Not a whole heck of a lot has happened since I woke up last night at 7:00. I spoke to Brenda briefly, watched a movie while taping another, and talked with Steve.

I’m totally wiped out of food. I may go shopping this morning. Brenda’s going to take me, I guess.

Bonny says she’s moving on March 1st, and Brenda says she’s moving on April 1st. I feel like I’m losing everybody. Andy’s moving, Brenda’s moving, Jimmy’s moving. Before I know it, Steve will be moving, and I’ll be left behind with no one. I’ll be damned, though, if I’m going to move into a project. I don’t care if the neighborhood is better or not.

About singing—yeah, well, ha, ha. That Susan girl will no doubt not come through. I don’t think I can count on anything coming up with her. But will I ever be able to count on anything about music? Sometimes I wonder. I wonder how I can keep surviving and when I’m gonna break down and lose my mind. I have absolutely nothing to look forward to or live for. If there is truly a God, I can’t even compromise with him. I prayed for him to take away the right woman and a baby if he must, but please let me break into the music business. Why was I dumb enough to keep hoping and believing in the first place? I keep telling myself there’s no way, and why, but the vision won’t go away. Why? Why, oh why, oh why? What’s left for me now?

I wish Nervous would call me. I really miss him despite his mouth and his attitude. I haven’t seen Nervous for many, many months. I called him at the Bucket of Suds Laundromat. He still works at Feinstein’s Leather, too. For the last couple of months that I’ve called him—by myself or with Fran or Andy—he’s hung up instantly on us, but this time he spoke to me. I simply told him I was sincere about wanting him to visit me and that any shit I’d pulled in the past had been because of his mouth and his attitude. I never hated Nervous—just some of his ways. To tell the truth, I miss that sucker. I think back to the days when he was in the worst of his obsession with me on Oswego St., and it really was funny. I had a lot of fun playing with his head, and everyone knows he enjoyed it too. Anyone not enjoying it wouldn’t have stuck around as long as he did.

What made him flee, though, was definitely Andy. He got tired of competing with him, and he knew he could never mean to me what Andy does. And you know Andy and I have had our share of problems, too. Another thing is how I finally let him start meeting my girlfriends, if you know what I mean. I miss playing “dead phone line” with him and also the cross-call-waiting game. I wish I could make things like they used to be with him for a while and then get rid of him once I started getting really sick of him again. True, there’s only so much of the guy I can take before I want to kill him.

I want to get some more really heated-up fights over the phone with him and Fran so I can tape them. I need more edits of him. The old ones are classics, and I’ll always love them and find them funny as all hell, but it’s time for new ones. Nervous never liked his edits. He just never had that kind of sense of humor, even if they were never played for his boss, among other people. But then again, maybe he would. It’s not as if he has no sense of humor. Of course, Nervous is not the type to make prank phone calls, other than the calls he made to me. He never said anything, though. It was simply a case of wanting to hear the girl’s voice that he was so obsessed with: to see if I’m home, who I’m with, what I might say. But to call people with funny last names, people you hate, or just dial random numbers—no way. It just wasn’t in him.

I can say I’m really quite proud of myself for sticking with something besides music or music-related projects for so long. I’ve been keeping journals since 10/27/1987. I was 21 years old. In fact, I think I’m going to go read back on some entries to kill time.