12:12 p.m. - July 15, 2003
A memo: To Jason, from Jason
Lunchtime: Blueberries (half-flat for $3.60), raspberries (free, from the creekbed). On my desk: The package with my CD-ROMS. I'm relieved.
I want to write more about the molestation - aha! See, I can surprise myself and demonstrate it is I in charge as opposed to it in charge of me - but I don't know what to say. When I had dinner with my mother she remarked that I was a happy child - and then wasn't. In an ideal family structure I'd talk about it with her and perhaps glean more details - or at least put more pieces together. I'm frustrated and occasionally angry that my parents didn't seem to notice. I also want to delve further into my suspicion? mea culpa? self-disgust? thoughts on the degree of my complicity - if any - existed. I want to think, to examine, more and more and it's not to earn another label or a claim to Springerism (can you believe he's submitted paperwork for the U.S. Senate? I'm appalled) but to say Okay, this happened because of this and due to this and this because of this and that because of this so I can at least distinguish between any lingering effects as opposed to any current, unrelated concerns I have of myself.
It's funny, isn't it, you spend a lifetime forgetting and it doesn't let you forget, though you try your best to camouflage and hide, and then comes the day when you don't want to forget and instead try to remember.
I suppose it's that way with most things and people.
