February 20, 1995
This morning my housemate’s dog Ginger came into my room and started licking the carpet and getting that terrible doggie air of self-loathing, cringing and licking. And I remembered that yesterday I dropped a piece of buttered toast butter-side down in just that spot and then rubbed the butter into the carpet with my toe. Exposed!
I am writing this on the Mills van that goes back and forth between Mills and Berkeley/civilization. I just sneezed, and the driver, a black lady, shouted, “Bless You!” I sneezed again, “Bless You!” It was like in black churches in the movies where they say, “A-men! Oh-yes!” I sneezed again. “Bless You!” Someone passed me a Kleenex. Oh, Max, I felt like a star!
This morning my housemate Nanette found a pair of my underwear (clean, thank god) in a kitchen drawer with the napkins and dishtowels. What does it mean?
There’s at girl a Mills who I love to catch glimpses of because, as long as I’m not too close, she reminds me of Teresa: tall, thin and lanky, and with a kind of sure grace in her movements. She also has short, thick, black, shiny hair almost exactly like Teresa’s, and I’ve never seen hair like that on anyone else. This girl is Indian–I mean Indian from India–but culturally she seems completely American, loose jeans, backpack, smokes constantly.
I would love to have Teresa meet me after class someday so that everyone could see what a perfect, cool girlfriend I have. Never mind that no one is paying the slightest attention to me.