Woke this morning on the couch, the smell of vanilla and Java Joe's cookies in my nose. Cannot explain the origin of the smell. Cannot possibly describe how nice and warm and cozy I felt, even with a stiff neck and a pillow that was inexplicably cutting off all circulation in my right arm...
Thought to watch the movie Norman had rented the night before, "The Ninth Gate." I'd fallen asleep maybe half an hour into it, but it seemed decent, and so I rewound it and pressed play...
Make no mistake: this was not the best movie I've ever seen, nor was it the worst. Usually, when a movie affects me enough to actually make me think about it later, it's because the movie was pretty damned good. Or bad, as the case sometimes is...
However...
So I watched this movie and two thoughts are compulsively flashing through my mind:
MUST HAVE JAVA JOE'S COOKIES.
MUST WORK ON THE BOOK.
Oh hell...
I've basically trashed the apartment looking for the remnants of my book. The pieces are scattered everywhere. I haven't worked on it in nearly four years, haven't even had the courage to open up the binders, the journal entries, the pages and pages of notes...
My book terrified me.
The people I talked to while working on my book terrified me.
Staying up until five in the morning drinking shitty coffee with Corrine over a ouija board and talk of demonic possession didn't even compare to the fear my book instilled in me.
I had to hide this shit under the couch downstairs when I went to bed. I slept with one eye open. I'd cry myself to sleep.
Silly girl.
I want my book back. I want to work on it. I want to put it back together. I want to finish the notes. I want my interview-tapes back; I destroyed them, so far as I can remember. I want the photocopies and journal entries and bad poetry and photographs back.
It should have been a masterpiece.
I get the distinct feeling that it still could be one. Maybe I will start over...
...For now, all I want is cookies...
~Helena*