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JOURNAL Friday June 20, 1997 I am having a bad hair day. Who fucking cares? That has got to be one of the single most overused phrases in the English language at this time. As though what my hair looks like matters at all in the grand scheme of things. Ugh. My hair always looks rather shaggy, and with the humidity it looks like a frizzed out mop. Even the little touch of gold on the ends looks tarnished. But who gives a damn? Sure I'm vain, but not vain enough to blame all my problems on how my hair looks. Whew. That was deep. Andrew Fraiser called me today. Wanted to take me out to lunch. Told him I had boyfriend. He didn't care. Told him I had very tall martial artist boyfriend. That shook him somewhat. I felt rather bad as I really do like him, but Malcolm is...Malcolm. And like it or not, I'm a lot softer on Malcolm than I would care to admit to just about anyone else but my journal, Lancelot, and Bill the Ghost. Malcolm bought me a present, by the way. A green, sparkly present. Well, two green, sparkly presents. Emerald studs for me ears. This is a serious man. Any man who gives you emeralds is not to be taken lightly. Saturday and Sunday June 21 and 22, 1997 Well, it is officially the first day of summer. If the legends are true, the Druids would be killing something tonight were it a couple thousand years ago. What fun. I think my cat is depressed. He needs a kitty psychologist. I wonder if the Doc did any research into feline behavioral studies. Doubt it. Humans are probably weird enough for him. Maybe I should stop being so tough on Malcolm. I just can't quite shake my self-image of the dominant, loud, happy, shrill, bossy...ugh. I don't want to be a sappy softy for Man-Hero to cart around, but still, a little feminizing wouldn't hurt. At least I don't think so. Had a good night with Mal on Saturday, is why this is on my mind. He took me out to dinner, then we drove out to the beach and sat on the hood of his car, just listening to the ocean and talking for a long time. Everything that happened in the past seems like an adventure from long ago, a thrill ride taken at Coney Island during summer vacation. There are still some things I need to consider, but this Malcolm is a lot nicer than the other one. Monday June 23, 1997 I want to get the hell out of California for awhile. I've been freezing my butt off all spring, but now it's summer and it's supposed to be warm. If I want to freeze in the Summer, I can go to Ireland and wear a sweater there too. Lancelot is cold, too. He's laying on top of the heater right now. Imagine, having the heat on during the summer. Even Bill the Ghost seems cold. Mark Twain was right: "The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco." Speaking of Bill the Ghost, I may refer to him as such, but I no longer think that my house is haunted. Just funny old house, is all. But I still talk about Bill the Ghost when referring to the house as a whole, because it's fun to watch people's eyes bug, and besides, I've gotten used to saying it. Tuesday June 24, 1997 I think I need a new car. My poor little Cavvie is going to the dogs. Well, it's a few years old and has a lot of miles on it; it's the same car I used to drive from California to Washington and back all the time, and I've driven to San Diego quite a bit, too. Sarah called today. I told her about Dad and Joanne getting divorced. She says that if he's serious about retiring and having some fun with his life, then she'd consider marrying him. She says that for a fifty year old man, he's damned sexy. I ewwed and said that I didn't need to know that about my father. She laughed at me. So my aunt may well be my stepmother. And my half-brother my step-brother. Weird. She's coming into town next weekend to help me paint the back bedroom and to bring me new software for my computer. Wednesday June 25, 1997 Guess what I did today? I got tattooed! I know it's SO GenX but I just got a wild hair in my butt and had to do it. I was in the grocery store this morning and met this guy Lance, who invited me to come see his portfolio. So I herded up Jonny and drove down this afternoon, Greg coming along for the ride. It was a really clean place, rubber gloved and autoclaved, and Greg is an old hand at the tattoo bit so he watched the guy like a hawk. Jonny never did like needles, so he looked like he was gonna puke. To his credit, he didn't. It was fun, and the tattoo is really pretty. Celtic knotwork, smack in between my shoulder blades. All colored in with blues and greens. I wish I could show Eliza, but I don't know where to find her. I'm gonna have to bite the bullet and ask Le Doc. |
Therapy Session where Journal was Delivered
Christina Herald's Journal
Christina Herald's Patient File