I had weird dreams last night. I can only remember bits and pieces. I remember being in my bathroom here, drying myself off. Ryan and Popper were in there. A cockroach, or some sort of overgrown bug, fell on me, in my hair. I started screaming and thrashing my arms around wildly. Ryan and Popper laughed. They didn’t move a muscle to help me. I asked them if it was out of my hair and they said yes but they thought it was down my shirt. Suddenly my whole attitude changed – I said,”Fuck it! I don’t care where it went!”
The other part I remember had sex in it. I don’t remember the whole thing so it isn’t even worth writing about.
I didn’t go to my Public Speaking class today. I was supposed to do a speech. It was the last day to do them. I have a rotten feeling inside of me. Not because I didn’t go to class and give my speech, but because he made it clear to the whole class that he was really pissed off at me. I’m not sure who he told exactly, but 3 people came up to me who said that he said that I am to see him Monday afternoon. And that I am failing his class. I can assume that he announced it to the whole class. That pisses me off. My grades do not concern the whole class. It is none of their business whether I pass or fail. And besides, they probably don’t give a shit either.
I know I am looking at this all wrong. But in situations like this, I always look at them wrong. I should really be pissed at myself for not going to class. Alright, I admit it was a dumb (asinine!) thing to do. I sort of knew the consequences – I didn’t expect them to be like this, but I expected something. But, I’m a stubborn old bitch – when I fix my mind on not doing something, I stick to it. God, I’m so rotten. I still can’t figure myself out.
Now I don’t know what to do about seeing/talking with Prof. Burnett. I’m leaving Monday. I should call. But what can I say? I could invent some horrendous lie that sounds believable (I’m very good at those). But he doesn’t believe bullshit. He knows it when he hears it, I can tell.
I wonder if he would yell at me. I’ve never seen him get pissed before (I missed today).
This is going to bother me for days. And I think I already know what I’ll probably end up doing… not calling him and going home and having a great Thanksgiving vacation. All will be fine until the next Thursday, when I walk into Public Speaking. Facing all those people who know how pissed he was at me. And then he will walk in… What would he do? And say?
I think I’m gonna go to bed. At some point in time this weekend I will come up with a great idea. I hope.
I hope Popper calls tonight. I don’t dare tell him what sort of situation I’m in though. He’ll be really pissed. And I mean heavy emphasis on “really”.
I also don’t want to tell Meg or Craig. I don’t want to catch too much shit. I’ve had enough in one day to last me awhile.
I wonder why Todd hasn’t stopped by tonight. He usually does (about 6 times a day!). I just realized I used to stop up there all the time – but now I rarely do. I don’t even go to the ninth floor to see Craig anymore either. What’s the matter with me? I think I’m sinking into a slump. I hope Popper can save me.
When everything is going great, everything is going real great. And when everything is going bad, everything is going real bad. No in-between. Is that true for me? And did someone else say that before? It sounds so familiar.
I just flipped through all the written-on pages. They kind of crackle. It’s a neat sound. I like it. It sounds so important, like I’ve accomplished something, like I’ve gotten a lot of important work done.
I remember even when I was a little kid I liked the sound of lots of used paper. I remember writing in my “Spy Books”. I had a bout six of them. Each one had something in written in them, either about a person or an incident.
Something inside me tells me I’m destined to be a writer. I don’t know why I feel this way. But this feeling has been there for a long time – a very long time. Am I a frustrated writer? Maybe someday this fantastic feeling will overwhelm (I don’t ever recall having to spell that word before. I have no idea as to how to spell it!) me. I will feel that I have a fantastic idea – a story – to write. I’ll write and write. Maybe write a book? Get it published? Make money and become famous? I think I’ve been reading too much of The World According to Garp by John Irving. I think I’ll take a break from it for awhile. I don’t want to start living in a dream world (though sometimes I think I am and somewhere out there is a reality world that I , and everyone, will reach someday).
“Dear Sir or Madame, could you read my book?
It took me years to write, will you have a look?
It’s based on a novel by a man named Lear…”