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February 19, 2006

Dear Dairy.
Today was very hard.
But it was all in my head.

As you know, my mother put something on my bed, on Wednesday. That resulted in my staying up all night, having thrown all my blankets in the closet. Then, at seven a.m., I went to a nearby laundromat and cleaned them all. When it was done, I felt equally satisfied from having clean sheets and equally empty from knowing that it would all be the same to anyone else.
Today, I had to drive to my father's house, and do things with him. My mother wanted me to bring some picture-holders to him. I tried to sneak out so I could say I forgot to take them, but she caught me in my car, and tried to open the door. I kept it locked, kept her locked out, like she was a criminal. I needed to protect myself.
Finally, after much deliberation, I decided to wrap the items in many layers of plastic bags, before finally putting them in my car.
Then, my dad tried to open my car, too, and he wanted to look inside, and I didn't want him to touch it, but he kept touching it and his clothes and camera strap kept touching it, and I didn't want them to. And then I had to drive in his car. And I refused to wear a sweatshirt to keep warm, even though it was very cold out, because my sweatshirt was going to protect my car from the filth accumulated in his car. I was cold and unhappy and tense.
Before I left, he made me take a coupon book to bring back to my mother, which I wrapped in a leftover t-shirt, and he gave me this box of granola bars, which I wore under my sweatshirt, to keep them from touching anything.
Dinner was nice, but that was about it. Before that, I also had to talk to tech support about his computer, and I had sprayed this CKone on my shirt because I forgot deodorant, and the smell and the stress and what-else made my stomach turn. And I had to constantly go to the bathroom, and I'm about go again.

Tomorrow morning, I am going to buy expensive gas, so I can get a carwash. Or something. Or if the carwash is closed, I'll have to find a way to wash my car. It's clean-looking now as it is, due to the light and rare snow that covered it on Wednesday night. Regardless of how it looks, though, I will feel relief from cleaning it again, and shame for doing something so pointless and inexplicable.

Then I will meet someone.
and hope she pushes one reality in, to get the other out.
Goodbye, dairy.