Saturday, September 21, 2002

A good evening in front of the television. We finally got around to watching Show Me Love (the Swedish title is much better: Fucking Åmål). It's kind of old, it came out in 1998, but it takes me awhile to get around to watching movies. It takes even longer if I have to track them down and purchase them. God knows Blockbuster wouldn't carry the last four movies I bought: Fire, Chutney Popcorn, Better Than Chocolate, and Show Me Love. I have to say that generally speaking, movies with lesbian content started to improve in the mid-1990s and have slowly been getting more watchable (don't even get me started on that Claire of the Moon crap). At least the dyke isn't always a psycho murderer these days. I will admit, though, we overlook a lot of plot/production flaws just for the privilege of seeing some sort of reflection of our own lives on the screen. Hmm...that sounds like I'm complaining of lesbian invisibility in the media, and I'm not, because I'd rather be invisible than the subject of a joke on Friends or on the cover of People magazine as this month's trendy look.

Well, after that, we stumbled across Aaron McGruder on C-SPAN. It was a recording of the talk he gave 9/10/02 at Emory on free speech. Man, he's just a baby! He's not old enough to be that informed. I really enjoyed his challenge to the left, and his comparison of Condoleezza Rice to Darth Vader. And I could swear he was advocating a coup, overthrowing the U.S. government. It surprises me he's not in jail on sedition charges.

10:37 PM

Patriotism Means No Questions
7:26 PM


And we found the dress I bought to take to London, and it's as stunning as ever. It's too bad, I only ever wore it once, the night we got thrown out of Christopher Forbes' house. I'll never wear it again. Luckily, it now looks great on Catherine, and she might wear it to the Bill Blass opening.

We got a little sidetracked rummaging through bins of books we'd put there for storage, and I found a bin of old letters and junk. You know you and your partner on solid ground when you can spend the afternoon together in the garage reading old love letters from failed relationships to each other. Catherine was so mean! She read me some of the love poems John wrote to her, then handed me one and said, "Oh, I can't believe this, this is the one John gave me right before I broke up with him." It practically dripped with tears of eternal devotion to their relationship. And then she goes and breaks his heart.

However, if I started calling her "Kitty" like John did, she'd probably break up with me, too.

I found an envelope that my mom must have sent me at one point with all my report cards, K-12. But, luckily I know better than to sit down and relive my rather pitiful early academic career. I did pretty good in kindergarten, though. Everyone will be glad to know that I could count to 100 by the end of the school year.

5:25 PM

When I left the house for a run this morning, the neighbors were already going at it, at least three of them screaming at the top of their lungs. Just as I was stepping onto the back steps, the wife/mother came out of the house, still yelling bloody murder. I eased back inside our house so she couldn't really see me. She moved the car from the driveway into the garage, yelling the entire time, then went back into the house.

Right after she went inside, I heard the husband/father yelling something, and another female voice yelling, then there were four loud slamming noises. Then a fifth, which shook the windows of their house, and suddenly everything was quiet.

And I'm hovering there on the threshold, wondering, do I call the police? Was that someone throwing encyclopedias at the walls, or someone bashing a head against the wall? Should I just ignore it?

I don't want to get involved, I don't want the police to come and say someone reported a disturbance, because they'll know it was us, it couldn't be anyone else. And I don't want them to come storming over here intent on teaching us to mind our own business. It just doesn't feel safe.

But mostly what I thought when I was standing here--and I can't believe this is the first time in 35 years that this has ever occurred to me--was how ashamed I would have been if my neighbors had heard our family when things like this happened. And then I realized, the neighbors probably did hear us. In fact, there was no way the neighbors couldn't have known what was happening in our house. So, there I was this morning, feeling completely ashamed some 20-25 years after the fact.

Tried to puzzle through some of it all while I was running, how I felt, what I felt, why I felt. I really feel like I should do something, but I don't know what to do, except call the police and try to get a social worker in there. When I got home, Catherine asked me what I thought that would solve. What would have happened if someone had sent the police to our house?

Well, I know what would have happened. Some how it all would have been my fault, and the minute the police left, my brother would have clubbed me in the head. End of story.

But, you know, the truth is, every day, I hoped (and in those days, I even prayed) that someone would come rescue me. Maybe it would have backfired and I would have gotten hurt even more, but really, all I wanted was for someone to at least *try* and protect me, even if they failed in the end. I mean, I very clearly remember the day when I realized that nothing would ever change, that no one would ever help me, that my parents would never protect me. I was devastated when I finally understood nothing was going to ever change. I don't want anyone to be that miserable, even complete strangers that frighten me, and it makes me ache for them. Or maybe I'm aching for myself, I'm not sure. Either way, I guess, it hurts.

5:07 PM

1-3/4" headline in today's paper: TORNADO

"Wow," says Catherine, "that's bigger than September 11th."

Wow indeed. It took Jenny and Catherine two and a half hours to make it here from the airport. It's usually a fifty minute trip, but the police were stopping every car at the turn off to Martinsville to check I.D. Catherine said 67 was lined with abandoned cars, and they were routed through Spencer. That meant they had to come in through Ellettsville. Catherine said it looked like a war zone.

Thank goodness we bought a house in the southwest part of town, not the northwest. We went through one tornado right after we moved here, and I'm still upset over it, I really don't need to experiece anything like that again.

Also thank goodness I was depressed yesterday, and stayed home to read, because if I had followed my original plans, I would have been in Galyan's yesterday when the tornado touched down. The last two weeks I've gone up to practice early, gone to Galyan's, then across the street to Borders. Yesterday I was going to go even earlier so I could arrive at the rink an hour early to get my skates sharpened. I probably would have been more or less fine, but my car would have been upside down in the parking lot like everyone else's. The tornadoes took exactly the path I take between Bloomington and Indy, through Martinsville, up along Southport, Stop 11, Stop 12, etc. So, thank you, psyche, for weighing me down yesterday.

Also thank goodness that MistyD was on vacation yesterday and not at work, since work doesn't exist anymore.

I called Henry in the afternoon, and he said their place is fine except for no power. He was waiting for Erika to make it home.

After it was all over, I burst into tears, of course.

Catherine's trying to sleep. I've reverted to my insomniac ways this week, but I have to say, spending a wakeful night curled against the back of the woman you love isn't such a bad fate.

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