Tuesday
So there you go -- more about Nikki and my thoughts therein. I guess maybe we didn't start dating right away after all. (In case you're wondering, I really am writing about these pages as I come to them. Memory is sometimes an unreliable guide, which is why having a document like this is such a treasure -- especially when I actually wrote down what happened.) My note at the bottom of the page, "(See Tue., April 6)," is in reference to my poem, "Atlas' Monologue," about getting shit on all the time. Yeah, self-pity over the girl I'm not currently dating saying she just wants to be friends.
Actually, it's even worse. Ladies, telling a guy that he's like a brother is interpreted as pretty much the kiss of death: that guy writes off any chance of dating you when he hears those words. Unless that's what you're after, that is.
Off on the right, you'll find quite an admission: I don't (often) write down my feelings, for fear of evidence. Instead I speak them, because then the evidence is blown away on the wind. To a certain degree, that's still true: If you go back through the archives on me3dia.com, you'll find I don't write about how I'm feeling very often. Even here in 1954, I skirt around that quite a bit. Cinnamon commented to me recently that this is the first time she's seen me write about emotion on a frequent basis, and I'm still not doing it as much as I could. We'll see if this changes over time.
Wednesday
Happy birthday, Mike!
Chad and I woke Mike up at his house early in the morning before school, and I guess we made him wear polyester bell-bottom pants. I dunno. We went to the Bread Basket, the village diner, for breakfast, and Chad and I shared an order of bacon, I think. It was fun.
I was pretty happy with the Inferno illustration here, despite it running into the text. My friend Brandon and I had discussed teaming up to create an illustrated copy of Dante's Inferno, and this was a sketch for the cover. In my sketchbook, I started drawing lots of trees with faces in them for the Wood of Self-Murders (suicides).
I imagine the "Iverson Perennials" quip meant something back then, but I have no idea who it refers to now. Probably something relating to Phelan's Logic & Rhet class.
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