November 1992

Still frustrated when it comes to writing. English remains my challenge. Want so much to overcome this. To master this language!

I'm alone inside the house Melisa sits once in a while. I can relax now. I've got everything I need. My books, sketchpad, pot, vodka-tonic, and privacy. Away. I have not been writing much but my world has been slowly and unsurely being built. Tonight I love fantasizing, memories, passion, fear, doubt, life. No one else's feelings to worry about, surrendering to all this body and fucking soul. So much to touch and feel. Thomas, with whom I was in love when I was sixteen, Lisa's ex-boyfriend, came into the store today. We talked about books. He suddenly ran out and came back a few minutes later with Ayn Rand's "The Fountainhead".

Trying hard not to care.

My boss Sue said today, "If you ever lose touch with me I will find you and shoot you. If you are serious about anyone I want to meet him. I will even fly to wherever you might be living for the weekend!" Sue is very important to me right now, and having her in my life is a great thing. Her only son is away at college and in a sense she has become like a mother to me.

Never depend on others. Never expect anything from them. All you have is yourself, Emil. Don't want. That's all. And grow. Grow beautiful.

Pollution in my brain. Sadness because of others. Away from others. I want to surrender, but to what?

Scared of the things I want.