F: 1/3/02 Again

Work Diary, 1/3/03

I'm trying, but I don't think I can survive this. I feel dramatic, and
that's the last thing I want to feel. Give me some roses and I'm
yours.

Why can't I become enraged, like those people on the TV? Aren't you
supposed to be mad? What about throwing dishes out the window and
driving off in a huff? Why is it so calm around here?

Shouldn't I be sitting on the back porch in my underwear - despite the
cold - with a beer in hand and a poignant photo in the other?

Here's why: I don't feel like I can. I feel like I've given nothing,
but I've taken everything. "All you do is take, take, TAKE!" Is that
really me? What kind of a fucking monster am I?

I am selfish; I am self-absorbed; I am self-centered; I am stuck; I am
cold; I am unforgiving; I am obstinate; I am a mean; I am controlling;
I am?iambic pentameter? Sorry; I couldn't help myself.

Would it be different if today was Monday, or Tuesday? Does the fact
that it's Friday make everything better?

"All you do is take, take, TAKE!" Fuck. What do you say to that? My
whole life has been nothing but give, give, GIVE. "You can't squeeze
blood from a turnip." And that's what I am, a turnip (though not as
red. Bitter, yes, but not as red).

If I were anyone else I would say, "Fuck him," but all I can think
about is, "I'm fucked." Fuck me.

Do you know what he said? "You're too comfortable with our life, our
money. You get everything you want." I make over fifty thousand dollars
a year, and I'm worried about money? Where did that come from, my
diminution from a man to a money-grubbing whore? Why was that part of
his argument? How could I allow myself to be so reduced? Shouldn't I
have fought back?