experiencing: the ickiest form of writer's block: there are so many things I could talk about, but I've gotten myself all worried that anything I say will perpetuate the gossip and fucking lies that I've had to deal with for the past couple of days. I've also decided that it's fucking disgusting for me to think for even a second that I need to justify myself or waste my time dealing with any of his shit.
reading: Illuminatus! I love it when people give me books. It reminds me of Mr. Onarato who advocated every Christmas break: "Buy everyone you know books!" I'm a little bad at it, in that I only buy people books that I want myself. Or already have read a hundred times myself. Like Illusions which I have probably bought as many copies. I can't remember the last graduation present I bought for someone that wasn't that book.
crying: a little bit, but the only time it was unbearable was last night, when I should have been with my boy.

I just finished scratching the biggest puddle of wax off my floor. I have pretty wax drippings all down the side of my desk now, which were ever so much fun to watch in formation. It reminded me of days at the lake making drip castles. The best part was the way the wax would visibly get more opaque and harden in a matter of seconds, just as the coolest thing about drip castles would be watching the sand fill into the little droplet of water as the water soaked away, leaving only a sturdy little bit of evidence that water existed there before.

***

Elena tells me that I have good funny childhood stories. I like thinking about them lately because it's so funny how worried I would get over little things as a child, when now even gigantic things seem to roll off of my back most of the time.

Once, when I was in kindergarden and we were on "F Day" during which we would learn all about things that began with F, it was my turn to bring home the letter bucket and bring it back overflowing with F things. I remember a flower, a picture I drew of our ceiling fan when my mom wouldn't let me take it down, and lots of things from my refridgerator which I called simply: "food." The next morning, somehow, I left the big white bucket at home, and didn't realize the grave mistake until after my mother had driven off. What one must realize at this point is that I was in love with my teacher, the beautiful Miss McEntee, and this was my first homework assignment I had ever recieved, and was thus, a very serious matter. My family lived only a few blocks from school, mostly little residential streets, but with one big mofo of a four-lane road that always had lotsa traffic... after pondering the situation briefly, little Marilyn concludes that the trip home would be necessary and possible, barring any interference from the traffic guard ladies that helped kids across the big street. I proceed to saunter down the road, a sufficient distance from the old ladies in their orange vests such that they couldn't yell out to the young lady, "Little girl, where are you going? School is the other way, honey!" and followed the rest of the trip with a bright little knock on the door when I got home. My mom tells me now that she looked out the peephole and didn't see anyone at first because my little head was about 3 feet below it, but that she freaked out when she realized her neurotic little girl was only home to pick up her homework, and would be glad not to bother her and walk back to school herself. Despite my pleas, my mom told darling Miss McEntee and I believe got a bit upset that I would've been led to believe that the letter bucket was that important. Miss McEntee was bewildered: "It wouldn't have mattered at all! I don't know why she did that."

Self-motivation's a bitch.

Later in the school year, ("B Day", for those keeping track. I assume we must have done the alphabet out of order for reasons unbeknownst to me. Maybe some letters are easier to learn than others?) I was seated with the other kids at the drawing table (probably getting kissed by Kenny, and letting him get into lots of trouble for it) I drew a banana and a box, and other B things, and when Miss McEntee came around to ask what everything was, as she usually did, so that she could write it down in her little black pen right next to each item, she gave me a momentous look and asked me not only what my items were, but how to spell each of them. What kind of bigotry was this? None of the other kids had to spell their words. Teachers, always pickin' on the kids that know how to read, I thought. Actually, I say I thought that, but what I was really thinking was, AHH! I don't know how to spell these words! My beautiful teacher is asking me to do something I don't know how to do! and thus, I started crying. But relentless in her pursuit of making me spell, she told me to just try and sound it out. There is probably still a sheet of paper somewhere in the attic with a picture of a banana with big letters next to it: "BNNA" and also now, there is an entry in 'Lena's checkbook for the BNNA Republic, 'cause the girl likes bustin' my balls, and also making me crack up laughing in the mall.

Somewhere around that time, I was on a trip to the park with my best friend Cara and my parents, and Cara and I were up in this awesome giant rocketship which possessed these badass tunnel slides that would take you back down to the ground. We decided to lay down on the hot corrugated metal, and pull my favorite little silly kid trick: pretending to be asleep. I thought we'd be able to stay in the rocket all day, but alas, my father doesn't mind being silly if it makes sense to him, and simply crawled up the tiny ladders and curled into the top of the rocket with us, his giant body dramatically out of place in a thing built for kids, and told us to come down because it was time to go, but I am a stubborn player of the pretend to be asleep game, and continued to lie there, with major attempts not to move. He took Cara down the slide, and I continued to pseudo-sleep, imagining that I had won the game, and a minute or so later, opened one eye to look out: and saw no parents tapping their toes waiting for their precious daughter. I sat up: in fact, I saw no parents at all. My eyes darted to the parking lot to see the car pulling away.

!!!

My family abandoned me!

I guess I can forgive them now, since they did return, but only after a sufficient time period for me to have bawled my eyes out and worried the crap out of the boys playing tennis down on the ground. They called up: "Are you all right, kid?" And I, of course, in my little taking-care-of-myself way, pretended not to be crying for a moment, and said, "Yes! I'm fine!"

***

To sleep now, and dream of a wonderful fantastic boy who makes me happier than it should be possible for me to be. He's awfully talented that way.