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Jenna's
Diary
August
23
This
is going so completely wrong.
When
I finally got out of bed yesterday everyone was gone, thank God. I tried washing
my hair with vinegar to see if I could I could kill some of the lice, and
then I conditioned with hot oil.
It didn't work. I just made some sort of lice salad. I definitely needed some
medication.
I
walked down to the main road to hitchhike into town. There was no way I was
going to ever face Michael again let alone ask him to drive me to a pharmacy
to get "Nix".
My hangover was so bad I couldn't keep my head upright let alone my thumb,
but luckily a woman in a pick-up took pity on me and drove me into town.
She
preached the "word' all the way, it was like she was in a trance which
was o.k. by me because I could scratch like crazy. She let me off at Deerstorms
pharmacy, tucked a pamplet in my shirt pocket and told me the Lord loves me.
The
pharmacy was absolutely deserted with about 4 employees eyeballing me as I
looked at the foot powder's and the corn pads.
I
finally bolstered my courage, picked up two packages of condoms and asked
very casually if they had any lice remedy.
It
was like one massive creak as all the heads turned to look at cootie-girl.
I very cleverly asked if it was safe for children as the formula was for my
niece.
He
went into this long, long explanation of how to pick out the mites and that
a special comb is needed and how to identify them.My head started getting
itchier and itchier until I couldn't stand it anymore and started clawing
at my head like I had fleas.
I
noticed they had a delivery service and I asked if they could send it to me
and they said sure that the guy was just about to go on a round.
You
should have seen his face when I jumped in the seat beside him, but I was
past caring. I made him stop a road away from the cottage that way if anyone
asked I could tell them I went hiking for a walk but they weren't back yet.
I
deloused myself and locked myself into my room.
August
24
Now
that the itching has stopped I can finally think and that's not such a great
thing.
I
told my mom that I had the flu, which was terrific as she bought it hook line
and sinker. She's been creeping in with food and feeling my head.
I know I'm going to have to come out of this room eventually but for now it's
fine, just fine.
August
25
How
did I get to be so pathetic? I remember when I was young I thought for sure
I would be a movie star, an astronaut or at the very least Laura Petrie.
Instead
I work at a job where I'm not even sure what it is I'm supposed to be doing.
I'm sleeping with a guy just to show how much I don't like him and I've got
a brand new cottage and I haven't even used my new chairs.
I've
got to turn my life around, I can't keep screwing up like this.
I
really need something right now, like religion or a drink.
August
26
My
mom's been great ever since I thought of a name for what I have. Digestive
Vondival. It doesn't mean anything but it was exotic enought to impress her.
(My mother spoiled me through mononucleosis and avoided me during chicken
pox).
Not
only is my she bringing me food, she's almost cured of her baby voice.
She is still quite nuts, she hasn't lost that glazed look and she's pretty
fidgety, but at least me being sick has given her something to think of other
than Precious Moments and losing her home and her savings.
I
think I can spend the rest of the holiday here.
August
27
I
am going completely bat shit. It is Africa hot in this room and the only thing
to read is a Reader's Digest from 1947 and I have increased my wordpower but
I know more than I want to about Joe's Liver.
My
mother has been bringing me steaming hot soup and soda crackers but I'm dreaming
of burger and a beer.
I
know all I have to do is "recover", but that means actually having
to face that Michael.
All
this thinking I've been doing has led to at least one conclusion: sleeping
together was all his fault
because, if at the beginning he had wanted to date me, I wouldn't have paid
the slightest bit of attention to him.
Why are men so weird?
August
28
I
got up at 6:00 to get ready for my "coming out". I had to psyche
myself and thought the best way to do it would be with a devil may care attitude.
It
took me four tries before I walked down the hall and burst into the kitchen
with a "Hellloooooo". There was nobody there they were all down
by the lake.
I
went outside and tried again but it was much more feeble. One look at Michael
made my face scorch.
My
mother and Aimee were over me like a couple of clucking hens. Michael looked
at me with a kind of knowing smile that made my heart just drop to my knees.
I ignored them and just listened to Aimee and mum talk about all the great
shops in town and then--I saw Michael out of the corner of my eye. He was
scratching his head.
I
said I felt faint and was led back to my room by my mom.
August
29
I
heard this tapping on the door and I figured it was my mom and said "come
in". It was Michael he said that he thought we should talk. It was like
the volume control was completely out of whack in my head. I said (shouted)
"about what" with a false heartiness that a department store Santa
would kill for.
He
said "about the other night" and I shouted something about "when
the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie" "God what fresh air
can do!" "No more hooch for me!!!" and started laughing like
a maniac.
And
he goes "even though nothing happened, I think that I should mention..."
Nothing
happened? Nothing happened! I've been in my room for three days, dying and
nothing happened!
"...I'm
not really interested in getting involved with anyone right now"
I should have absolutely laughed at the relief but instead, because I have
absolutely no control over any element of my body, my life, my hair, I burst
into tears.
He's trying to comfort me patting my arm, saying that maybe in time things
will change, but for now, he's just not interested in a relationship with
me. In between pats, he's scratching his head.
It
was way too nuts, I finally told him to get out and he looked at me so sympathetically
I wanted to puke.
I
want to kill him. What do you have to do to be the rejector and not the rejectee?
I'm
glad I gave him lice. I wish I'd given him the clap.
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© 2000 www.happywomanmagazine.com
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