December 20, 1990.

What brings people to the brink? I'm on the brink again. I can
feel it in everything I do, in my relationships with Gilles, with
the children, at work... Will any of these horrible feelings
ever go away? I doubt it more and more. More dreams about
drowning, about killing, blood and gore; mashed rodents all over
the place. Rape! You wonder where they come from.

Tomorrow, we have a small Christmas party at work with a gift
exchange and a guessing game. We all brought our baby pictures
and we're going to try and identify who's who. I looked at the
pictures Margaret Hemming lent me. It had been a long time since
I'd wanted to. I didn't even want to today but I forced myself.
I looked like a happy child. I smiled and my eyes sparkled. I
felt a certain warmth which I believe probably came from
Margaret. But when I looked at John's photograph, the one
Margaret sent me after his death, it gave me shivers. I quickly
put it away. Bad vibes. For some reason, I didn't like that
man. The fact he died didn't bother me at all. On the contrary,
I felt some kind of relief. He asked me if I knew how to swim
when I went to see them. When I answered no, he said that had I
remained in their home, it's surely the one thing I would have
learned. I don't know why that thought stayed with me.

New associations are springing into my head. Why did I
continually insist on undressing my doll? Marcelle says it was
an obsession, that I was a bad child. I never thought anything
of it except that she was stupid and that she was jumping to
idiotic conclusions, but now, I wonder if she doesn't know
something I don't know. Why did she think I was bad? Was it
because she thought I'd done something immoral even at my very
young age? I remember dreams and fantasies I used to have about
my uncle and his son. I always wanted that contact with men, yet
I was very aware that as far as my mother was concerned, it was
bad, filthy, anything negative you can think of.

Lorraine Davidson asked me today, "How would you describe yourself.
What words identify you?" I didn't know quite what she meant
until she described herself. She said she thought of herself as
a woman first, as a francophone, as a Westerner, in that order.
It was then that I understood what she meant and I had no problem
describing myself. Identifying myself maybe? Before being a
woman, before an ethnic identity, I am nature. I am the Plains.
Nothing in the world touches me closer than the Western Plains.
I am so close to them it makes my heart ache. It makes me cry!
Is it possible for me to describe how they affect me? How they
are me? When I discovered my mother spent long afternoons
walking across the town of Notre Dame de Lourdes, up to the
outskirts of town, toward the seedplant, toward the West, I
understood part of my longing for this land. The setting prairie
sun on the horizon, the fuschia clouds, the violence of that
palette on such a seemingly banal landscape. When I return to my
province after a long trip, when I see the loneliness of that land,
the loveliness and strenght of that land, I want to break
down and sob. I think of all the women who came to settle this
land, the women who followed their men to this bleakness. I
think of the tears they must have shed. The long rugged winters,
the sick children, cold houses. And then, I remember the
warmness of our summer evenings, the smell of harvests, the gold
on the land, in the sky, everywhere! And I think, that's how I
am! Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde; one extreme or the other. I am
beautiful, soft and mellow, tender, loving, generous, sensual,
bright, funny; I am rich and fertile. yet on the other hand, I
am hard and callous, bleak and depressive, I am cruel, I strike
without any warning, perhaps, there are little signs, like our
hard winters as they approach. Maybe I must learn to read the
signs more carefully.

I can no longer work at he Societe franco manitobaine. I have
done my time there. I am starting to feel ill at ease there.
The people are lovely, they are kind, bright lively people. I
don't know where I am going. I feel a dull ache inside. Edith
tells me I think too much. I imagine everything negative that
can happen. In some ways, it's true. I see it in Thierry. In
othe ways, I think it's false. Take the job at the SFM for
example, it scared the shit out of me. I wasn't sure I could do
it and I did it well. But now, I don't feel I belong there
anymore. Paranoia probably. But I don't trust the president. I
don't particularly care for the type of person who has a super
inflated ego. I know he's also very vulnerable, very emotional,
but in an odd sort of way. The type of person who would cry when
he sees someone inflicting pain on an animal, but who cold turn
around and do worse to a human being when no one is looking. Or
even when someone is looking. I'm thinking of his comments
concerning homosexuals for example. I'm thinking of the time he
spent in Germany as a young teacher.

I've eaten all the skin off my fingers today. It looks horrible.
I couldn't stop. When I wasn't chewing on my fingers, I was
ripping off the skin with my fingers.

Edith is still here. She's decided that Jane is just too cruel a
person and that it's no use persuing the relationship. I'm sad
for her. Edith would not contemplate suicide. Which in some
ways perhaps makes her life even sadder. As she gets older and
older, she realizes relationships, especially stable lesbian
relationships, are extremely hard to come by. She sees a long,
lonely life ahead of her and I can't blame her. I would be the
same. Some people manage to come to terms with the fact they are
single and always will be. They accept that as a given and fill
their life with something else. They are all the more creative,
they become attached to other people or other things. Or, they
are just content with their little life the way it is. Not us.
I sometimes think we are still starved for affection and that for
us, is more important than anything else, whether we want it or
not. I know myself that although I think married life is hell
and raising children is damnation ( in the sense it really brings
out the worst in me), I know that's what I want more than
anything in the world. I want a loving foyer with warmth, love,
security, but I know I can't supply it in a way that would make
my children well adjusted, happy and well loved. In some ways,
I'm not utterly convinced though. I love my children dearly,
ferociously. And I'm starting to see that when I treat them less
than lovingly, when I call them names for instance, I'm doing it
because I feel threatened by someone else. It has nothing,
nothing to do with the children. I think my children are
somewhat lazy. I don't think it's horrible, not at this point,
but I think they must learn to do some work around the home, for
their own good and for the family well being. I think that they
deserve to be repremanded when they speak impolitely to one
another or to one of their parents. Especially when it concerns
not doing something I've gently asked them to do. Unfortunately
for everyone, I am not gentle very long. If they answer me in an
impolite manner, and I know Gilles is doing nothing to support me
in any of this, I regress and go back to my old behaviour which
consists of denigrating people and calling them names. "you're a
bunch of lazy oafs!" You do nothing around this house. And they
don't do much. But Gilles tells me, it's no reason to resort to
name calling. He's absolutely right! Absolutely! Now if he had
a better solution, I'd be grateful, but he doesn't. He doesn't
say a word. He doesn't make them do anything, he plays the old
martyr role just like his mother. He figures he has to, seeing
as I won't cater to their whims. When I'm alone with the
children, things are fine. I do some screaming, but I don't
consider myself a bad person for that. What gets me is when he
looks at me with his pained expression as if to say, you're
harming them for good, forever! Bull, bull, bull. I'll
certainly have to give life on my own a go at one point and I
think it's going to be an exciting time in my life. One day, I
will put colour in my life. I will not live the drab, dull life
of a minority. I will let my crazy ideas go, I will exploit my
dreams, I will work with crazy people and it's going to make me
happy, happy, happy! That's what is happening at the SFM at the
moment. It's mostly politics. We've got a bunch of new
councillors on Board, a lot of lawyers, conservatives, careful,
boring people. I want to be wild. I want to take chances, but I
have to tread on very careful ground. And I just don't have that
kind of patience. So what am I doing? I've applied for a job
with the Federal government. What could be drabber? The pay is
better, I'd be close to downtown, close to the Art Gallery, U of
Winnipeg, the Library, maybe I can take that Math upgrading
course and eventually apply either for External Affairs or an MBA
program. Next year, Niki will be in school full time. Gilles
can return to work if he wishes, maybe he just won't have any
choice. I will not support him once Nicolas is in school. I'll
support the children, myself, but I'm tired of having him follow
me with this love sick game. I wish he'd get his shit together.
He's got four boys, but he has not mentioned anything regarding
sex to them. He's scared, nervous, shy, I don't know, but damn
it, get over it! "The Native people do it when their boys turn
16", he told me, after a session at a sweat lodge the day of our
wedding anniversary. Wake up and smell the coffee! Next time, I
will try and figure out why our boys have so little respect for
us sometimes. Is it normal? I think it is. I think it's a
habit we're all going to have to break except for Mr. Lewis who
doesn't have that problem because he's just naturally such a good
man. Not only is he a good man, he's a friggin' martyr because
he's obliged to put up with people like me!

It's time to go to bed. I am sleeping alone tonight.
Downstairs, by myself, and I am going to have all kinds of crazy
movie dreams. The kind I just love! The Aggie Horror Picture
Show, yessir!


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