I had a fantastic day. For starters, I went to a lake with Kim. Her grandparents live there, as well as in Florida, and it’s exactly like where my parents live. We went on the paddleboat, and I swam like crazy—finally got some color. I’ve been dying to go swimming for ages.

From 8:00 to 10:00 this evening, Kim, Mark, and I went to Interskate 91, and I had a blast. I really skated up a storm, though the music was terrible. I met an older man there who’s a dancer and knows my uncle Marty. He also knows a lot of bands, so he took my number.

Afterward, Kim said she knew him—he’s super nice and really well connected. I thought, “Here goes nothing, once again.” I’m used to it, though.

My biggest and best news is that Dad’s coming up on June 6th—that’s my mom’s birthday. Mom isn’t coming, which is fine with me.

I haven’t forgotten about writing in more vivid detail about past people and events. I’ll get to it, but not now, as I have to be up early to see Dr. Leitch.

I had a fantastic day. For starters, I went to this lake with Kim. Her grandparents live there as well as in Florida. They’ve been exactly where my parents live. We went in the paddleboat and I swam like hell, got some color. I have been dying to go swimming for ages.

From 8:00-10:00 this evening, Kim, Mark and I went to Interskate 91 and I had a blast there. I really skated up a storm, but boy did they play shitty music. I met an older man there who’s a dancer and he knows my uncle Marty. He also knows a lot of bands so he took my number.

After I gave him my number, Kim said she knew him and he’s super nice and does know a lot of people. I thought to myself, “Here goes nothing, once again.” I’m used to it, though.

My biggest and best news is that Dad’s coming up on June 6th! That’s my mom’s birthday. Ma’s not coming up, though, which is fine with me.

I haven’t forgotten about writing about past people and events in more vivid detail. I’ll get on with it, but not now as I must be up early to see Dr. Leitch.

Speaking of gay women, which I noticed I last wrote about, I never did go to Northampton, as Kim was tired that night. I’ve also chickened out permanently, I guess. A lot of times, when you put something off long enough, you never get back into doing it.

However, I called the woman Tony told me about. I spoke to her but never met her—and I don’t have to. I already know I wouldn’t be attracted to her. She was a major turn-off over the phone. Not geeky, but someone perhaps insensitive, one of those “you better be calm, quiet, and stable all the time” characters. Someone who would only want to be there through your good times and run when you’re having a bad time.

I also met a butch—really a butch—who, by accident, dialed my number, and I didn’t like who she was either. She, too, came across instantly as someone who wants you to be what she wants and can’t let people be themselves.

Kim met her too, and before this woman came over, I made up a signal: I would shake my bracelet if she were pitifully ugly, shake my right earring if she was so-so, and my left if she were gorgeous.

Of course, I knew my left earring would never get a shake.

Kim agreed with me on her character, and she was a cross between the bracelet and the right earring. Tracy K was a 0. A so-so woman is a 5. Beautiful is 10, but this girl was a 2.

I wish I had an electric typewriter so badly. I had to stop typing these journals, which I really wanted to do, because the keys were sticking and jamming, forcing me to make mistakes I wouldn’t have normally made. There weren’t tons of mistakes, but a few per page. Maybe one for every five pages. I might use Kim’s, but it’s huge—one you can’t carry easily. I’d have to use it there. That’s okay with me, though.

I have tons and tons to write about—lots of stuff—but I’m exhausted. Also, my breathing hasn’t been too good lately. I’ll be seeing Dr. Leitch on Friday. Time for antibiotics again. It’s also causing my yeast infection to get worse. My nose is jammed up more, and I’m coughing up stuff and wheezing more. I’ll write tomorrow for sure.

Yes, I’ve been slacking off again with updates. Actually, I’ve been quite busy—typing up my journals. It’s going to be a long project, but a fun one. I’m already on number two, and I type pretty fast, too.

Last Saturday night, Steve came up. We had a great time. He was here from 5:30 until 11:00 at night. We talked, watched a movie, and he gave me $40! I was broke, too. He loved the apartment, of course.

It was weird, too, because at the very beginning of May, I had a prediction that May 19th was going to be a great day. I had no idea at the time why, and I saw blue and green. This is part of a new “prediction system” I’ve come up with. So far, it works. Here’s a list of the colors and what they represent:

• Blue – calm, happy

• Green – money

• Red – pain

• Black – anger, irritability

• Gray – depression

• Purple – sexual desires, having sex, sexual frustrations

• White – nothing good, nothing bad, boredom

• Yellow – something new, new opportunity

• Orange – fear, anxiety, risky situation, bizarre adventure

When I saw blue and green for May 19th, the first thing that crossed my mind was a band, but I was doubtful. The blue really was my being happy to see Steve, and the green was that $40.

I also described people and events at the ER and even told Kim there’d be a shooting in the next 24 hours. I was right.

The next night, Jai came up for an hour or so. That was nice, too.

Jai didn’t meet Mark, but he met Kim, and they know each other—or at least they’ve seen each other here and there. Steve met Kim in Springfield before I moved, and when he was here, he met Mark.

I was up late yesterday afternoon and stayed up all night, so I don’t know when I’ll sleep. I doubt we’ll go to Northampton tonight to that gay bar. From what I’ve heard (Kim’s been there before), it’s gay night on Wednesday and straight on the other nights. You know how I feel, and there’s no point in it. What’s meant to be is one thing, and what’s not is another. I hate gay women—and once you’ve seen one gay woman (butch), you’ve seen them all. I need to keep away from people and the stress they bring for a while.

When I came out and told Mom I was gay, she really wasn’t too surprised. I guess a lot of people aren’t, with all the “hints” a gay person drops when they’re younger—all the female idols I always had and never being enthusiastic about males. Mom, Dad, and Tammy have no problem with it. At first, however, Dad and Tammy suggested, like most people, that maybe it was due to being hurt. I simply explained that sexual attraction was one thing and emotional attraction was another. Also, I’ve known plenty of other girls hurt by men in the worst possible ways, but they’re as straight as an arrow. I told them you don’t just go with women to go with them—you have to have attraction.

Mom, I know, was immediately thrilled. She never questioned my feelings or experiences with men. It’s obvious why, too. She knows most guys are assholes, especially in today’s world. She knows I do great at attracting losers. She also knows you can’t get pregnant from a woman. I’m not stupid. Even if it had been Tammy, they’d have gone along with it and handled it okay, but they’d have been more shocked. If you’d given them a choice a few years ago and asked them who they’d prefer straight, they’d say Tammy. Tammy’s not only their favorite daughter, but she’s “good enough” to be a mom—at least in their eyes—because she’s got a rich Jewish husband. In my eyes and in the eyes of many others, she’s too much like Mom.

I got a little lazy last night, so I never wrote. By 2:00 or 3:00 late last night, I fell asleep. I woke up at 11:00 this morning and went grocery shopping with Kim a little later.

Right now, it is absolutely beautiful. It was horrible earlier—too hot. My central AC took care of that, though. The breeze in here is amazing. Funny how I freaked out over the breeze in my last place, which is nothing compared to this. This is like my parents’ tropical island in Florida, and it’s not polluted. It’s not a once-in-a-while breeze either. It’s every day and night.

Now, two more things before I get down to business. When Steve and I spoke the other night, I mentioned Kim and Mark moving out and getting a house this summer. I’ve already told him about the apartment and the town. Steve told me to talk to Peter, and I did. He sounded pleased about it. If Steve didn’t get in next door, he could afford to get a house or something else nearby. He despises Springfield too, and we miss each other.

The other thing is Tony, whom I met roller skating with Kim. He was interested in me, especially because I was shorter than him and he’s not more than two or three inches taller. He called, and I told him, “I know Kim already spoke to you about my being gay, and I have no problem with being friends as long as you understand that. But I’ll make a deal, and that is, if I meet anyone who’s looking and who’s my height, I’ll let you know. Also, let me know if you meet any women who are not butchy and drug-free.”

He agreed. The funny thing about it is that last night I saw a vision of him calling me about someone, and today he did. But guess what? I’ve really had it with second best, and you know that’s all I’ll get. I’ve also had it with relationships and everything that goes along with them, and I just need to be alone. I feel I’m better off, as I said before, and that I’d rather fantasize about first best than settle again and feel that great void—realizing I was better off alone and saying, “Is this all I’m ever gonna get?” Also, she’s not into blind dates, which is understandable, so he said I should go to one of their AA meetings.

If I speak to her, as Tony gave me her number, I’ll have to tell her no, as I have no car. If she came to pick me up here, that’d still be a blind date. I would like to be friends if it’s a mutual possibility. I called and left my number with some girl who answered.

I guess Tony’s known her for quite a while, and it’s funny how earlier I was thinking of all the people I’ve slept with or who wanted me that I said no to, and most of them had one thing in common: they were ex-alkies. I really know how to attract ex- and current alkies and a few good dope heads, don’t I? Why do half the people I meet have to be members of AA?! Well, anyway—no more stress, arguments, or compromises. No more of my getting smothered by desperadoes or geeky, shy wimps. No more sleeping with people I don’t feel “the spark” with, and no more being dumped by the “decent” people I’m no good for.

I’ve read back in my first few journals and found not only that I’ve changed so much (which I already knew), but that I’m not as good at spelling as I thought. Also, my punctuation is poor, which I still rarely do correctly. What I noticed most importantly is the lack of detail pertaining to certain events, people, or places. For example, in my first book, the first thing I mentioned about Nervous was, “Nervous is coming over soon.” I never wrote about how we met, where, who he is, or how he got his nickname—although that’s quite obvious after reading not even one page about him.

What I’m going to do now is go back over the basics of life since I moved out on my own. That was December 3rd, 1985, the day before I turned 20. I’ll run through it as briefly as possible, but with all the essential details. It’ll be quite fun and adventurous, even though I’d never want to relive it. It’ll make me laugh, which is good, as a reminder of how far I’ve come in life—how much I’ve grown and learned due to experience and, of course, my sixth sense. As you know, I’ve been a victim of everything except child molestation as a kid. My parents weren’t alkies or druggies, and neither was I. I, of course, experimented, but by that time, I had tripped.

Some of these people have been friends, lovers, neighbors, or roommates. No person I’ve slept with—whether it was just one night—has been left out, but many names of non-importance have been omitted.

I think it was around February of 1985 when I was hired at the Harley Hotel as a housekeeper. I’d had other jobs that I quit. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m sick of second best.

On December 3rd, 1985, the day before I turned 20, I moved out on my own to the first floor of Locust St. I still worked at the Harley, where, 2–3 months later, I took in a 17-year-old girl named Michelle. She wanted out of her home fast, as she said she had been molested by her father. We got along okay until she met my brother Larry. It started as Larry and I having problems, with him getting in the way of Michelle and me having a good friendship. He was also cheating on his wife, Sandy, with Michelle. Finally, I just wanted to be alone, and to get rid of him, I had to get rid of her. She went to live with Larry and Sandy.

Shortly after I moved upstairs, around the corner on Woodside with the same landlords, I never saw them again. A few months after I kicked Michelle out, I was fired from the Harley. After suppressing my past, the impact finally caught up with me. It all came out very hard and got in the way of my job.

A few months later, Dad got me on SS and SSI and secured a back payment of $6,100. According to him, my disability checks were terminated when I was 18, which they shouldn’t have been. Of course, Dad lies by saying it’s because of my ear. Even back then, when I was gullible, I knew it was because I’m supposed to be a “nut head”—an unbalanced joke of society. In a way, I was, but my version is different from theirs.

I don’t know the exact date, but it was late May of 1986 when someone began knocking on my bedroom window very late at night. I believe my brother was behind it. At first, I was scared, then I became furious. One night, I vowed not to give this bastard the reaction he wanted, and due to my fury, I planned to wait outside my bedroom window just before what would have been his third visit. I think it was his third. Right after the first incident, I told Larry and John, the owners at the time, who had an apartment available on the 4th floor around the corner. I freaked when I saw it—it was so big and so much nicer, I had to have it.

Even though I forgot about the sicko’s visit and moved up right away, I knew from then on I’d never cower to anyone again. I learned that if you show fear to any kind of troublemaker, or are naïve or vulnerable, you’ll be taken advantage of. I moved up there with the help of Jenny, Jim, and a friend of Jim’s.

Right after that, I met Nancy next door. I also met Emily, who lived down the street in a building owned by the same brothers. I became friends with an old couple on the 2nd floor, Jo and Eddy. Jo was always sweet and sincere, but Eddy went out of his mind due to Alzheimer’s. I met a girl named Mary, a few buildings down, who had a young son. Whenever I could, I helped her with food or gave her things I didn’t want or need.

Jenny and I had been friends since I was 9 and she was 10. Jim was her boyfriend.

At this time, I had discussed being gay only with my brother and my therapist, but I wouldn’t act on it for a while. I was too young to know about gay bars and all the other stuff I know now. All I knew was that I’d always been attracted to women, but I’d take whatever I could get for a while. Jenny also told me her sister Robin was gay, and I found out Shelly was too. Shelly is the daughter of my mom’s best friend, Charlotte. They go back way before Larry was even born.

I met Ron in July 1986. He was okay at first, then changed, as most people do. He was never brutal, as he knew just what I’d do to people like that and was patient in bed. The sex was boring, and all the while he was “down there,” I continued to fantasize about women. It took three months or so before he could get inside me without pain, and he was small too—only 4" hard. His goal was to be married and have kids, and when we went over to my parents’ house, he told them he wanted to marry me. I was shocked they didn’t say anything against it. I wasn’t shocked that they told me to wait 5–10 years before getting pregnant and to get it medically approved. That was their way of saying, “You’re not rich, and you’re not good enough to be a mother.” Of course, to them, money is the number one thing, not love. They asked, “Do you want your kids to have the same problems you do? Or have no ear too?”

I said, “First of all, my kid won’t have the same problem because they won’t be raised the way you raised me. Also, I checked with a doctor, and this ear bit is bullshit. You guys never had a missing ear. Yet you produced a child with a missing ear.”

This was around my 21st birthday, and Dad said if we still felt the same by his birthday, April 5th, he’d set something up. Something small, so we could be given the money that would’ve been spent on a big wedding. Mom said Tammy got a big wedding because Bill already had a home for them and a good job. Tammy, in some ways, was more screwed up than I, but could always get men with houses and money. Ninety-eight percent of the people I meet, male or female, are broke.

By the end of January, Ron and I were finished. He was just too immature, flaky, naïve, possessive, and pushy. He was into pot and booze too, which I was done with. He may have cheated on me, but I doubt it. I called Mom, told her why I kicked him out, and laid it out right then and there about being gay.

Later...

Just to quickly update, I’m doing laundry now and had a nice chat with Steve on the phone last night. I guess he’ll be up this Saturday.

Other than that, nothing’s really new. I’ve pretty much maintained a day schedule for the last week or so. However, I think I’ll be up most of the night. I was up till 6 AM yesterday but got up at noon, so that wasn’t too bad. No, actually, I think it was 5 AM, but that’s enough sleep, usually.

Now, let me go stop my VCR, get a cigarette, then I’ll continue with what I began last night.

Boy, sometimes I really feel like a complete waste product. Not only is the past depressing to think about, but the future is, too. The future is depressing and a bit scary. If I never become a singer or have a child or a woman (first best), what will my life be about? Will I be on SS forever?

I know I’ll never have the last two things mentioned above in my last paragraph, as I know the difference between fantasy and a vision. For example, when I think of a woman, it’s a fantasy, cuz I know it’s not meant to be.

As far as singing goes, I know it’d be easier to say “fuck it” and settle for some stupid job I hate. I feel helpless, and like I’ll never get anywhere with it, but the vision just won’t go away. When I picture myself as a singer—performing, rehearsals, traveling, studios, interviews, Grammys—it just seems so real and so natural. I’m already 25 now, and I feel like my voice isn’t a gift I can use. It’s more like a curse and a tease to me now, even though I’d never stop singing. Could I ever make it by being poor, anti-drugs, and by having no car, no money, no sex, and with all the fears and lack of trust I have in people?

I know these bands, Free Press and The Radiators, will never call me. If they did, they’d turn me down cuz I have no car, no experience, or maybe I’m not the type of singer or person they’re looking for. As I said before, some people get everything or some things they want, but I’ve never been granted one wish. I mean a major wish—a wish that really, really matters. Yes, I have made more personal growth than I expected. Yes, I have gotten more of a voice and other abilities than I expected. Yes, I’ve moved to a great apartment in a nice town, but should I give up? Is it really time now to give in to a job I hate? A nothing-nobody job?

I am currently on Kim’s bed, and we are both writing in our journals. She says she’s been inspired to write by me.

Earlier, I spoke with both Tammy and Mom, and I guess Dad’s not doing too well. They’re gonna keep me posted. I also spoke with Tony, whom I met while roller skating.

Yesterday I had a wicked bad day with horrible cramps. It went on and on for hours until I fell asleep. I shit my ass off and threw up twice.

I lost a couple of pounds. I usually weigh between 97 and 100. My measurements are as follows:

• Waist – 26

• Thighs – 21½

• Bust – 32½

• Hips – 33½

• Lower gut – 29

Andy left a message two days ago saying he wasn’t moving till June 1st, rather than May 1st.

I also called the guy that Kim and I met at Food Fart about bands. He gave my number to two bands that he says are drug-free. One’s called The Radiators, which makes you think of a football team. The other one’s called Free Press, which reminds you of a magazine or newspaper publishing company.

Since I’ve been here, I’ve gotten quite a bit of editing done, but I think I’ll go listen to music now, then go to bed.

Kim, Mark, and I went to Hampden Beach today, and I got only a little bit of color. I would’ve gotten tons of color if we’d left earlier and if it were warmer. Mom was right about saying it gets easier to tan as you get older. Despite the bees, which I hate to death, I’d like to lie out in the parking lot tomorrow, but they predict rain. When we left here, it was damp and foggy, and at the beach, it was so chilly that I got to the point where I needed to put my shirt on. I was still cold after I did that, too.

Before we left, I had an appointment with my asthma doctor, and he also agreed that I’m getting much better. I was so incredibly tired today, as I had only two hours of sleep when I got up this morning. I also slept an hour and a half in the backseat on the way back home. I hate long rides, and man, did it seem like forever getting there and back. Surprisingly enough, though, my schedule’s been fairly normal since I moved here.

I can breathe so much better, and my skin looks better too. I no longer wake up so congested, and I don’t get one cold after another anymore. Because of my lack of sleep, I figured I could catch up, but I can’t yet.

There’s a fitness center next door, and a woman from this place left a message while I recorded Unsolved Mysteries and tried to sleep. I’ll wait for her to call back, as she said she would.

Now, for a quick update on what’s gone on since I last wrote:

1. Andy’s moving into his new apartment today.

2. I got a musical mobile from Kim, which her grandmother gave her—quarter notes, eighth notes, and G-clefs hang from it.

3. Kim also bought me a beautiful spring jacket, a dress, and a bracelet.

4. I went skating with my new roller skates, and what a grip! They feel and handle the rink like heaven.

5. That girl at the mall, whom I “felt” was gay, never called about the signing lessons she wanted. She was so flattered when I told her how nice her figure was!

6. That cop with information for me never called Kim.

7. That guy Kim and I spoke to who works at Food Fart in Greenfield never called about band information.

8. God never failed to have that guy who hit on me at the skating rink call twice. He got the machine, though.

9. That cop Jamie’s real name is Laurie. I called her at home one night, and her voice sounded deeper than I remembered, and she was a snotty bitch, denying she was gay. Although she tried her best, she never got any information connecting my call to Kim or me.