Thursday, November 26, 2015

Journal 1980

Can you relate to this, Everett?
"It may be silly but sometimes the future looks so bleak when you have no money and no goal-oriented dreams, and everyone's asking you "What are you going to do next?"

In 1980 I was 21.
This must've been an argument with Dad:
"It's not that the situation is bad; we had a good scream tonight; I did anyway, yelling and crying and stomping my feet. Don't think we got anywhere but got some hostile feelings out into the open; should've tromped more on them than each other. I think tonight was the first time I did more yelling than he did."

I set up a tent at the campgrounds:
"Sitting with legs stretched out to the fire, this book on the ground beside me; a frog hops onto the page and sits there a few moments, taking in the heat of the flames. Surprising. When a mouse darted out from behind the log on my other side I raised my voice and told it to get the hell away. It did."

One Friday:
"Looks like it'll be a good afternoon. Out on top of my picnic table, nude already in the sun. I intend to enjoy it thoroughly."
...
"Hmph. All my hopes for an afternoon of naked solitude — dashed. Strangers pulling up, Dad bringing my mail (big hug — how I needed that). Cameron rips in on his motorcycle as I'm taking off my T-shirt again — he backs up and drives off. Comes back and hollers from a distance "You decent?" before he'll come over.

Grandpa Johnson died on July 5, and in August I was living in Yorkton with a job helping Vietnamese refugees get settled.
"I hate being downtown, feeling so alone on the streets and feeling a plastic mask forming on my own face, and losing the battle to keep it off."

Oh my god. Things really do not change all that much:
Sept 1980
"Have to remind myself throughout the day to stay slow, take my time, there is no fire anywhere.
The golden rule: Do One Thing After The Other."

...

"Saturday morning; the phone rings - who's calling me on Saturday morning? It's Mom, just to talk - that feels good, there is love between us somewhere. I was surprised ... 'I guess she does like me!' "

Wed, Dec. 10:
"Got into M.S.'s car yesterday morning to go to Regina and soon found out that some kook has shot John Lennon ... Murdering a Beatle! What f'ing next?"

9 comments:

  1. I do love old journals. My daughter has a gorgeous mink that she bought at some flea market for $5. Insanity but a reuse. I don't sweat that stuff at all. My purse is years old and is from elephant hide, I was assured the elephant had died of natural causes but I do admit to thinking of her and her long life. And I love the quilt, is it finished?
    XO
    WWW

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    1. I took the quilt out of the basket and laid it over a chair to air out for a day or two ... then folded it up and laid it on TOP of the basket. Still haven't threaded a needle.

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  2. I love all the detail you still have of your life. I remember 1980 but my only details have to do with a new baby, 2 teenagers and a job

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    1. So busy at the time, much of it is a blur!

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  3. Love snippets of journals like that. Good idea for a post. I might ditto you on that one day. Somehow pulling a single sentence or paragraph out on it's own makes the words more powerful and draws my whole attention.

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    1. I'll look forward to the day you do that, Annette.

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  4. The journal entries are great reading. I had to go back a few times, not believing, you actually yelled at your dad? And got away with it. I avoided spankings for years by always doing what I was told to do, and I'm pretty sure that if I had talked back in my teens, I would have been slapped. Physically. None of that kind of thing was tolerated in our house; we just had to respect our parents, even when they were wrong.

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    1. I was never spanked or hit after I turned 13, except once when at age 17 or so I told my mother to F.O. Then Dad lost it and slapped me. Otherwise I was fortunate not to be physically terrorized (!) by a grown man.

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    2. I think we did our share (and more) of arguing. I may have been a little shit quite often.

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