outer-jessie's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Could stars be eyes? I keep thinking of me selling curtains, wasting my time, folding and repackaging and masking my intellect. And me in a car with a married man more than twice my age, who wants my newly formed sexuality. And me in the office of my advisor in the Spanish department, who wants to will me into pursuing what she knows and away from pursuing what she doesn't. And me on the road, walking toward the ocean and possible romance with a boy who never cared much about me. And me, leading my friends into a revolution of thought, something we had never seen before, people we never knew we could be. And me being told they wanted me for the school play and are sad that I'm moving before rehearsals start. And me doing more in high school than anyone had ever done in my school. And me leaving the country, for just a little while, to have a look at the world. And me deciding that that sweet man over there was going to be the one I'd marry. I often think that with each change of scenery, change of season, there comes a change of Jessie. A new Jessie is born and the old one dies, or fades into the background. I can still see her, sometimes, and I can still feel her now-fossilized emotions, but I am no longer her. And it's kind of strange that the further I get from an early Jessie, the better I can remember her. Or perhaps that's just a softening of the edges of memory, a little self-delusion. I don't like realizing that there are some things, probably many things, that I have completely forgotten. Of course, there is probably a full year of my life that was lost due to the car accident and brain damage...my grandmother was telling me, during my long-lasting fall out with my parents, about how it was when they were first separated, and she was living with my mother in the house, taking care of us all...I don't remember any of that. I remember my father's apartment, and the things we did and the friends we had there, but I can't remember the things going on in my own home. That's just one example; there are other things that are brought to my attention by people who remember what I don't, and I find it very disturbing that whole chunks of my life have fallen out of my recollection. I like to keep track of my Jessies. Map their progress, see what they think of me now. How does the magic Jessie that lived 17 years ago like they way I set up my apartment? How does she deal with what she sees everyday? How does high school Jessie manage her anger toward the people she comes across in her day; what does she think about my lack of a social life? Does preteen Jessie still remember what she wanted me to be when I grew up? I don't know that this necessarily has the most direct connection to all I just said, but since it just came back to me there must be something...it was a dream I had the other day, featuring Elton John for unobvious reasons. Whoever it was I was with, they were the people in charge of my life. Gods, angels, fates, destinies, I don't know, but they were in human form and under control, in some sense. I was with them, watching a young Elton John sing his heart out on some beautiful song, I know not which one. I started crying hearing it, seeing it, and begged the people in charge for another hundred years to live my life. I just haven't had enough time yet. I can hardly fit it all in just a hundred years, can't I have at least that? If I live to be 122, I'd need to Rob to live to be 132 for me to never have to see his death. We at one point bargained that I would live to be 90 and he 100, but I think I'm going to have to go back and haggle for the extra 32 years. One hundred and twenty two trips around the sun is so very few. 10:46 a.m. - 2002-04-22 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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