23 March 2013
I’m taking cold pills, and my head is so snotty and stoned that I really shouldn’t be entrusted with any decisions. Like I just edited another entry of my 1995 diary, but I’m not putting it on the blog because I don’t trust my judgment right now.
I find myself dreading editing my old diaries. I’m trying, with all my strength, as Enzo would say, not to make any changes except straight corrections. Too much time has passed. I don’t have the right to do anything more. But I have to decide what goes into the blog, and what goes into the blog and the book, and what is just too stupid to live and so on.
It’s so much easier just to write something new.
In the entry I just edited, Teresa is visiting me in Oakland, and I’m ignoring her so I can do homework. And I feel like shaking my young self and saying, “Blow off the homework, you stupid cow!”
Ever the good student. My god.
But I think my feeling at the time was, if they’re going to give me bad grades I’m going to force them to do it because of my attitude. I wanted to shame them. But you can’t shame the shameless.
Shameless isn’t the right word. I’m shameless.
You can’t shame a stump or a brick or a piece of toast or an academic.