July 1, 1995.

I am filled with rage! I don't even understand why. I left the
house on Oxford not a minute too soon. I said I was going to
work on some editing which I may eventually do, but the main
reason I left was because I was so angry. I'm angry and filled
with hate and rancor. I can't quite put my finger on it. I hate
our house, our yard, the way things are so disorganized. I hate
the fdact that I can't love a man, that I can't commit myself to
anyone. I sense that even if I do fall madly in love, I'll
always want to run away. Knowing that makes me angry. I would
like a scapegoat. I would like to hate Gilles, at times, I am
full of incomprehensible hatred for him. I hate living with him.
But I can't let the children go. And I also can't take them away
from him. In any case, I'm not convinced they would want to live
with only me. They love their house, their friends, their part
of town.

First of July and it is already fall weather. Luckily I enjoyed
the sun when it was out, got a bit of color.

I am fit to be tied. I could blow up right now. I could drive
very fast off a cliff and kill myself. I could drink myself
silly and pass out. I could make love out of desperation and run
off leaving my lover in utter incomprehension.

This life wasn't made for me. I just happened to slip by when I
should have been elsewhere or nowhere but now, I have to wait it
out, make the best or worst of it. Death if I chose it, could be
so quick. I don't even know why I persist, why I hang on to this
hell. It's going to be the same wherever I go. I know that. I
won't attach myself to anyone; I'll always be lonely for exactly
that reason. I would like to attach myself; it's just not a
question of whether I want to or not. I can't. The thought of
"the couple", for better or for worse, in sickness and in health,
until death do us part, makes me nauseous. We have children; we
make them, carry them, bear them. They remain in out hearts
until death and beyond. We love them, hate them, we have every
feeling imaginable toward them yet we let them go. We don't
insist they stay with us, care for us, on the contrary. We throw
them out of the nest and force them to fly. We encourage them to
go far, to make a go of it and to come back and visit. We bask
in their glory; we're happy for them, but we don't live with them
forever and share everything with them and expect everything from
them. Somehow with a couple, it's somewhat like that. Take our
vows, for instance. They're unrealistic. Take our idea of love.
My mother told me I wasn't to kiss a boy until I was married.
How stupid! So I get married, kiss my husband, discover we're
not at all physically compatible, and then, what do I do? As it
was, I did kiss a few boys before my marriage, but not enough. I
should have fallen in love a number of times before settling
down. I should have discovered that you could fall in love more
than once, with different types of people and before settling on
one, I should have known who I was, who I was best suited to share
a life with. I should have waited, yet everything and
everyone around me said settle down, have babies, make a nest.
Fuck it all! I still am the same ungrounded person I was when I
finished highschool. I still want to take off even as I know how
lonely I will be. I won't fall in love. I won't let myself.
Correction: I will fall in love, probably over and over again
but, as I've said before, I won't be committed to love.

I'm still in love with Fischel. I'm still waiting for him. To
me, it's such a sick notion. But he's the first man I remember
longing for, waiting for. It's never went away. I still think
that when I die, he'll be the one greeting me in the other world
if one exists. I know it's not rational and I'm not happy with
the way things are, but that's the way they are. Two parents,
neither of them committed to thier child, to their children and
though I've tried my damndest to be different, I can't seem to
learn to change things. Maybe the right person hasn't come
along. I think it's more than a question of the right person
though. I think there can be no right person because I am too
critical and in that way, I am ensured that there never will be a
right person. I realize too there are a lot of people just like
me who are playing the same game, for more or less the same
reasons. We might at one point find each other and leave each
other relieved not to have forged any great attachments. And
life goes on. I am weary. I really am. I must nap once again.
A.C.

Nap over. I have a big knife in my kitchen that cuts really
well. I'd like to take that big knife and cut my wrists right
through. There would be no risk of failure because it's so
sharp. I could lie in the tub and relax, let the warmth of my
blood soothe me and I would finalyy fall into a deep slumber, let
go of everything and leave for good. Just like in my dream with
the Percheron horses sho run me over with a wagon and kill me.
Sometimes, I hunger for that feeling in that dream; the feeling
of no longer fighting for everything I have, for every day of my
life. I would like to take life easy for a change and it seems
to me it will only come along with death.

The world, people weary me. I don't want to go out, have fun.
I'm sometimes tired of consoling people. I used to think I'd
like to get sick so I could take a short break from the world but
now, it's past that point. I'm tired of writing about myself, my
troubles, my needs, my failures. I'm tired, tired, tired. I
would like to be violent now. I should knit, crochet, embroider
lovely little things to take my mind off the violence invading my
body. I should make more babies, I should immerse myself in my
work. I should buy muself new clothes, new make up, get a
manicure, a pedicure, a facial; I should take time for myself, go
out on a dinner date with friends, make time with my mate, take
up a new hobby, do yoga, find a job I like, take on a young
lover, go on a trip, a cruise... What a lot of crock! I've
done it all and still I am emprisoned in this crazy body and mind
of mine that don't seem to function normally. I would like to be
otherwise. I would like to be happy; I strive at being happy,
normal, successful, at making other people happy. Life is a game
I'd finally gathered. I thought I'd finally learned the rules
but I've never been so lonely, so crazy. I'm going to nap again
and get up during the night and work, work on that manuscript on
the memory Jean Lepine sent me. Then, I'll see about tomorrow.
Tomorrow will be a better day. I've got a hormonal imbalance
that makes me crazy. I'm approaching my fertile period, my
ovulation date and I'm not quite myself but in another couple of
days, I'll be fine. A.C.


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