October 24, 1989

My Dear,

Okay, he accepted it.  But now I think I forgot to do an anthropology forum.  What is my problem this semester?  I am really a scatter brain.  Thankfully my anthropology professor is a lot easier to deal with.  I simply will talk to her today, play my dumb routine and we shall see what happens.

Other big to-dos.  G. asked why C. and I weren’t going to the formal.  We said because we could not find dates.  He said he would go with us.  He thought it would be a lot of fun if the three of us went.  I thought it was a great idea.  C. did not. Ultimately, she is not going and G. and I are.  I even told her I would get set up which at first I was objected to.

October 17, 1989, was the big earthquake in San Francisco.  It did not affect me but it sure freaked a lot of people at school!

The class is starting.

October 16, 1989

Dearest,

Well, I have really gone overboard this time.  I probably have told you that I hate my art class so I don’t go much.  Well, this is the good part! I ditched when a paper was due and of course he is the type of guy that won’t let a person have make-ups.  So here I am, sitting in front of his door.  I am going to talk to him.

I don’t really know what to say, but I figure the truth can’t hurt.  I will probably fail the class. I am really scared. I’ve never done that before.  I mean fail a class.  All I can say to him is that I have been so worried about my other classes that I have put this one on the back burner, it is only my minor.  So I will ask him if he will accept the damn thing and I will ask him what I should do.  Man, my mother will be so upset.  I’m upset.  So why aren’t I feeling better?  I made a plan and now I am following said plan.  I should be feeling better. You know, lately, I have been having night and day dreams about home.  Am I finally getting tired of school?  I think I am, academically.  I fell that after all the schooling I wont be a very good teacher.  Than thinking about it more I realize I don’t do anything well.  God, I think I am going to throw up.

April 17, 1989

My Dear,

Only thirty-two more days for this school year to be over.  And for once I am not afraid to say I want to go home.  This has not been the best semester for me.  Oh sure, I have had a lot of fun but things are so hectic.  I have been living out of a suitcase and I am so tired.  I always feel bad, I think it is because I am not eating right.  I don’t know who I am living with next year and that worries me.  I know I am living with C. and that is starting to make me nervous.  I am tired of school and I wonder if I have any friends?  I am running out of money and I am seeking male companionship.  I am smarter than most in knowing I will not find him at a one night stand.  So when guys come home with me it is more or less a joke.  The only guy I really respected was M.  but I haven’t seen him since and I sometimes wonder if he wasn’t the one?  I feel awful because I am so fat, I feel guys don’t like me because of it.  I do feel I am prettier, though.  Writing this down, I feel so stupid.  The way I see it.  Thirty days of hell to go than three months of complete silence and then I will be ready for the hectic pace that is college.

You are right, I can hear you now, “Stop feeling sorry for yourself”, you would say.

I will my love, tomorrow.

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 24, 1988

I am very embarrassed and sorry that I haven’t written to you.  Well, my fears of a horrible roommate are now put to rest.  But school starts tomorrow and unfortunately I think I have really hard classes.

But this semester I joined aerobics and I plan on joining the adventure club and maybe the equestrian team.

I just got a Banana Republic catalog. That whole image sounds great to me.  Picture me thin and very tan going rock climbing or rafting or flying, in a fabulous outfit, ha!  You know officially my diet and everything has started but I think it will start tomorrow.  That way I will stick better to it.  I better write a lot so you won’t be mad at me.  Let’s see… things are back to normal at my college.  Seems like nothing has changed.  Yes, I realize it has only been a month.  I think I will paint.  Au revoir or something like that!

Vaya con Dios!

December 7, 1988

I am not writing you from the beach, as you may think, but from the bedroom.  I changed my mind when I woke up this morning and decided against it.  I just watched The Sting II.  I wish I was a con artist.  Just for the excitement and adventure. Like it seemed to be in the movie.  I would give half of my money to charity.  But like all things, give me a week and I will change my mind and want to do something else.  You know, I have always been afraid I would always live in a dream world.  I don’t. Live in a dream world all of the time, that is. Only when I am here, at home.

I should try and make it a point to be as friendly as possible.  Ah, right now, I am listening to

Ah, right now, I am listening to Somewhere in Time. That melancholy tune that keeps me in rapture every time it is played.  I changed my major to Social Science.  We will see how long that lasts, eh?

I want to write you my most valuable and secret thoughts, how did the woman in Somewhere in Time say it?  “What every woman dreams of in the most secret beaches of her heart.” After all of that, and I have nothing to tell, no secrets to give away. Just a bored and restless soul yearning to be free. I am sure I will get over it once school starts back up.

Nae’ living man I’ll love again
since that my lovely knight is slain
with a lock of his yellow hair
I’ll chain my heart forever mare’

I did not write that.  I found it in a book.  I just felt like writing it.  I can picture a wife in front of a castle that does not belong to her, clutching a lock of yellow hair, while a knight in armor tries, awkwardly, to comfort her.  Her children are running around her, oblivious to what is going on.

Oh, I can hear you say, such morbid thoughts for such a young girl?  By the way, Daniel Charmers is his father’s name.  Remington Steele, that is. No, I never stop.  Jealous?  Then come to me,

come to me my love…

December 6, 1988

My Dearest,

“Teddy Boy-Grandma’s joy”.  I wanted to write that down so I wouldn’t forget it.  And for the millionth time I am wishing for something that is just beyond my grasp.  But I will try to change that.  Nothing is happening at all.  I have been painting, never leaving the house.  It is not good and I feel kind of sick.  Tomorrow, I think, I will go to the beach and maybe take some pictures.  Right now school sounds good.  Good friends and a busy schedule.  Come home to good music, a full stomach,  painting, and homework.  I sound very mature but that can not be helped.  I can see it now, a yuppie attitude in a freshman college student and why not?  Get up at six am, go to class at eight.  Get off at around five pm.  Eat dinner than drink my milk-juice-whatever.  Listen to music, do homework, paint, read a book, and go to bed.  Does it sound dull?  Don’t worry, I will spice up my weekends.  My new image is Laura Holt.  You know T.V. was always my escape.  I still enjoy looking at it as much as reading.

She hadn’t seen him in years and even now she didn’t know if it was a good idea to acknowledge that he was there.  “How have you been?”, he asked.  “Fine” she had said hurriedly.  Oh, how she had loved him.  It had been no silly fling for her. She wished he would go so that she could cry and then try to forget him. She knew she would fail in that regard, yet again.

Does that sound depressing?  I think I will make a day out of the beach tomorrow.  You know, pack a lunch, the whole ten yards, as they say.  I will get all dressed up.  I will be in true Laura Holt fashion.  Bring my camera and write you a letter.  I will write something to warm your cold nights without me.

“Ahh, dabbling in mystery yet again, when will I ever learn, Mr. Steele?”
“Perhaps never, Ms. Holt”
“Let’s hope so, Mr. Steele”
“Dinner and a movie?”
“Why not?” she said as Remington Steele handed her a glass of Champagne.
“Cheers,” he said seductively, as he leaned into Laura Holt.  She simply smiled and patiently waited…

And so do I, as I bid you a farewell,