8 April 1995
Why don’t people like my diary? It’s so interesting and strange!
Yesterday just before I went to work, I decided to bring the couch on our porch inside because it looked as though it might rain. I managed to maneuver it inside, and then stood it up on one end so that it would take up less space. Then I forgot to tell Teresa about it so that as she first walked up to the door, she thought, “Oh. Someone stole the couch.” Then she went inside and for an instant she thought, “Someone broke in and put the couch inside,” and then she thought, “What was Princess thinking?”
“I tried to think like you,” she when she told me about it, “But I couldn’t.”
I explained about the rain.
“But how did you even get it inside?”
“With my muscles.”
Every once in a while I try to convince Teresa that I am actually very inhibited and bashful and shy, and yesterday I pointed out that she doesn’t know what I refrain from writing.
“That is scary,” she said. [Note added 2013–this would make a lot more sense if I weren’t taking all the hilarious sex out of the online version of this diary. The print version (to arrive in plain brown wrapper) will be complete of course.]
Teresa’s mom is in the hospital with a kidney infection, so on Thursday we drove to Long Beach, and Teresa visited her and ended up telling her about me, which made me very happy. Now she wants to meet me, which makes me a little nervous. It must be weird for religious people. I remember almost the first time I talked to Teresa, somehow I asked her about growing up Catholic and Mexican. “My mom knows I’m gay,” she said, “But she doesn’t really mention it. She’s supposed to think that I’m damned to hell for all eternity.”