Good lord, I don’t know how I’ll live without the sex. I’ll never 
find another woman as sexually intense and attractive as Nancy. 
I need to confront this issue head on.

February 5, 2000

 Why can’t I let go? I have all sorts of “what if?” fears. I 
doubt I’ll ever find a woman as beautiful as Nancy. I doubt 
I’ll ever find a woman as sexual as Nancy. I doubt I’ll ever 
find a woman as fascinatingly complex as Nancy.

February 6, 2000

 Not long after Nancy came back to me, we spent several days 
looking for a new place to live. We found a beautiful, small 
old house in the “Beverly Hills” section of Alexandria. We both 
loved it, but my credit application was rejected. Well, I 
discovered yesterday that she lives in that house with Megan 
(and her husband Tim), along with a bartender from Chadwicks 
named Alan. Wow, that hurts me. I’m pretty sure I mailed her 
my letter last night, demanding that I get Daisy back.

February 6, 2000

 Wow, yesterday was enlightening, and very depressing. Now I 
know the truth, and although not unexpected, it sure hurts. 
She’s in the very same house that she and I tried to rent, 
together, but were rejected, for credit reasons. We both felt
that it was our ‘dream house’ in this area, and the fact that 
she’s taken it with another guy just disgusts me. I came home 
and got drunk last night. I think I mailed her my letter to 
that address. I wish I hadn’t, but I’m not sure that I
really did. We’ll see. Anyway, who cares? The letter was the 
truth, and that’s all I wanted, the truth. She can’t give me 
her truth, so I’ll give her mine. I wish I hadn’t made the 
demands, but at the same time, they are all justified; but they
sink me to her level, and sully the pure truth, which was the 
point of the letter. What I regret is that I demanded the 
return of Daisy and threatened her with jail.

February 7, 2000

 I learned more depressing facts. Alan, I believe is the 
“Ken Doll” military dude who was chasing after her. But 
sources say that she’s now living with the fat cook “Dore” 
from Chadwicks, whom, I seem to remember, is married. The guy 
who told her, when she was still with me, “I’ll fuck you like 
you’ve never been fucked before.” At that time, she was 
disgusted, but I guess she reconsidered. What horrible
treachery. She lacked the guts to tell me the truth, so she 
acted out, forcing me to take the responsibility for ending 
the relationship (lying all the while), and making me appear 
like an abusive asshole in the process. I want revenge, both
against Nancy and this Dore guy.


Well, it’s a little after 7 pm. Nancy just called and said she’d 
call back in a few minutes. We’ll see. I wonder what in hell 
she wants. No doubt, to torment me just a bit more. No doubt, 
the phone calls are coming at a greater frequency now. I wonder 
what’s wrong. She needs me for some reason. I wonder what it is. 
She didn’t call back.

February 9, 2000

What a long day at work. Not much to do, makes the hours drag, 
the minutes jerk. I wonder if Nancy has read my letter. If so, 
I wonder what the effect would be. Probably pure hatred. Or, 
abandonment? I sure wish I hadn’t added the threat at the end. 
I hate to sink to that level, and I won’t follow through in 
any event. The rest of it was truth that she needs to hear, and 
I don’t care if she listens or not.

Later

 I discovered in College that I was capable of great insight. 
I studied literature and philosophy. Then I went on the Yale 
graduate school in Comparative literature, on of a class of 
seven. I came to believe that I could solve any problem,
intellectually, and experientially. What a joke. Then I went 
to law school, for no good reason. I wanted to live in Seattle, 
I didn’t want to teach, and I applied to one law school, 
University of Washington. I was with a rich, attractive but very
boring and unsexual woman whom I eventually married when we 
returned to Maine after law school. I married her due to family 
pressures, not to any inner need. I think that I basically felt 
like a failure, although everyone was congratulating me on my 
great job and my wonderful wife. I felt like a fraud, that I’d 
abandoned my true calling and destiny. I was conventional, and 
I hate conventionality with a passion. I stayed with that marriage 
for three years, nine years total with Cornelia. We maybe had 
sex once a month, but it sucked. I built a garage so that I
could make metal sculptures. On Friday evenings, I’d ask Cornelia 
to go to Portland with me. She spend maybe two hours fixing her 
hair, balancing the checkbook, etc., and I’d be out in my garage, 
flinging metal around and drinking beer. When she was finally 
ready, I wasn’t. I was angry. So one day, I took her out to dinner 
and announced that I was leaving. She cried, bless her sweet heart,
but I had no reason. So I left.

 Then I met Nancy; it was very ‘literary’. Literally, Nancy was 
everything Cornelia wasn’t, and also someone whom my family 
would hate, despite the weird resemblance between Nancy and 
my mother (Nancy). The first resemblance was this:
unapproachable, false. I’m a problem solver, and I love 
challenges. Perhaps it was my lack of emotional depth and my 
excess of intellectual curiosity; how could I possibly look at 
another human being as a problem to be solved? Well, I saw myself
as a problem to be solved. I’d done all the ‘right things,’ 
academically and professionally, and I was miserable. In fact, 
my dissertation was basically about literary situations in which 
one character suffers tragedy from the assumption that to ‘know’ 
another human being means knowing what she knows, i.e., her secret.
Read Kleist. Knowing her secret means earning her trust, but it’s 
skewed and tragic, because knowing someone’s secret is an 
intellectual exercise, not an emotional giving. I knew that Nancy 
had a secret, and I knew it was a tragic secret (abuse). My 
version of “love” was discovering that secret and proving to
her that someone (me) could know that about her and still love 
her. I sensed that no one had ever tried this with her before, 
and I was certainly right about this. But I was wrong about 
everything else. Specifically, I was wrong to think that she
would care, that she would love me because of what I’d undertaken.  
Perhaps I assumed that I was basically unlovable (mother), so I 
wanted someone who was almost as unlovable as me, but I’d overcome 
it and love her as no one else could.

February 10, 2000

 I’m taking the day off, to rest, and to write in this journal. 
My brother’s dog died yesterday, which makes me sad.  God, how 
do I get myself out of this emotional mess? Well, his name is 
D’Ore McFarlane, and he lives on Washington Street. He’s
married, according to Nancy, and his wife wanted a threesome.

Friday Feb. 11

 Wow, I sure need this weekend. Gotta clean up and recoup. Today 
I absolutely have to get an advance on my next paycheck. Sure 
hope it works, cause I’m out of money. Got to get myself back 
on track this weekend; watch the drinking, clean up the
house, get exercise with Calypso. As Jenn says, I’ll never get 
an answer from her, so I have to come up with answers for myself, 
about myself.

Finally, the weekend. I got the small advance, so next week, I’ll 
have to live on $300, then pay back $390 on 2/22.

Back to the journal. Did I perhaps grow up thinking that there 
was some ‘secret’ reason why my mother didn’t love me, why my 
Dad couldn’t express emotion? Much of this tendency was reinforced 
during graduate school when my job was to unlock esoteric secrets 
from arcane texts. My mom always looked for my evil ‘secrets’ but
I didn’t have any, until much later, when I started doing drugs, 
in graduate school. See, throughout grade school and high school, 
I was such a “good boy.” I never even dated. Yet I was the subject 
of constant, unremitting suspicion. I think that what I wanted 
from my mother was to earn her trust, because I’d done
nothing to earn her distrust; I think I wanted from Nancy was 
to earn her trust, because she’d never trusted anyone, especially 
a man.


February 12, 2000

 In Kleist’s stories and plays (the subject of my dissertation), 
the dynamic works like this: the man demands absolute trust from 
the woman. But nothing she can express to him suffices. In the 
play Amphitryon, for example, the god Jupiter visits Amphitryon’s 
wife while he is away at war and plays the role of her husband
Amphitryon. Jupiter, disguised as Amphitryon, tries  to seduce her. 
My thesis was that in a certain sense, Jupiter really is Amphitryon, 
who is the god insofar as he is disguised, because only by hiding 
himself could Amphitryon truly “know” his wife. And truly knowing 
his wife makes Amphitryon into  a god.

I have an anonymous msg on my cell phone from about 6 pm last night. 
It’s her.


 Then there’s “The Marquise of O”. A Prince rapes a beautiful woman 
during a battle, when she’s passed out from fear. She becomes 
pregnant, and creates a scandal in her family by denying that she 
knows the identity of the father. She shame drives her to put an 
advertisement in the paper for the father of her child, just like 
a whore. He appears. She doesn’t believe him, and rejects him. He
“knows” her, but only because she cannot recognize him. He tells 
her a story of when he was a child, and he saw a beautiful white 
swan swimming in a pond. He felt compelled to throw mud on the 
swan. She recognizes him, saying something like, “Only because 
you appeared to me as a beast, am I able to recognize you as a God.”

Kleist himself had only one ‘relationship,” with a woman named 
Wilhelmina. He tortured her, and himself, saying that he had to 
have her TOTAL TRUST.  How? He hid himself from her constantly, 
he kept secrets, telling her that he was on some sort of secret 
mission, and demanding her unconditional trust. Once he made  a
mysterious “medical trip” to Berlin, where he may or may not have 
had himself castrated. In order to earn her trust, he had to mask 
himself in secrecy. He could not reveal himself. It was always 
cast as a test, like an ordeal of some kind, a trial by fire. 
He forced her to commit double suicide with him on a riverbank at
age 34 or so.

What does this have to do with me? I think quite the inverse 
of Kleist. Nancy was a secret to me. I felt compelled to reveal 
myself in total candor in order to unveil her secret. But she 
couldn’t reveal her secret, and I suspect that she had
contempt (mixed with deep love) for me for trying that approach. 
I felt myself to be a secret to myself, and I played out my own 
self-discovery by using her as a means. It didn’t work. She’s 
gone, and I’m more lost than ever, yet I think I must have 
learned something from this. I wish I knew what it is.

I’m still avoiding the sexual aspect. I don’t know how to put 
it into words.

February 13, 2000

Last night I stopped in at King Street Blues, where the bartender 
is a gorgeous, exotic Indian-looking woman. She had smiled at me 
on previous occasions. I wrote on my business card that I found 
her incredibly attractive and gave it to her. I asked for her 
phone number. She read it, smiled, and talked to me for a few
minutes. She said she’s from Argentina, but that she’s engaged. 
(I didn’t see a ring.) She said she’d like to be friends, and 
wrote her number on a match book. She asked me to call her on 
Wednesday, and I will. Wow, what a feeling. In the wake of Nancy, 
I’ve felt ugly, old and unattractive, and afraid to do this sort 
of thing. But I must, in order to escape this funk. And I did it. 
For six years, I”ve never even looked at another woman. It felt 
soooo damn good when she gave me her phone number. Her name is 
Patricia, and wow, is she beautiful, seems very smart and nice 
too.

Christ, I don’t know how or why I have these financial problems. 
I mailed a nice letter to Patricia, to prepare for Wednesday. 
Gotta find out if she’s really engaged. I feel nothing but 
anger toward Nancy.

February 14, 2000

 New anonymous messages on my phone. I have such high hopes for 
Wednesday night, if only I can act normally. I’d like to take 
Patricia to the Chart House where Melanie works, cause I know 
Melanie will call Nancy to report my activities. On the other 
hand, I don’t care where we go, I just want to check out Patricia, 
to find out if she’s really engaged. Fuck Nancy. Maybe Patricia 
isn’t really engaged at all, maybe we can get something going. 
On the other hand, maybe she is, so we can be friends, and maybe 
she can introduce me to some of her other friends. Hey, it’s 
progress.

February 15, 2000

 Productive day at work. I think it’s in anticipation of calling 
Patricia. A good evening with her will let me forget all about 
Nancy, so I’m very hopeful. I will however, find her correct 
address, and write her one final letter that I’ll make sure she 
gets. I’m even thinking about asking Patricia to have a drink 
with me at the Chart House, where Melanie works. She’d definitely 
tell Nancy.

Well, Nancy just called me, and didn’t leave a message. She has 
my cell phone number, let her call it. She definitely still needs 
me, and I wonder why. Is she getting nervous? Wait til I take 
Patricia to the Chart House (God willing). I get an anonymous 
hang up call virtually every day now.

WELL, I’m in the process of writing this final letter to Nancy. 
I hate doing it, but I must. There is no anger, no hate in this 
letter, just my genuine disappointment.

February 16, 2000

 Another productive day at work, but Patricia wouldn’t pick up 
the phone. Musta got cold feet. Oh well, I’ll probably stop in 
there on Friday and find out what happened. I wonder if it was 
my letter that did it? So disappointing. Puts me back in the 
revenge mode against Nancy. Got a letter today from some lawyer 
in Virginia, no doubt relating to Mark Scott. I have an 
appointment with a B/R lawyer on Friday. Fuck Mark Scott, he’ll 
get nothing. I feel like staying home tomorrow. It’s so 
frustrating not to be able to score any weed. Nobody does what 
they say they’ll do. Except me. Shit, I just gotta hang in for 
another year or so, then I’ll have it made. I swear, I’ll have 
the last laugh on all these schmucks.

January 17

 Tomorrow I meet the b/r lawyer. Then a three day weekend. Diane is 
calling me about my bounced check and not being nice about it, 
since the car is not inspectable. So much shit, waiting for 
something good to happen. I really have to say, between loneliness, 
loss, mourning, waste, and huge money problems, life pretty much 
sucks right now. The only things going are my job and Calypso, who 
is peeing blood again. I wonder if I should go see Patricia tomorrow 
afternoon. After all, I’ll be in that part of town. My guess is Yes, 
just to see what happened, not to act like a jilted jerk. But she 
did break her promise, so I ought to give her a chance to explain. 
I sure wish there were more honesty in this world, but there is
very, very little.

 I have to get this Nancy shit resolved, find a new girl and get 
going. Simple as that. I want a sure, definite address, send her 
a final letter that I know she’ll get, decide whether to take 
revenge, and leave it at that. I feel sure that she lives on 
Circle Hill Lane. Alan’s number won’t accept blocked calls. I’ll 
have Haag stake it out this weekend.

Later: Home for the weekend, early. Thank god I have three days 
with Calypso, and a paycheck around the corner. I want to find 
out about Nancy’s supposed court cases, to help decide whether 
to take my own revenge. I feel sure she’s read my letter and is 
afraid to call me. I really need to meet a girl, to help me care
about life again, and get my mind off my anger. What a ditch I’m 
in. I swear to clean up the apartment this weekend and get rid 
of all of Nancy’s stuff.

January 18

Start of a three day weekend.  Thank god. I have to find a way to 
get rid of this anger that consumes me. Get rid of Nancy’s stuff. 
Step one.

January 19

Second day of my three day weekend. I went to see Patricia last 
night. I think she’s married, but likes me. She said she’d call 
me (not the reverse) and introduce me to some friends of hers, 
and also invited me to see her while she’s working. Her “fiance” 
lives with her, and the children who answered the phone are
her “nephews.” Two anonymous calls last night while I was sleeping.

February 20, 2000

 Nancy called me four times last night. First left a message that 
she had gotten a new job, then saying that she’d call me in about 
two weeks. Later that night two anonymous calls within ten minutes 
of each other. Monday night, the PI is set to follow Dore home. 
Why would she tell me about her new job? Does she expect me to
come and find her?


Nancy’s calls: “I have a new job”.  = I know you still care about 
me. “I’ll call you in a couple of weeks.” I’ll torture you for 
two more weeks, because I know you’re dying to talk to me. Since 
you know I have a new job, maybe you can come and find me.”
“Two anonymous hangups.” Where are you? Don’t you care about me?”

February 21, 2000

 Cleaning up the apartment. I’m trying to keep a journal of my 
expenses to qualify for Chapter 7. I think that Patricia is 
married with kids. But she still wants to see me. She invited 
me to visit her at the bar anytime, and promised to give my
number to some of her friends. Cool, if she really does it. Don’t 
really know what to expect from Nancy. If my interpretation is 
correct, it won’t be “two weeks.” And, the PI is supposed to 
track Dore home tonight. Should be interesting. Calypso’s going 
to the vet tomorrow, thank god, although I don’t know how I can
afford it.

Damn car has a problem with the “new” alternator. Battery won’t 
hold a charge. Fuck, what next?  I was going to take Calypso to 
Burke Lake today,  but I don’t dare to drive it.


O how I wish you could be human
And hurt me only beyond hurt
Pain beyond pain is godlike
And not within your proper provenance;

And so I search this wide and uncouth city
Following your hints, your muddy cul de sacs,
Your lies, your rumors and your barbed-wire je ne sais quoi
The gutter, the sidewalk, No! it’s Prince Street and your soggy 
green cigarette butts

Another glass of Merlot, please
And I’ll check my map;
Crusty Carl’s teeth need fixing,
It’s been a while since I felt himself, O;

It’s been a Spring of mud, of puddles and slush and anonymous 
phone calls, etc.
I am thankful, yes, for this life, O Lord,
But how I miss the wood, the rock, the sea
The solid earth, the rotting leaves, and you.

January 22,

 Bad day. I couldn’t get Calypso to her appointment because the 
car wouldn’t start. The “new” alternator that Diane put in is 
defective, so I bought the battery for nothing. Had to take a 
cab to the vet, pay $45 to the tow guy, and $14 cab ride home, 
to be repeated this afternoon, then Calypso’s bill. Took the day
off.



O how I wish you could be human, my dear
And utilize these well-established norms for conveyance
And incomprehension
And occasional miracles of wondrous lucidity;

So I find myself with a free ticket and a front row seat
To the babbling, incomprehensible, farcical, tragic melodrama
That I would not have paid for had I ever had a choice;
A new genre in point of fact;

You play your role to rounds and around again of applause and accolades,
Yet I am dumbfounded, speechless with loathsome admiration
 At your unspeakable virtuosity;
 Your audience of one, I am bound and captive.

I try to close my eyes for the painful denouement
As you fall to your knees in the arms of your new lover
 The makeup runs down your taddy cheeks
 As you strive to cry for something like joy.


January 24, 2000

 Taking the day off. Car’s dead. I need that loan asap, so I’m 
gonna try and deal with those two things. Disaster struck. 
Involved the law. Now I really need that loan, but everything 
will be ok. No more car, but I have calypso back, thank god.


February 26, 2000

 Saturday. I’m going to an AA meeting tonight. Maybe this will 
be what it takes to give up finally on Nancy. So now I’m stuck 
without a car in the complex. I need to get out of here as soon 
as possible.

Well now, I’m fucked. I intend to find that bitch and tell her 
the truth, no matter what the cost. And I intend to write my 
brother a brutally honest letter after all these years, explaining 
my war with the world. I intend to get sober and write poetry 
and essays. I’ve been where most ppl I know have never ever 
ventured. I have never ever backed away from a challenge; that’s
how I see my current problems.

February 27,

 Sunday now, gotta get sober and ready for work. Can I do this? 
Open question at this point. Well I have some work to do at home 
tonight. They value me at the fcc, but I’m very afraid of what 
will happen to me anc calypso.

I want revenge so much it hurts.

The unpassionate, the mindless, have no reason to live,
Said Carl, denizon of the mindless professions, and worthless;
He has no reason, but for love lost and irretrievable,
A fond memory is worth less than nothing at all;

He affirmed at a racause, drunken dinner party
Where noone listened, and should; jokes and humor abound,
Sir, but ancouth it’s all directed at you, don’t take it personally, 
please, be Polite and civil..


March 1,

Had to take the afternoon off to get this loan thing moving. The 
money stress is killing me, but it almost makes me forget about 
the ‘bookseller,’ which is the bright side. Still , I’m very afraid 
for my job, the financial problems ahead. I’m very, intensely angry 
and frustrated.

Nancy works at Crown Books in Old Town, Alexandria. Don’t know her 
schedule, not the address, yet, but I will. What to do next? Write a 
masterpiece letter? Follow her home? Leave her alone? I don’t know, 
but on Friday, at court, I”ll be right across the street from her 
store. Well, tomorrow’s Friday, but I won’t have my loan until 
Monday. I want to know who she lives with before I decide what letter
to write. There’s no doubt that she led me to her, but why?

Saturday

 I really must get my shit together this weekend. I’m tempted to go 
to Kings Street Blues Tonight, just to get out of the house. I’m 
praying that the loan documents will arrive today.

Calypso’s lameness ­ I took her swimming today ­ makes me so sad 
it’s incredible. All I can think about is her and Daisy at the 
lake. Just makes me cry and cry….She’s lame, and I can’t afford 
to fix it, because of these idiotic legal problems, including, 
especially, Marc Scott.


Sunday, March 5, 2000

 She seems to call me every day now. Why? She doesn’t want to be 
with me, she doesn’t want to try counseling, nothing, yet she 
calls. Maybe she found about about my arrest, but I doubt that. 
I lack the money to do anything today, so I’ll stay home and 
make an effort to clean up. God, do I miss the sex. Went to King
Street Blues last night, but Patricia wasn’t there. I think I’ll 
stay home today and take care of calypso.

Well, she called me invited me to visit her and Daisy on Jones 
Point. I was drunk. It was awful. I feel like a total loser. 
All pretense of intimacy is gone between us. I doubt whether I’ll 
hear from here again in the near future. I certainly confirmed 
every single lie she’s ever told about me, drunk, abusive, rude, 
etc. The police took me home. I don’t know why. I might have 
fallen down, or someone may have punched me, I don’t remember. 
I feel like the loathsome piece of shit she has made me out to be.

March 7

 Well, although I performed again well at work, it was another 
horrible day, crying from the moment I awoke until now. I think 
about the shitty life I’m able to offer dear Calypso, all that 
I’ve lose over my years with Nancy, and before. Tommorow I will 
write my goodby letter to nancy, the most devasting letter I’ve
ever written.

Our relationship began and ended with the two most true statements 
you ever made to me. First, on the landing outside my apartment 
in Portland, when I declared my intention to ‘court’ you (I thought 
it the southernly gentlemanly thing to do, insofar as you were 
from Lake Charles Louisiana), you said, “You can court me,
Carl,” and pointing to your heart underneath your beautiful summer 
dress, you said, “but you can never get in here….no one ever has…”

 The final moment of truth occurred not long ago during a phone 
conversation, when you said, “Carl, you’re the only man who’s 
ever known the real me, but I’m a survivor, and in order to survive, 
I can’t be real…..It’s over.”

March 9, 2000

 Once again, I performed very well at work, thank GOD. The 
alcoholism is progressing and I must do something about that. 
The loss of Nancy, Calypso’s problem, my arrest and my bankruptcy 
are almost more stress than I can stand. If only I can survive 
this financial mess and hold on to my job, I know I’ll be OK. I
haven’t smiled in months, but I sure have cried a lot, like every
day.  The first thing I must solve is the drinking, obviously. 
I’ll need more pills from Mark.


March 11, 2000

 Nancy called on 3//9.

March 13, 2000

 Another ass-kicking day at work, less over all sadness, but I 
still cry when I come home and see Calypso. When I imagine the 
life I’ve lost, what I gave up for Nancy, how little she 
appreciated any of it. The lies, the hypocricy, the slander,
the evasion, etc. but I think about it less constantly these 
days, probably because I’ve overwhelmed by financial problems 
and very busy at work. I said to myself today, “I give up.” No 
more letters, attempts to find her, etc. It’s pretty damn obvious 
that the game is over; she doesn’t want me, and I’m so much 
better off without her. Some poor schmuck is about to suffer, 
bigtime. That’s a certainty. She’s never been faithful to anyone, 
including me. Besides, I think she’s given up on being in a 
real relationship. I was the closest thing she ever had, and I’m 
far more indulgent than most.

 I need to keep performing at work, solve this finanicial, legal 
crisis, and take care of calypso. And stay healthy. It’s that 
simple. I can do it.

March 15,

 Wednesday over with. Bankruptcy papers will be filed on Friday. 
Financial problems for the foreseeable future will be overwhelming. 
Tomorrow, I’m going to ask Bill Burhop for a $500 loan to get me 
through the next two weeks. Doubtful he’ll come through. If not, 
I’ll have to defer the DWI lawyer. Sure wish I could afford (or 
find) some weed. Rent raised today, just what I need. I still cry 
every day when I come home, in fact, I fought off tears all day 
long. If Burhop comes through, I’m going out this weekend, with 
Calypso. She needs more than a walk around the complex on a 
goddam leash. I’ll take a book and a sandwich down to Jones Park 
and spend the afternoon. God am I horny. I’d love to go see 
Patricia on Friday night. Talked to Sunil about jobs on the 
west coast. Gotta perform really well on AOL. Gotta use Dave 
McClure, industry people. I must succeed with this opportunity, 
despite what has happened. I cannot let it ruin me. One more year, 
I can do it.

Saturday, March 18, 2000

 Even with burhop’s loan, I don’t see how I’ll  make it. Nancy 
doesn;’t seem to be calling anymore. Time to give up. Worry about 
me. Bankruptcy case will be filed on Monday. Gotta see is Clark 
will represent me for a $500 retainer. Probably not. God I wish 
there was something for me to do this weekend that wouldn’t cost 
money, like go to a Park with Calypso. Well, I’m going back to 
bed. More later.

God, what a horrible day. At least I took Calypso for a swim 
and a nice walk.

March 19, 2000

 I wrote Nancy a curt letter yesterday, but I don’t think I’m 
going to mail it. I haven’t decided to keep Haag working. What’s 
the point of spending money I don’t have, and for what? To let 
her know I know the truth? She probably already knows that, which 
is why she’s afraid of me. Thanks god for Burhop. He’s gonna lend me
more this week. I’ve been here almost one year. In a couple weeks, 
I’ll either fail or survive my probation period. Gonna take a nap. 
Back later. I’m totally uninspired. I don’t even feel like reading 
books anymore. Something is gone from my soul. I’m a void.

Well, I sent Haag his money and asked him to continue. Probably a 
stupid idea, but a fucking compulsion on my part. I don’t want 
truth from her,. Cause I know I’ll never get it. But I want her 
to hear the truth from me, because I refuse to let the last six 
years of effort and sacrifice die in a cesspool of lies, evasion 
and bullshit. I want her to know that she isn’t fooling me, and 
that she will soon regret what she’s done. When I get her address, 
I will write her the most devastating letter ever written, I swear. 
Then I’ll let it go.

March 22, 2000

 Wrote a poem during lunch hour today:

you hide your humanity like a brilliantly
 Colored easter egg;
I have to wonder, do you acknowledge the Spring season at all?

Is there no change of the seasons for you?
Everyday perfect, as in the Bahamas,
Or yet another cold, monotonous, endless grey late winter day?
Punctuated only by a new occasion, a new bed, a new
 But meaningless compliment?

If your heart was a walled garden ­ like
The one we visited one late Fall day in Maine
(the flowers mostly faded and scentless, but all the more
beautiful because we were alone, together) ­
perhaps I could find my way
to inhale the fragrance I know is there

The soul is vaporous, invisible, incapable of grasp
(as I held you at 3 am, a dream having pricked me into fictional consciousness)

there is no wall, no barrier
separating us, sweet girl
only you and I, separate, apart
a fact, like bad weather,
it happens, as it will.

March 23, 2000

 Kicked ass at work again, and got a credit card in the mail, damn it! Can’t
activate it until next Wednesday, but hey, it’s a card. A way to rebuild my
credit, hopefully. Got Calypso here, and I’m warm.

March 24, 2000

 Lunch hour poem:

My love is a disaster area
A toxic waste dump, off limits to all but
Qualified, licensed professionals

Namely, me, crusty CARl at the bar
Empty glasses make so little sense,
No more than love with you, my equal in every way
A psychopath-----
Lost;

Lust, bitterness, undirected rage, regret,
This is my sustenance,
 And nonsense,

One more chance, my love
To prove the world right
To demonstrate that we cannot cope,
That flowers can grow in dung.

March 25,

 Call from Nancy last night. She’s living with Dore and gave me 
the address, inviting me to write her "one of my famous letters.” 
She’s happy with Dore, but it’s ‘only temporary.’ I said, “I 
give up, I’m over it.” She disagreed. She doesn’t want me to 
stop pining for her.

 Well, I won’t send any of the dozens of letters I’ve written. 
She made her bed, let her sleep in it a while, until she’s tired 
of it, which won’t take long, because I see a crisis on the horizon. 
If she needs to talk to me now, just wait a few months. This fat 
idiot Dore, he has no idea what he’s gotten into, but he’ll
find out, and soon. Everything is wonderful now, yet she needs to 
call me. Hahhahahahahah. What the fuck does that mean?  Not good 
for Dore, I’ m afraid. Something’s wrong, or she wouldn’t need 
to call me at all, much less give me her address for my ‘famous 
letters.’  I’ll wait it out, until it gets worse, then see
what happens.

It’s March 26, 2000

Sunday. I have $13 bucks in my account, for some reason. Credit 
card should be available on Thursday. Sure hope that works, cause 
I’ve nothing left. $100 in my pocket.Nancy will expect a letter 
next week. She won’t get one. Wonder what she’ll do. I’d bet 
anything this Dore thing won’’t last. Maybe a month or so. She has a
nice place to stay, a ‘nice guy’ who bores her, otherwise she 
wouldn’t be calling me, inviting me to write. I bet he’s asked 
her to marry him, and plans to open a bed and breakfast in Maine. 
Can’t imagine that. Why does she call me, invite me to write? 
She’s bored, unhappy. She “wants me to be happy for her.” For 
what? A relationship that is ‘temporary’? makes no sense at all. 
What she really wants is for me to forgive her, which I won’t. 
Why does she tell me he’s ‘temporary’? she says she ‘loves me,’ 
that she shares my feeling that we were ‘special.’

TOOK cALYPSO  for three walks and two swims today. Did my job. 
My other job is to do well at work and pass the time as quickly 
as possible, which means sleep a lot.


Tuesday, 3/28


Hope I can make it financially until Friday, when my credit card 
is supposed to activated. Life seems like a war. Will Rite Aid 
take my check? Gotta go shopping tonight. No money. I have $55 
til Friday.

Hey, the credit card works. Gotta be careful with it though, 
obviously. Today at lunch, I analysed Nancy’s phone conversation 
with me. She wants me, bottom line.

April 1, 2000

Nancy called me last night. I think she wants to get back 
together. She “misses me like crazy,” and will call me at 4 pm 
today, getting together tomorrow. What will I do??  All the 
warning signs say, “Stay away,” but I don’t know if I can resist.
I sent her my letter. Two phone calls from David S. Ferrell, 
***-***-****. WHO THE hell is he?

 I just went shopping and took Calypso for two nice swims. Makes 
me feel good. Tomorrow, if I can afford it, I’ll take her to Jones 
Park to see Daisy and Nancy. Somehow I doubt it’ll happen, but 
that’s OK. We’ll see if the phone call happens at 4 pm. Calypso 
deserves so much more that I am able to give her at this point.

God, I’ve been horny so long, I want her tonight. I don’t care 
if she’s living with fatso. If she doesn’t call at 4, I’m gonna 
be pissed off.

Almost 5 now, same old shit. No call, no nothing. Whatever works 
at the moment.. I outta go downtown and get drunk. Another test? 
To see if I’m in bed by 10 pm? Or something ‘came up’? fuck it 
n any event..

April 2, 2000


Gotta pay my fine tomorrow. She didn’t call last night. Will she 
call today? Probably, but who knows when? I won’t get upset, 
just continue to go about my business, but stay off the computer 
today. Tomorrow’s gonna be a busy day at work. I think I’m about 
ready to get back on the wagon. I’ll see how sobriety affects my
mood, and more importantly, my work. With regard to Nancy, I hold 
the cards now. I need to do some major cleanup in here, and take 
calypso for another swim. I’ll check my balance and maybe take 
calypso to James Point. Gotta pay some bills too. So far, I feel 
pretty good without booze. Slight headache, and two of Mark’s
pills. Not too upset about Nancy not calling.

Cleaning up Nancy’s stuff, I started crying and bought myself a 
bottle of wine. Fuck it. Just want a nap for a few hours, take 
Calypso swimming and go to bed. Another walk and a couple of swims 
for calypso, I’ve done my job for today. Can’t help crying again, 
no idea why. Guess I couldn’t afford a trip to Jones Point
anyway. She just tests my love, then drops it as if irrelevant. 
I’m such a sucker. Same old shit, and I go for it again and again.

I feel nearly ready to let some hatred loose. Why should I listen to 
this bullshit from Nancy, who betrayed me. Why not let loose and 
let her know what I reall think? Because of some vague absurd 
hope that I’ll get her back. Why noot take tomorrow off and search 
for weed?


Wombat's Journal Page 6




as of April 22, 2000



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