I Can’t Quit Either of You, Baby
First, let me say I am not proud of any of this. But it happened, so here it is. These are actual journal entries of mine reporting the haps in real-time during 1983.
There is nothing more dangerous than a woman who journals.
I was still going out with the sweet Altar Boy who treated me like a princess, but Big B’s year-long campaign of filling my mailbox with his presence was wearing down my resistance. When I realized he wasn't giving up, the wheels in my head began turning at warp speed. I already knew the likely outcome, but lived in denial for a little bit. Even if it didn’t end well, I didn't care.
I have a high pain tolerance.
My favorite part of this journal entry is me telling myself to relax — even I didn't believe my own bullshit. Outstanding. And transparent.
OMG, I can't believe how much he’s changed! Gush, gush, gush. He was different though, and I fleetingly wondered if the Navy had lobotomized him.
Writing every ten days is more than we’d done since he first enlisted, but I didn't mention that in my journal. Oh, no. That would be an admission of guilt.
39 years later and I’m still making excuses. I should be studied.
A week later … (SpongeBob Narrator voice)
Gee, I wonder if he harbored more than friendly feelings for me too? I wonder. But naw. We’re gonna be pals. That’s right. Pals. Purely platonic, since I was taken. Yep. No shenanigans for us anymore. It still makes me laugh at how stupid we both were at times. OK, most of the time.
What I didn’t say was that I couldn’t wait to sit on his lap and nibble his lower lip and that’s all I could think of 24/7. That's what the truth was. So much for being honest with myself.