the story first, or whatever I seem to do that annoys people so much.  He loves me just the way I am.  I can’t find him here.  I have been looking, please tell me



where to go!  I am sorry. I am crying all over the pages.  This is not where I want



to be.  Take me home! Please, please, please, God, if I could only have my own house.  Just for myself and him.  I don’t feel comfortable here anymore.  Take me home, please.  Where the water is cold and the wind is war.  Someone, no matter who is there to love me.


Sorry about the tears on the paper.


August 3, 1988

My Dear,

L. sure has caused a lot of problems.  The party is sinking to the bottom pits of hell.  We have $80.00 in alcohol and nowhere to drink it! Which is kind of funny because what will happen I don’t know.  If I find nowhere to go I will sneak as much as I can back to school, give some to D. and S., and if C. wants some great.  Then S. and I can drink on Sunday.  If we do have the party I still will try to sneak some back to school and S.  $40.00 is a big deal but I won’t cry about it.  How come after I write to you I always feel better?