I couldn't figure out where to put this entry, so I decided to tack it on as a bonus. It is a short story presumably written by Agnes. There were three for four copies of it scattered throughout the hard drive.
Hannah
I am Hannah who dives through the window. And who would I be if
there were no contstraints? No husband or children to take into
consideration, no mortgage or car payments? No one. If I let
myself go and flung myself through the window, to a new life,
what would that life be like?
If Hannah could write freely and well, if she could write without
stopping to feed the children, or to feel guilty because she's
not feeding the children, or to go get up in the morning to make
the bed, or to go to work, or to live a pretend life for her
husband, her inlaws, her neighbours... What would Hannah write
about?
About flinging herself through the window. About strong sexual
urges she doesn't dare explore, about despair. About running and
running and running through fields at night and leaving the
children and housework behind. About returning to depressing
farmhouses and houses in general, dead inside, exhausted, and
about feelings of guilt and hate for being a slave in such an
ugly situation. About men who soak up the sun and the earth on
the farm and women who scrub and pick and can and cook and wash.
About loneliness. About not knowing there are other women like
you, isolated, exhausted, frightened, close to madness. About
wanting to die, but living, living a long life. About
magnificent prairie landscapes that flash before women's eyes and
which they know everything and nothing about. Only the violence
of our senses. The beautiful sun and sky we would love to reach
out to but can't because our household duties say: "Can't!"
Gotta run! Hang the clothes on the line while the wind is just
right. Plant the peas, the carrots, beans, put in the tomatoes;
weed the rows; pick the beans, peas, can them; freeze them; cover
the tomatoes; pick them; can them. Pickle, freeze, can, run,
work, sleep, and winter finally comes. Long, dark, dreary.
Depressions, crying in the staircase. Impatient husbands.
Sex-hungry husbands. Babies and more babies...
What do you do? Fling yourself out the window? Lock yourself up
in your room? Dream? Eat rat poison? Work harder?
Why not run away? To an island in the South. Warm, sensuous.
Lie down, roll in the grass, laugh out loud and reach toward the
sun. Feel your body, suddenly strong, brown and beautiful. Feel
its urges and give yourself to the sun and the wind. Let your
hair fly, whip your eyes. Let your skirt fly high above your
thighs.
Close your eyes. You're home. On the Prairie, home you love so
much it makes your body ache. The dry wind. The whipping sounds
it makes. You're alone, free. The fields belong to you. You
inhale the dark scent of the earth, the stuffiness of clover,
your own sunburned skin. A whirl of colours makes your head
spin: mustard, sage, purple, gold, brown, green. Tall grasses,
short grasses, butterflies, grasshoppers graze your body. You
twirl and dance and hug your shoulders. You're a child again;
running wildly through the meadow. You scoop up wildflowers; put
them in your hair, behind your ears, in your bib, between your
toes. You sniff them, drink up their colour.
A child's scream, men's workboots trudging through the kitchen.
You are woman again and all that it entails. There is little
time for beauty or dreams when you are an adult prairie woman, a
farm wife. But that's what growing up is all about. Didn't you
know? Practicality. You work, you slave. You cook, sew, change
diapers, wash, scrub, dig the garden. You knit, save your rags,
bake bread. There's lots to do on a farm and lady if you're
depressed, it's your own damn fault. Keep your hands and body
busy and you won't have time to think you're depressed.
You've got food on the table, a roof over your head, a good man:
don't drink, don't swear, don't run around, healthy kids, what
more does the woman want?
I want to thrive! I want to reach out, as far as I can go. I
want to have time to stop and lie on my back and lick up the sun,
the dust. I want to hear my laughter ripple in the prairie wind.
I want my soul back.
Instead, I'm caught in a square little box. It's dreary, sombre.
I scream at the children. I swear at the men under my breath.
Out in the yard, I swat the chickens and sneer at the pigs.
At night though, when all is still, Hannah sits on a cracked,
slanted porch, cat and dog lovingly cradled in her arms and lets
another violent sunset sear her wounds.
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Thursday, February 7, 2008
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
APRIL 10, 1996.
Depression sets in, deeper and deeper. Thoughts of suicide, of
taking loved one along with you as you wonder if it isn't time to
end the cycle once and for all. I wouldn't do it of course but I
am so exhausted with life; I just don't know where it's taking me
nor why. I'm like some crazy weather vane, blowing in every
direction. I don't dare talk of these thoughts I have to the
people I know because it scares them and they always try to
reason with me when I am at the end of my rope, when I have
exhausted all reason there is in me. I am nearly ready to leave
everything behind and disappear one morning, leave far away with
nothing else but the clothes on my back, a small bag with my
toothbrush and a few essentials and do like the warriors of old.
Cross the ocean, the river, lake or whatever and make it with
whatever resources I can muster. Do or die, sink or swim.
Sometimes, I think I couldn't possibly make it. I can be so
introverted. Other times, I tell myself it would be the
opportunity of my life. September, October, I'll take off for
the winter and the road will take wherever it takes me. I'm long
due. I'm still in that mode of counting on people, waiting for
them to work with me, call me, fuck it, fuck it, fuck it. Take
for example what I'm writing. I don't know why I bother because
it's as good a lost forever as Gilles has taken the printer back
and I can't even print what I write. Do I care? Some days I
feel like destroying every journal I own, partly to start anew,
partly some days out of spite, but when I reread bits and pieces
I occasionally come upon gems, not so much as the writing style
is concerned but the content represents a good many people, what
I believe a lot of people think, thought along the way but don;t
dare express. I'm surprised by my honesty sometimes. There is a
lot of censure but once in a while, I am angry enough that I
break through the silence and say exactly what I think. It's not
always easy to swallow but it's the best of life I think. My
life for the moment is stagnating. I am in limbo, perhaps just
as much as when I was married. I don't want to settle down,
don't feel I'm in the right place to settle down so it makes for
an artificial situation. Everything is temporary. My work, my
place, my car, I don't want to start any projects, buy anything,
decorate my apartment, invest in the house. I'm living for the
day I leave. Actually recently, I've even started thinking about
packing some of my things, collecting boxes. I've taken out my
resume, gotten a couple of addresses for overseas assignments.
It scares me. I sometimes see myself a lonely old lady still
looking for what will make me happy in life and never able to be
grounded to the point of settling down. That or I settle down
and the person I love can't stay with me because we don't share
the same liking for the place where I want to stay. I'm tired,
really tired. I don't know if I can take any more losses or
disappointments in my life, knowing full well it's not over. I
don't want anything excessive it seems. I want a man, let me
describe him, warm, affectionate, funny, a bit of a tease, happy,
demonstrative. Show me you love me, hold my hand in public, kiss
me on the cheek in public until I'm old and withered. Make me
laugh, tame me, bring out the best in me, the love, the
tenderness, the humour, the stamina, the intelligence, teach me
generosity by giving me what I never had, the affection, the
touch I so much needed, the words of comfort, of encouragement
even if I seem like I don't need them because my armour protects
me. Break through that armour, that tough skin and teach me to
surrender, that surrendering is not always harmful, that
sometimes it can be for the best. Where are you sweetheart? I
look forward to the day we shall meet, to the day we will be
together.
A.C.
This is the final entry in Agnes's life journal.
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taking loved one along with you as you wonder if it isn't time to
end the cycle once and for all. I wouldn't do it of course but I
am so exhausted with life; I just don't know where it's taking me
nor why. I'm like some crazy weather vane, blowing in every
direction. I don't dare talk of these thoughts I have to the
people I know because it scares them and they always try to
reason with me when I am at the end of my rope, when I have
exhausted all reason there is in me. I am nearly ready to leave
everything behind and disappear one morning, leave far away with
nothing else but the clothes on my back, a small bag with my
toothbrush and a few essentials and do like the warriors of old.
Cross the ocean, the river, lake or whatever and make it with
whatever resources I can muster. Do or die, sink or swim.
Sometimes, I think I couldn't possibly make it. I can be so
introverted. Other times, I tell myself it would be the
opportunity of my life. September, October, I'll take off for
the winter and the road will take wherever it takes me. I'm long
due. I'm still in that mode of counting on people, waiting for
them to work with me, call me, fuck it, fuck it, fuck it. Take
for example what I'm writing. I don't know why I bother because
it's as good a lost forever as Gilles has taken the printer back
and I can't even print what I write. Do I care? Some days I
feel like destroying every journal I own, partly to start anew,
partly some days out of spite, but when I reread bits and pieces
I occasionally come upon gems, not so much as the writing style
is concerned but the content represents a good many people, what
I believe a lot of people think, thought along the way but don;t
dare express. I'm surprised by my honesty sometimes. There is a
lot of censure but once in a while, I am angry enough that I
break through the silence and say exactly what I think. It's not
always easy to swallow but it's the best of life I think. My
life for the moment is stagnating. I am in limbo, perhaps just
as much as when I was married. I don't want to settle down,
don't feel I'm in the right place to settle down so it makes for
an artificial situation. Everything is temporary. My work, my
place, my car, I don't want to start any projects, buy anything,
decorate my apartment, invest in the house. I'm living for the
day I leave. Actually recently, I've even started thinking about
packing some of my things, collecting boxes. I've taken out my
resume, gotten a couple of addresses for overseas assignments.
It scares me. I sometimes see myself a lonely old lady still
looking for what will make me happy in life and never able to be
grounded to the point of settling down. That or I settle down
and the person I love can't stay with me because we don't share
the same liking for the place where I want to stay. I'm tired,
really tired. I don't know if I can take any more losses or
disappointments in my life, knowing full well it's not over. I
don't want anything excessive it seems. I want a man, let me
describe him, warm, affectionate, funny, a bit of a tease, happy,
demonstrative. Show me you love me, hold my hand in public, kiss
me on the cheek in public until I'm old and withered. Make me
laugh, tame me, bring out the best in me, the love, the
tenderness, the humour, the stamina, the intelligence, teach me
generosity by giving me what I never had, the affection, the
touch I so much needed, the words of comfort, of encouragement
even if I seem like I don't need them because my armour protects
me. Break through that armour, that tough skin and teach me to
surrender, that surrendering is not always harmful, that
sometimes it can be for the best. Where are you sweetheart? I
look forward to the day we shall meet, to the day we will be
together.
A.C.
This is the final entry in Agnes's life journal.
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Tuesday, February 5, 2008
January 25, 1996.
I've just come back from dinner with Chistian and les nanas. A
wonderful evening filled with food, drink, tears, laughter,
friendship. It's something that can't be compared. I feel more
at home there than anywhere else. Talk of everything under the
sun: emotions, sex, old memories, comparisons between cultures,
reminiscing, the future, I can't get it all on screen at this
point. It's just too much. I have to stop now and take it up
again when I'm more sober and better rested. It's the stuff
movies are made of. Good night.
A.C.
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wonderful evening filled with food, drink, tears, laughter,
friendship. It's something that can't be compared. I feel more
at home there than anywhere else. Talk of everything under the
sun: emotions, sex, old memories, comparisons between cultures,
reminiscing, the future, I can't get it all on screen at this
point. It's just too much. I have to stop now and take it up
again when I'm more sober and better rested. It's the stuff
movies are made of. Good night.
A.C.
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Monday, February 4, 2008
September 8, 1995.
This post was originally written in French. I have posted the original French copy of the file here, but have provided an English Babelfish translation below it.
Original French version:
Le 8 septembre 1995
Madame Monica Fundy
Coordonnatrice des programmes des ressources humaines
Madame,
Á
planification et des programmes en langue franÀ'Àaise. Je suis heureuse de me joindre À!À l'À)Àquipe
et j'ai bien hÀ Àte d'entreprendre mes nouvelles responsabilitÀ)Às et
les dÀ)Àfis liÀ)Às À!À la tÀ Àche.
Á
savoir un salaire annuel de 42 157$ et je suis au courant que le
salaire pourrait faire l'objet d'une diminution dans le cadre du
Programme de RÀ)Àduction de la semaine de travail.
Á
Monsieur Heinz. Entre©temps, je continue de m'informer au
sujet des activitÀ)Às, y compris la politique et
l'offre active des services en franÀ'Àais.
Je vous remercie de votre confiance et vous prie d'agrÀ)Àer,
Madame, l'expression de mes sentiments distinguÀ)Às.
AgnÀ/Às Chartrand
523, rue Oxford
English Babelfish Translation:
September 8, 1995
Mrs. Monica Fundy
Co-ordinating of the programs of human resources
Madam,
I with pleasure accept the station of co-ordinating of planning and the programs in French language. I am happy to join to me has the equipe and I have well hute to undertake my new responsibilities and the challenges dregs has the spot.
I am satisfied with the conditions of which we agreed, has to know annual wages of 42 157$ and I am with the current which the wages could make the object of a reduction within the framework of the Programme of Reduction of the working week.
I will be at the office on September 18 such as indicates by Mr Heinz. Meanwhile, I continue to inform me about the activities, including the policy and the active offer of the French services.
I thank you for your confidence and requests agreer, Madam from you, the expression of my feelings distinguish.
Agnes Chartrand
523 Oxford Street
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Original French version:
Le 8 septembre 1995
Madame Monica Fundy
Coordonnatrice des programmes des ressources humaines
Madame,
Á
planification et des programmes en langue franÀ'Àaise. Je suis heureuse de me joindre À!À l'À)Àquipe
et j'ai bien hÀ Àte d'entreprendre mes nouvelles responsabilitÀ)Às et
les dÀ)Àfis liÀ)Às À!À la tÀ Àche.
Á
savoir un salaire annuel de 42 157$ et je suis au courant que le
salaire pourrait faire l'objet d'une diminution dans le cadre du
Programme de RÀ)Àduction de la semaine de travail.
Á
Monsieur Heinz. Entre©temps, je continue de m'informer au
sujet des activitÀ)Às, y compris la politique et
l'offre active des services en franÀ'Àais.
Je vous remercie de votre confiance et vous prie d'agrÀ)Àer,
Madame, l'expression de mes sentiments distinguÀ)Às.
AgnÀ/Às Chartrand
523, rue Oxford
English Babelfish Translation:
September 8, 1995
Mrs. Monica Fundy
Co-ordinating of the programs of human resources
Madam,
I with pleasure accept the station of co-ordinating of planning and the programs in French language. I am happy to join to me has the equipe and I have well hute to undertake my new responsibilities and the challenges dregs has the spot.
I am satisfied with the conditions of which we agreed, has to know annual wages of 42 157$ and I am with the current which the wages could make the object of a reduction within the framework of the Programme of Reduction of the working week.
I will be at the office on September 18 such as indicates by Mr Heinz. Meanwhile, I continue to inform me about the activities, including the policy and the active offer of the French services.
I thank you for your confidence and requests agreer, Madam from you, the expression of my feelings distinguish.
Agnes Chartrand
523 Oxford Street
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