May 8, 1995.

I've just had a scotch and I feel like crying. I have a
translation to do. I've been called for an interview at Saint
Boniface College on Thursday for a job I'm not sure I want and
yet, and yet... I'm afraid I'm about to do something rash.
There's no reason. I'm just impatient, I'm just in love and
don't know where it's headed and it's making me nervous. Love is
the strangest thing. It's really a sickness, something
incontrollable. I know I shouldn't let myself lose control like
this and I think I know now why I sabotage all my relationships.
It makes me so nervous. I don't think I have the proper
antecedents to be in relationships. Yesterday, I was going to
start my screenplay with "I've been blessed" and now today, I
feel a curse coming on me again. I feel desperation, panick
coming on and I'm not quite sure how to cope so I cope by
starting to smoke again, having a drink every once in a while.
It's true, I've just realized that every time I've fallen in
love, I've started to smoke again. Conclusion: love is bad for
my health. Isn't that just like me. I revert to my old black
and white ways. Two months without seeing Steve is too much for
me. Two months with no more than a hug and "Bye Hon" , it breaks
my heart.

What a day. Maybe I'm too sensitive. I am too sensitive and I
know it. Today, Reginald would have been 74 years old. When I
got to work this morning, I knew something had happened to
Martine. She wasn't wearing any make-up and she looked tired and
old. Her son had been stopped at the airport for going to pick
up LSD and he faces up to two months to two years prison. On top
of that, he was driving his girlfriend's car without a license
and they had stopped Paula on the job at Air Canada, in public,
when she wasn't in the least aware of what was going on. Poor
Martine was crying and just didn't know where to turn. I think
I'm going to give her a call to see how she is coping. It will
get things off my mind. Then, I'll have to get to work on my
translation for Jean.

No answer at Martine's. It's raining; a small sturdy rain that
will clean the streets, clear my mind and make the buds spring
out. I'm listening to Sade and I wonder what Steve's Josette
looks like. She is from the Seychelles so I imagine she is
Black. How uncanny that the man I love should be married to a
woman whose name is so uncommon, and which just happens to be the
same as one of my ex best friends whom I just cannot tolerate
today. It's silly to be going on this way. I have work to do
and I do not feel like getting sown to it, but I will, now.

There's nothing to do but wait and see what the future holds. Ac


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