Sunday, January 31, 2016


I didn’t yell at him, as I’d had threatened to do. It was very important to me, however, that I speak with Lawrence about his emotional inaccessibility. He didn’t seem pleased; rather, he appeared somewhat angry. Nonetheless, he asked Mr. York if we could make use of the back office in Student Resources to talk during 5th Period, when we both have spares.

I’m afraid that what I was really getting at was, “What the hell is going on in our relationship?”

Well, I found out soon enough what isn’t going on; I am once again fatherless.

When I asked if Lawrence did indeed feel like a father to me, he said, “No… no, I don’t. I see you too much as an equal to view myself as your father. Also, I look at my relationship with Kennedy and my relationship with Bess, and I just can’t draw any parallels.”

Well, being daddyless is fine, but I do wish I knew what this relationship is all about. His statement that “I feel very close to you” inflicted a sort of panic sensation upon my very heart.

“Unchartered territory,” I said to Andrew, after my chat with Lawrence.

“Then charter it,” Andrew said.

Beyond this place, there be dragons. Dangerous, but I’m so excited about that which is to come! Why? Because I don’t know. All I can do is sit back and wait to be filled with divine insight… or not.

Highlights from our conversation? (By the way, discussing emotional issues with Lawrence is like trying to see through dense fog.) When I pushed him for answers about who we are to each other, he replied, “Anything that needs to be said will be said in time.”

How much time? I want to know now!

When I asked if there might be another chance for me to stay at his house, since I’d stupidly missed out on this summer’s opportunity, he said, “There is nothing you could ask me to do that I would not do for you.” (Does that not mean the same as “I would do anything for you?” Sounds very romantic indeed.)

And, at the end of our discussion, he asked me for a hug. HE asked ME! There’s a first. Also for the first time ever, I could actually feel his hands on my back as we embraced. His warmth passed into me, making me tingle all over. That had never happened before. When I told him so, told him what I felt, he was puzzled as to why that would be.

So, if not the daughter, then the mistress? The other woman? Another suitcase in another hall…

What is to become of me?

Christie? Why are you so far away?


Saturday, January 30, 2016


Dream: Interior Design Is My Middle Name

-I am at school, wearing my ugly jogging pants, painting the girls’ washroom cream, blue and yellow
-Christie takes me to Ms. Pape’s classroom and Andrew is there. I kiss him on the cheek numerous times, then take a seat with Christie
-when everyone is in class, Ms. Pape comments that there are people in the art program who are not in “that place” and mentions me specifically. I feel as though I might cry and then realise that I am crying
-the next day I come to school to check out the bathroom I’d painted, and it’s big and bright and people seem to really like it
-I realise that it’s 9:35 and I’ve missed most of first period, but when I get there Lawrence is my teacher and he says, “Oh, don’t worry. I don’t have to take attendance or anything.” HA!
-he starts talking about Ms. Finch, for some reason, and we walk into the hall after class. He says, “So, we’ll have tea some time.”
-I say, “You wanted so badly to come to my house,” then Ms. Finch joins us and there’s a whole grocery store freezer full of all different kinds of orange juice.

Friday, January 29, 2016


I read a newspaper article about Margaret Atwood. I’ve never really followed her career, although I loved The Handmaid’s Tale. Love her! Oh, so much so!

Told Lawrence about the article, adding, “If I were a writer, I’d be her.”

“If you were a writer? Are you no longer a writer, then?”

“Yes, just as I am an artist and a scientist and a girl, etc.”

“And a musician,” he said.


“But before now, I’ve never heard you refer to yourself as anything but a writer.”

True, true. Why do I continue to hold such a strong prejudice against myself? I am a writer.

I was very pleased with him today; when I asked if he remembered when my birthday was, he replied with the answer before I had finished asking the question.

Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love


Thursday, January 28, 2016


Dream: Stratford

-I come home to find I have two pieces of mail from my dear Lawrence
-I had previously written him about all the plays I wanted to see, unassumingly, though
-one envelope contains two movie tickets. The other contains many pairs of tickets to plays, most of which are at Stratford
-I decide to tell Leslie, and so I invite her into my room. I ask her to promise she won’t tell mum and then I show her the pairs of tickets, one by one
-my brother yells down the stairs, asking if he can join our discussion
-I yell back, “NO!”

The strangest thing.

When Lawrence pulled out his datebook to check for his E-mail address (umm… you should really have that memorized!) there were 6 or so names on the address page. One of those names was not even a name, but initials: GR.


In a million years, I never would have fathomed those initials represented me. Even when I saw my street name written underneath them, doubt remained. “Who, me?” Completely!

Amusing, since I’ve listed all his address/phone information under ‘Bess’ in my address book, just to make his contact info a little tougher for my mother to find, should she go looking.

I know exactly what he would have been thinking when he recorded my particulars thusly: “It’s very unlikely that anyone should look through this book, but if someone does, it would seem rather incriminating to have “her” personal information in there… but I do wish to keep it handy, so I’ll just encode her name so that no one will know but me.”

What innocent romantics we are!

This is the colour of my Love.


Wednesday, January 27, 2016


Arrived at school to find my locker adorned with teddy bear stickers. Only one person in the world could have done this: Lawrence, to acknowledge the progression of my inner child experience. Hard to believe that a man who always plays by the rules would deface school property. Stickers on lockers is strictly forbidden, and he knows it.

And “disrupting” my Mod West class to give me those books I asked to borrow? I thought Ms. Finch’s eyes were going to pop out of her head. Lawrence is not the kind of teacher who interrupts his colleagues’ course time. It’s almost unthinkable. And the way he singled me out like that was practically a public acknowledgement that I matter to him.

Love makes 50-year-old men act like 18-year-old girls.

Wonderful mood, today.


Andrew asked me out with an insecure insistence.


Residual fear.


The war rages on…


Tuesday, January 26, 2016


Dream: Dead Bolt

-I’m in the basement of grandma’s house and there’s a party going on. Grandma is there, but so are Andrew and a bunch of people I don’t recognise
-people sitting on the stairs say something about my dad
-I go upstairs and Leslie is now with me. Dad is wearing a jacket similar to mine and walks out the kitchen door, very angry
-to keep him out, I close the door, put my finger on the lock, but then decide that I (mentally) can’t do it. I say, “Leslie, lock the door!” with a distinct sense of urgency. She doesn’t move or even react
-dad turns around on the porch, to come to the door. Quickly, I turn the lock, but dad starts yelling with a vicious look on his face, like a mad dog
-I turn the key on the second lock, the deadbolt
-the door is completely secure, but dad keeps yelling

I’m slightly less confused about what I’d like to do with my life. Psychology seems like the best path. Introspection seems to be my forte, and perhaps I could extend my interest in the workings of my own mind to others.

I HATE this house. I want to leave.


Monday, January 25, 2016


Dream: Kill the Wolf-Cat

-the wolf is actually a long beige cat
-it runs up from the basement of my house with grandma and I chasing it
-she follows it into the backyard, but I stop and peek through the screen door. I don’t see the cat-wolf. I open the door and it creeps out of the closet
-I kick the wolf-cat in the ribs and it bites my foot, but at least it’s outside
-Leslie keeps letting the wolf-cat in the front door
-I keep yelling at her because it takes a long time to get rid of it and then she just invites it back in again
-I get the wolf-cat out and into the backyard, looking for some way to trap it, and notice the barbeque. I draw the wolf’s attention to it, then, when it’s on the barbeque, close the lid
-now I don’t have to worry about the wolf-cat anymore

Hey, I just figured out the psychology behind my strangest childhood fear: the fear of the… TELEPHONE!

Although I do still get nervous phoning certain people, I have pretty much conquered my fear. For years, this has puzzled me, but now, as I reflect upon it, this fear is starting to make sense. You see, when I was a child, every time the doorbell rang, my mother would answer if she was home, but my father would hide in the nearest bathroom.

When my mother wasn’t home, we were all instructed to hide wherever we happened to be; that meant, drop to the ground and pretend nobody’s home. Dad would always say, in his best slurred English, “Oh, it’s just salespeople, and they won’t ever leave you alone.”

When the phone rang, the story was the same: Dad would walk right into the bathroom without missing a beat! He never offered an explanation for this action; he didn’t owe us anything of that nature.

Wow! What a powerful force that phone must be if it can scare my daddy so!

I didn’t realize then that my father spent his existence in fear. I’m not sure if I even realised, at that point, that it was not the phone itself, but the people on the other end, that worried him.

This all makes sense, now. Now I understand why I’ve always been so cautious around the phone; perhaps I figured I would be inflicting a similar fear on the household I was trying to contact, and that’s not something I would wish upon anyone.

Sunday, January 24, 2016


Dream: I’m Going To Have Kittens!

-no, really! I’m pregnant with kittens
-I wonder how this pregnancy came about, but everyone else acts like it’s perfectly natural
-my stomach is not very big, which leads me to believe that I’m not far along in my pregnancy
-I didn’t have contractions or anything, but my water broke and I figured, “Well, I guess I’m going to have them now!”
-I don’t remember giving birth, but I end up at grandma’s house and there are a lot of people there, even my grandparents who died years ago
-I have a litter of 5 or 6 kittens, all of them orange and brown
-I wonder how I’ll feed them. I’m terribly afraid of nursing because they’ll bite me and they have sharp little teeth
-I ask grandma what I should do, and she says I should definitely nurse them
-I look at all my kittens asleep in a cardboard box and one of them yawns and stretches out
-I’m still scared they’ll bite me

Today I met a woman who lives down the street. She was a delightful older person, the widow of a retired firefighter. When I approached her house on my way to school, she stood waiting outside. She approached me and introduced herself, saying that last year, after her husband passed away, she’d spent most days sitting in a chair, simply staring out the front window.

Every day, at 7:40, she’d watched me walk by. It became part of her morning routine. She would get up each weekday morning, make herself a cup of tea, sit in her chair, and wait for me to walk by. She didn’t realize quite how much she counted on me until the summer came and I wasn’t walking by her house anymore, at least not on a regular basis. She said she missed me. Without even knowing me, she missed me. And she came out today to let me know.

At first, it seemed strange to think that someone I don’t even know was watching me every day, relying on my walk toward the bus stop to start her day. Weird. Very weird.

But there is a lesson in all experiences, and perhaps the lesson in today’s is that our actions have much wider impact than we can ever know.


Saturday, January 23, 2016


The tarot cards say that I am surrounded in white light in my current endeavours. I believe this to be true, even though I often feel very confused, angry, and threatened.

I never did receive the second missive Lawrence assured me he would send this summer. It must have gotten lost in the mail, I thought. How could it possibly take so long to get here from Muskoka?

So I asked him what he’d written. And he told me he hadn’t. He never wrote that second letter. He’d assured me he would, and he didn’t.

It took me 17 years to learn how to cry. When I do so now, I will cry with my head held high; I will announce to the Universe, “Look at me; I have remembered!”


Friday, January 22, 2016


This is the first day of my last year of high school. Back to the drawing board!

(a little bit wiser this time, though)

I refuse all fear and all worry, for I stand in the Grace of God.

I refuse all fear and all worry, for I stand in the Grace of God.


Thursday, January 21, 2016


Dream: Cagney and Lacey

-this scene starts out with Cagney and Lacey from the TV show and a husband/boyfriend dressed in women’s clothes for an investigation
-we come to a very large pool area with whales in it
-Cagney and Lacey question the suspect
-I slip into the pool and one whale starts calling out her trainer’s name to get me out
-the trainer is not mad, but I scramble out quickly because I don’t belong there.

I absolutely Love Cagney and Lacey. I really identify with Christine, for obvious reasons. She was far more devoted to her father… but look where that got her: AA.

I often wonder if I am missing out on an essential portion of my journey, but how can escapism be so essential?

Is it worth becoming an alcoholic simply to experience recovery, or am I right to be the wise Giselle and stay sober for the rest of my life?

I don’t think it’s worth taking the chance that my life could be ruined by a single drink, but could that simply be my ego’s need for control?

I am Christine Cagney… or I could have become her… or she is one of my many potentialities. She went off to art school in France in the days of her youth.

Mary-beth Lacey, I am also starting to identify with, though. I now understand her compulsion to clean whenever she has something on her mind. I find that scrubbing the bathtub can be as effective an emotional outlet as playing sports. Cleaning can be a great release, and it makes symbolic sense to clean a bathroom when one is seeking some sort of release.

Thanks, Cagney and Lacey!


Wednesday, January 20, 2016


Dream: Scary

-lots of passersby coming through the backyard
-mum, Jane and I and someone else are there when a teenaged boy comes by with a gun and shoots at us all, says something about 2117
-boy comes to look at me to see if I am dead and I stupidly squirm
-I take the gun out of his hands and shoot him, but it doesn’t help. I go inside the house and lock the back door, shut the blinds, then go to the front door but that door won’t lock
-finally get it just as my brother (?) is trying to get inside. He is now the murderer


All day, just breathe.

I don’t know where to go from here. Can I simply pretend, as my mother does, that all is well with the world? It’s quite a bit easier to pretend that I said the things I did merely to hurt her, but what happens the next time the opportunity arises for me to stay with Lawrence and his family? “Oh, by the way, I meant what I said”?

My plan to marry Kennedy is all that can save me now! Mum wants me to find a boy my own age?



Tuesday, January 19, 2016


I am creating drama, but I can’t decide whether or not it is necessary. I want to be as Tristan to his Isolde, and go through Hell for my Love. I just didn’t know Hell would be so painful.


Monday, January 18, 2016


Dream: Great Balls of Fire

-outside at night
-some planets look very close to the earth. They’re glowing like coals in a fire
-one small planet falls to earth as if it had been thrown. It doesn’t hit the ground very close to where I am
-soon enough, a larger planet comes.
-my mother and some other people are now outside with me
-a medium-sized planet falls and hits mum in the knee
-as it hits the ground, it recoils in billions of tiny pieces of burning ash
-some lady takes mum to a woman around the corner. We go into the woman’s garage, wherein an ambulance has been blocked. She fixes mum’s knee and we walk back to our house
-a planet the size of Jupiter is on the horizon, but I wonder if these could possibly be planets from other galaxies
-a very large planet is hurled in our direction

Some people are blessed with fathers who cherish them, and other people are blessed with fathers who do not. My father could not handle the responsibility that comes along with being a parent. In order to abandon that responsibility, he drank.

This is something I always accepted—perhaps even enabled—without question. I pose myself this question now:


I think he drank because he felt trapped in a life with which he was unhappy; he didn’t want to be a white collar worker with a wife, a bunch of kids and a mortgage. He didn’t want to be a grown-up. He wanted to hang out all night with his friends, drinking and writing songs. He abandoned his responsibility to us in glass after glass of rum and coke. He left us to raise ourselves while he spent every night in the intoxicated world he had created for himself.

His freedom came only when he was released from the confines of family life. He is now free to do as he pleases; his children are no longer a concern to him. He has now been presented with the opportunity to lead a life free from any kind of responsibility. He doesn’t have to work, to support anyone, to associate with his children, or even to associate with his own family.

But my theory must be flawed, because even without us kids in his life, my father still drinks.


Sunday, January 17, 2016


Dream: Morning or Night?

-on a big field of ice, people from school are filming a based-on-a-true-story made-for-T.V. movie
-we have to be sure to follow a reddish strip in the ice or else we could fall through
-at a break, I ask Ms. Pape what time it is and she says it’s 7:00
-A.M. or P.M? I ask her, but she gives me one of her “Oh boy, Giselle” looks, which I dismiss
-“Do you know?” I ask, and it’s clear that she doesn’t
-we look for the sun but it’s either too early or too late
-nobody’s watch can tell us if it’s morning or night, and I don’t know whether I’m tired or wide awake
-seems to me that somebody would remember if they’d just woken up or which meal they’d just eaten, but nobody remembers anything

Today, I was presented with a divine opportunity to learn things I otherwise would not have.

When hearing about the changes I was forced to make to my OAC timetable, others’ reactions were along the lines of, “Well, it’s too bad you can’t have what you want.”

Untrue! The choices I made concerning course selection were not based on what I wanted. They were based on what I thought I needed to ‘get ahead’ in life. In fact, all of my life decisions have been based on what that little ‘academic Giselle’ thought was best for me. As a result, I have missed out on many things I enjoy doing—painting being one of them.

Can you believe it? After all these years of hard-nosed academia, I’m going back to art!


I thank the Universe for this lesson in divine opportunities, and for helping me in identifying them when they arrive.


Saturday, January 16, 2016


Jane and I are having a slumber party. I was amazed, last night, when I called mum’s house to speak with one sister and ended up talking to another for a full hour.

I have decided that I’m going to marry Kennedy; that way, Bess will be my sister, Lawrence will be my daddy and Victoria will be the dreaded mother-in-law. He he he. I’m so glad to have found these people. Thanks to them, I cherish my past and what my childhood family situation taught me.


Friday, January 15, 2016


Dream: Hierarchy

-I’m talking to Christie and she just doesn’t “get it”
-I walk into the gym, see Ms. Pape, and say (practically to myself), “Some people just don’t understand”
-she says, “Neither do you”

I Love surprises. I was surprised today when Bess called to say, “We’re coming over!”

I gave her directions to Aunt Bay’s house and warned her I was dog-sitting, since both she and her father have allergies. Not only did they come regardless, they came bearing gifts: two chocolate brownies, a lovely silver ring from Bess, and an “I was just going through old books and I thought you might like this” French grammar text, as well as a letter to the Toronto Star, from her father.

I Love them both dearly; I didn’t express it, though, and I now feel somewhat ashamed for not being able to show my gratitude.

It was a strange visit, although I’m not sure why. Bess was casual; it was like having family over. I kept offering them food.

I didn’t say any of the things that should have been said; I didn’t tell Lawrence he could call any time and I didn’t comment on his physique. I don’t even remember looking at his face, except his eyes, which seemed a different… colour?

No, just different.

What beautiful eyes my Lawrence has. They’re blue. Not blue-grey like Jane’s or my father’s (of course, Jane gets her blue eyes from our dad); no, Lawrence’s eyes are a brilliant shade: clear like water, but they shine like aquamarine gems. Cold, perhaps, but certainly not for his girls; for Bess and me, they’re proud eyes.

I recall what his body looked like, what clothes he was wearing, what his legs looked like. He has nothing to complain about, where his form is concerned. Everything about him seems so small. It was strange, but I could look at him without seeing him. All is maya, all is illusion.

We drank lemonade, and then I left the dogs in the house while I took Bess and Lawrence for a walk down the ravine. They are not the heartiest stock, but they seemed very much to enjoy lazing on the fallen tree by the river.

This whole episode was an experience without being an event. It’s strange to say, but it might as well not have happened at all. I can’t figure out who was more distant: Lawrence or me.

Bess was very present, but she lives in the now. Nothing momentous took place; three friends just got together without knowing why. Oh well; I got a ring out of the deal.

Thanks, Bess!


Thursday, January 14, 2016


Dream: University

-I’m checking out universities and this one seems not only like a maze, but like a dank, dark castle
-I come to two doors: one says Toronto and the other says Western
-I walk in the one that says Toronto and it’s a terribly difficult climb up the stairs
-the stairway is curved very narrow

Today was a good day for breathing. Aunt Bay’s house is so relaxing.

Talked with Christie for three or four hours…

Talked with Lawrence for three or four minutes…

The question I needed to ask Christie was how I could support Lawrence, as his father deteriorates, without imposing. His father’s health is so much in decline, and Christie did such a great job of that when Ms. Pape’s father died. Furthermore, my Lawrence and Ms. Pape are so alike in the way they handle their emotions; both are stubborn as anything.

I’ve never been an emotional support before, but I feel that I am prepared; that I have undergone my initiation into that world. Christie says I have good instincts, and that’s encouraging.

Victoria didn’t seem as happy with me today as she had on Friday. Understandable. I’m still trying to figure out that shocked pause I was confronted with when I said, “It’s Giselle.”

Lawrence came on the line and said, “You called the second I got in the door… I just walked in the door this very second.”

He was almost stupefied, like a non-believer acting out the prophesy of some awful soothsayer. It meant nothing to me. I had been meditating for an hour before calling him (but with the phone in my hand all the while, of course.) It wasn’t a coincidence. I just knew.

He should get used to the presence of psychics in his life; there are plenty more to come.


Wednesday, January 13, 2016


“All life is suffering.”

Today I got a head start on OAC English by watching The Grapes of Wrath. They are contending with God, but this force is nameless. The characters must decide if they wish to be victims of circumstance or if they can trust that there is a divine plan at work. This is a drastic change. Life seems entirely unfair. They resist.

These are such compassionate people when they are dealing with each other. They feel powerless because they want so badly to fight this nameless force, but they don’t have the tools; they don’t know how to resist, resulting in anger and hopelessness.

Wait, no… the family in the movie, the Joads, have placed their faith in California, even though that is contrary to reason. Their naiveté inspires pity, and they are honest, which is shocking because honesty is so seldom encountered.

This story inspires guilt in me. Compared with those little ones, I was rich as a child. Those two are so unaware, so innocent. It’s almost as if they don’t understand the concept of money. In that sense, the Joads are all children.


Tuesday, January 12, 2016


Dream: Inspiration

-it is nighttime and wintertime, but it doesn’t feel cold outside
-Lawrence’s daughter Bess and I are running across that type of snow that’s icy across the top, so we don’t fall through
-Bess is ahead of me, wearing pink canvas shoes, a light orange shawl, and then another light blue shawl overtop
-I say to her, “You know how sometimes something gives you the greatest urge to paint? Well, you’ve just done that for me.”
-I run a bit to catch up to her, just to make sure she’s actually listening to me

It’s a funny thing; I miss my teddy bear—the one Lawrence gave me at the end of the school year. I should have brought it with me when I came to stay at Aunt Bay’s.

This afternoon I had an entire conversation with Lawrence’s wife before she said, “May I ask who’s speaking?”


I like having Aunt Bay’s house to myself… well, that’s not even true… but I don’t mind sharing it with two dogs. This way I don’t feel as crazy for talking to myself; I just pretend I’m talking to them.


Monday, January 11, 2016

08 /26/1999

“Remember that naming people and objects is a magical art.”
~Lerner and Lerner, Inner Child Cards: A Journey into Fairy Tales, Myth and Nature

I am so hesitant to do so because what if I choose the wrong name for him? Or what if I choose the proper name in the moment, but then later on the name needs to be changed? If I call him Father now, I can never call him Lover in the future. But I Love him. Why wouldn’t I want him as such?

I think that perhaps I am devoting too much energy to this project.


Sunday, January 10, 2016


Dream: Ignorance

-I am playing golf (!?)
-there are people on the course from the church we went to when I was a kid. They ask why… something about church?
-I decide it’s time to stop running and I tell them I haven’t been to church in years. I’m not going back. They talk down to me, as if I’ve made a stupid decision, but also as if I were a stupid person
-I’m not impressed. I explain my standpoint, but they’re not listening to me. How ignorant some people can be!
-I start yelling at them and can’t tell if I’m crying or if there are just tears in my eyes
-these people make me so angry that I don’t even try to control myself. I know I can’t get the point across in this format, but I keep yelling that God is Love
-no one is listening to me

When Iyanla Vanzant and Oprah were discussing their respective experiences of sexual abuse, Iyanla said, “This is how you know that it’s healed.” She could talk about the experience without identifying with the pain of the experience.

Lately, I have been wondering how much of my own childhood pain has yet to be healed. When I was talking with Christie today, I was almost surprised to hear myself mention my father, although it makes sense that I would.

I want my memories back! I want to remember what it was like growing up in this house. If it was painful, so be it! It was, after all, an essential part of my experience.

Nothing is clear in my mind; at least, nothing concerning my youth.

A part of me wishes I had gone to stay with Lawrence for a few days, but I don’t feel that I made the wrong decision. How intimate would it have been to spend some time alone with him! I have an overwhelming feeling, though, that I will get my chance.

What a lovely man.

Christie feels so loved by him, and they don’t even know each other. I felt like calling him this evening, but thought that might seem too obsessive. Why is that a concern all of the sudden? Is it such a crime to be obsessed?

I really should name this man. What is he, to me? More than a teacher, certainly. A friend, but so much more than that. I’m not even sure what I want him to be. That’s the problem.

Another problem is that he must learn to be more straightforward with me. I can translate his dialogue, but I don’t think I should have to. If he wants to invite me over, he must provide me with an excuse. What reason would I give my mother for staying there?


Saturday, January 9, 2016


Dream: Extreme Frustration

-it takes me a really long while to get ready for school. I could have made it on time if I took the bus, but I decide to wait for Lawrence
-he never shows up
-there’s snow everywhere and there’s an adolescent polar bear outside the house. Someone’s reciting the general development of a species during puberty, like a voiceover in a documentary
-at 7:53, mum says she’ll drive me to school and we take the 401, but it’s taking a really long time and mum doesn’t know where she is or where we’re going
-I’ll definitely be late for school, and I casually say, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Then I casually apologise with the excuse of being extremely frustrated
-mum stops the car and starts talking to people
-I wake up with my arms thrashing, hitting the headboard

Wanna hear about my phone call? From Lawrence, I mean. Yes, of course you do!

The little voice in my head told me to expect a call around 2:00 in the afternoon; intellect agreed. Two o’clock makes sense, you see, because he would prefer to call early in the day, but he would be afraid of waking me in the morning. At noon, it’s lunch time, but people are usually finished lunch by two.

Also, I knew there couldn’t be anyone else in the house at the time of his call, but I didn’t expect him to send everyone away.

I don’t remember him asking for me, although I’m sure he did. He introduced himself by saying, “This is Lawrence West,” as if I wouldn’t know. I recognized his voice on the phone, although there was something unidentifiably different in the quality. Higher chakra, perhaps.

The one thing I had been afraid of was that the conversation would be somehow stressed. Was I wrong! It was just like talking to Christie. How relieved am I! The absence wasn’t felt. There is no place for absence in eternity.

My faux-pas was in blurting out, “You have body image issues” after he went on about feeling guilty for eating so much popcorn the night before. I stand by the statement, though. He’s worse than most females I know. What a dear.

I can’t tell you how I shivered when he said, “Your room is being dusted.”

Oh God! How do I live in fear! He offered an open invitation to stay with him if my mother’s barbs grew too cumbersome, and I had to pretend I was fine living with my family.

How badly do I want to stay there, with him, in his house! Oh, my heart longs for the day I can accept this offer. Now would be the perfect time, too, with his whole family visiting Victoria’s parents one more time before the school year begins.

I am frustrated with myself. Perhaps I truly didn’t want to impose, but I can’t explain why I wouldn’t simply pick up and go. He asked me to come. It’s exactly what I want. Why wouldn’t I go?

And then his comment: “I just hate cooking for myself.”

Anticipated answers? “I’ll cook for you” or “You can cook for me!” But no. I had to say, “Then don’t eat.” I recognized the invitation, but did not to take it.

Good conversation, in all. Lawrence’s voice cracked a bit while he was talking about his father’s dementia, as did mine when I was talking about Christie’s remission. He offered to help her with moving/settling in at university if he happened to be in London.

It would have seemed very natural to end the conversation by saying, “I Love you,” but I didn’t. A telephone “I Love you” isn’t good enough for me and my ego. My ego and I need a fanfare, need a 100-piece orchestra.

No, that’s not true.

A good, heartfelt “I Love you” will do.

That may take time, but there’s comfort in knowing it’s always been true.

I Love you.


Friday, January 8, 2016


It’s funny; saying “I am in Love” when the object of my affections is not around is much like saying, “I am an artist” when I’m not painting. The experience is only a vague memory until it is once again experienced, and then it is glorious.


Thursday, January 7, 2016


Dream: Up To His Old Tricks

-I’m back at school, seeing my friends on the last day of classes
-Andrew and I look through pictures on the wall together, and then walk into the auditorium, only to find everyone meditating
-Ms. Pape scolds us for being late, and I’m mortified because I didn’t even know we had classes
-the teachers are thinking up ways to get us to clean the auditorium without realising we’re doing so. Ms. Pape asks us to work on scenes in partners, about cleaning
-everyone has a partner right away, but I don’t. I wander out of the auditorium and see many people, most of whom are sitting on the floor. They say they’re not going to do the exercise
-I decide to go home. I see a house with a gorgeous balcony and think we should buy it. Then I see the next-door neighbour watching me from her house and I wish she wouldn’t spy
-when I get to my front door, I notice it’s open and I know the kids wouldn’t be home yet, and even if they were they would have closed the door
-I yell inside, “Is anyone home?”
-my father appears at the basement door and replies, “Just you and me.”
-I run to the neighbour’s house and knock on her door. She’s still there and I ask if I can come in. She says yes and leads me to a T.V. in the basement
-there’s a feast on the table, but it seems irrelevant to me
-she says she’s making some coffee and asks if I would like some
-I ask for tea instead
-the T.V. only gets kid channels and I keep flipping until I see Remington Steele. My mom always liked that show, so I watch that

I’m just sitting here wondering what to write.

I finished Moby Dick today.

I’m breathing.

Sometimes I really feel like mum despises me. How many times have I heard the words, “I wish you would just move out”? She would despise me even more were I actually to do it. Staying at Aunt Bay’s for a week should be a slight break.

Mum killed the gladiolas I planted out front. She chopped them right down. I was terribly disappointed, but when I mentioned it she actually yelled, “I don’t care!”

Je me sens que j’oublies un peu comment aimer, mais…

How blessed am I to inhabit such a glorious temple as this!

I Love, I Love, I Love.


Wednesday, January 6, 2016


Dream: “They”

-“They” are after me, although I’m not sure who “they” are
-I start out hiding in the shed, but I’m discovered
-I end up running all over the place

Me? Obsessive?

Sure! I’m the first to admit it, but Christie is of the opinion that one of my obsessions is unhealthy.

You got it: Lawrence.

Christie says I should ask myself “what I need from him.” Ugh. This could get ugly.

O.K. Why am I so obsessive right now, in this very moment? That’s a simple enough question to answer: I’m bored. In my boredom, I have settled into a place wherein Love is not prominent.

I admit it: I’m having a great deal of trouble Loving myself right now. My mother thinks everything I do is wrong, I don’t have a job, I’m afraid of failing Calculus again this year, I’m afraid of not being accepted into a University program, and I’m afraid that the people I Love will forget about me. Christie is going off to University in London, and if her cancer comes back full-force I may lose her completely. I haven’t spoken to any of my other friends all summer.

I suppose I want proof that this one person, whom I Love dearly, has not forgotten about me. What’s the use in having a mantra like “I am a Loved and Loving person for I stand in the Grace of God” when I don’t believe a word of it? No matter how much I turn to myself for that Love, I always end up turning back out again.

I Love this man.

I Love him.

I must now go to the Divine, as the source of all Love, and ask for guidance. I am Loved. I do Love. I must learn how to give this Love freely, and without fear of being hurt or misused. I must teach others to do the same.

I Love, I Love, I Love.


Tuesday, January 5, 2016


I asked that little voice in my head if I should phone Lawrence, now that he’s scheduled to be home from Victoria’s parents’ retreat. The voice said I should be sensitive to the “flow.”

When I asked again, it said, “Sure! Why not?”

“Why not?” I responded. “Because you told me to be sensitive to the flow!”

“Do you feel any flow?”


“Well, if you’re going to be this neurotic about it, just phone him!”

The little voice also said that Kennedy would answer when I called…

But I’m getting ahead of myself, here.

I sat on Mrs. Greenwood’s bed (I was babysitting the twins) for an hour, asking myself who I could call to take my mind off the anxiety of wanting to speak with Lawrence and knowing I shouldn’t call his house.

Who could I call? Christie? I didn’t remember her number.

Aunt Bay? Already phoned—she’s not home.

Leslie? Nothing to say to my sister.

Grandma? No, at 7:30 she’d be watching Jeopardy.

My stomach got fluttery, my hands started to shake, I became congested, I had to pee every three minutes… in a word, I was nervous.

Why should I be? Knowing my luck, he wouldn’t be home, anyway. So, why call?

Why not?

Besides, I know everyone who could possibly answer. If it was Kennedy or Bess, I’d ask for their father. If it was Victoria, I’d ask for Lawrence. Didn’t get a chance to rehearse that. I was afraid I’d end up sounding like that nymph from Ally McBeal—you know the one, Ally’s secretary with the curly blonde locks.

Picking up the phone and just listening to the dial tone—that, I remember. Dialling was an out-of-body experience, even though I’d rehearsed many times:




I was an expert at dialling, and yet I couldn’t truly believe I had done it.

Kennedy picked up the phone, of course.


“Hi (I think I said hi. I wasn’t paying too much attention to that.) Is Lawrence in, please?”



(pause) (grrr…) (deep breath)


“Is Lawrence in?” (no please)

“Oh, no… (in a terribly sympathetic tone…) he’s not home right now.” There may even have been an “I’m sorry” in there somewhere.


“Could you tell him Giselle called?”

“Oh, O.K., sure!” (in a surprisingly joyful, dare I say Loving tone)



What a rush.

Oh no! Damage control!

“Leslie… is mum home?”


“Could you try answering the phone tonight, and if any men call don’t tell mum.”

“What? Oh no, she just came in the door!”

“O.K… You have your orders. Bye.”


Ah, the waiting game.


Monday, January 4, 2016


Today, I just had to dream. Honestly. I went to bed at noon because I felt compelled to make some sort of addition to my dream journal.


Rama and Sita Dream

-Rama, the virtuous king in Hindu scripture and seventh incarnation of Lord Vishnu, was betrothed to someone other than his rightful wife, Sita
-we were in a very beautiful open concept palace, with tropical gardens inside and everywhere you looked
-the flooring and pillars were made of white marble, but I don’t recall a roof on the place
-Rama was supposed to marry me
-I loved him very much, but when Sita came into the picture, I knew that she was the one he must marry
-I went to the bedroom, knowing that’s where the two were
-a very small part of me thought, out of fear, that I would prove Sita less pure than the gods had proven her, but a more enlightened part of me hoped this was not the case
-I opened the door to find the couple on the floor in the corner of the room
-Sita was in Rama’s arms, weeping uncontrollably that she should not marry him
-I told them I wanted for the two to be wed. This was entirely true
-as I sat in another room to prepare for the intimate wedding, I felt completely at peace with myself
-I was overcome to see the beautiful couple together
-I felt such joy and Love, knowing that I had carried out the will of the gods instead of fighting against it to achieve my own will
-this dream was a blessing

Oh, I am pathetic.

When there was no mail in our mailbox today, I checked my neighbour’s. I’m becoming just slightly neurotic, but I’ve been waiting oh so long for this letter.

I just Love being in Love!


Sunday, January 3, 2016


I am grateful for the word ‘missive.’ It may only mean ‘a letter’ but it reminds me of Man of La Mancha. The missive Don Quixote sends the Lady Dulcinea is a very elegant Love letter.

Today, I am at peace.

I received a letter from Lawrence’s lovely little daughter Bess, which could almost be classified as a missive, itself. She is very romantic. I wonder where she gets that from… certainly not from her father. (I’m sorry; that was a judgement.)

I wonder if this is something she even realizes. I know that I have encouraged freedom of expression in her, but I don’t think that’s the same as romanticism.

Although Bess was subjected to ‘Giselle Stories’ as she calls them (tales of things I’d done or said in English class when Lawrence was my teacher), the first time she encountered me in the flesh, I was reading the role of Juliet—a romantic figure. I suppose it would make sense that she should continue to see me in this way. Before becoming ‘Giselle’ I was the archetype: The Lover; The Empress; The High Priestess, in a sense.

And, before that encounter, just imagine how her father must have presented me! I was initially introduced to her by a person for whom I do hold these archetypal qualities, whether they be realized or not. Venus, elle-meme. I now see why Lawrence’s son Kennedy should be so suspicious of me. He’s the same age as Leslie and he’s got eyes in his head, that one.

How now, Ophelia!

Oh, this makes perfect sense, all of the sudden. I mean, it always did make sense, but now it makes spherical sense. Kennedy, I am assuming, was never tormented with ‘Giselle Stories.’ Good move. So his first encounter with me was as Juliet. Oh, to him there is no separation. Giselle is Juliet. Giselle is the threat. Giselle is the Lover. Giselle is the woman who rejects society’s opinion and follows her heart.

Giselle is the one who falls in Love with the man she can’t have. Giselle is the one who has him anyway.

Oh, Kennedy! And to think that I played with the suspicions you held about me and your father before even understanding them…


Saturday, January 2, 2016


Dream: Cards and Letters

-I am at Home Hardware buying packages of cards. I was going to get 3, but decided on 2
-back at home, I decided to watch T.V. in the family room, because dad was watching T.V. in my room. I didn’t mind at all because I was so happy to finally have a real father again
-when I later go to my room to watch Star Trek, I notice dad has cleaned a bit. There were letters he’d sent in various place, including on the floor
-I notice he’s arranged papers on my desk, some of which are rough drafts of letters to Lawrence
-I wonder if my dad will mind that I’ve found another father

Lots of reading to do. I was amazed, today, by how strongly I felt Lawrence’s presence at the library. I felt almost as though he were watching over me, peeking over my shoulder as I opened each new tome.

I Love, I Love, I Love, I Love… I laugh.

I couldn’t stop smiling, although why would I want to? It’s O.K. to appear somewhat insane every once in a while—and even when I left the library, the books under my arm encouraged me to smile some more.

I realized today that labelling her husband as my Platonic Love is a great insult to Victoria. Well, perhaps not to her individually, but certainly a great insult to their relationship. I really shouldn’t go around parading as some expert in the teachings of Plato.

I blame Gillian Anderson.

I wish I could find myself a copy of the Upanishads. Even a copy of the Ramayana would make me very happy right now. Any Hindu holy document. Anything!

Why is it that the Religion shelf at the bookstore is filled with every conceivable copy of the Bible, but not even one Baghavad Gita?

I am becoming convinced that my previous life was lived in India.

I have, since I was a child, felt that I was supposed to have been born earlier, but there was something I had to take care of in the world beyond before returning to Earth. The number 56 resonates strongly with me. Perhaps I was stillborn in 1956. I feel that I did not take even a single breath in that incarnation.

Is this intuition, or am I simply making up stories to tell myself? Will I ever know for certain?

Today, I am a manifestation of peace, for I stand in the Grace of God.


Friday, January 1, 2016


LIKE IT’S 1999
Diary of a Teenager
in Love with a Teacher

Giselle Renarde

A thought occurred to me today. It came in the form of a little voice that said, “Write it!”

Another voice—the clarifying voice—then asked, “Don’t you mean ‘Paint it’?”

Again, the first voice said, “Write it!”

At the time, I was thinking about a letter I have yet to receive, and one of my dreams started making more sense. This dream:


Dream: Birthday Card from Oprah!

-This dream is about a birthday card from Oprah, hence the name.
-she and I are friends
-Oprah gives me a birthday card covered in blue writing
-I am delighted at receiving this card, but I don’t read it
-the card is in my hand and I think to myself, “I really wish I had read that card!” but I still don’t
-The blue writing, although printed directly on the card, is a personal message from Oprah
-her name is signed in black pen, along with a little message I also don’t read

I am now able to apply the Oprah Birthday Card dream to my life. You see, the reason I don’t read the card is not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t have it yet.

Patiently (LIE!), I await my second missive from Lawrence. He’s away from the city, visiting his in-laws, but in the first (rather dull) letter he sent me he promised another was soon to follow. I have a strong sense that this second letter has already been written, and perhaps even sent, but because of the time restraints the world has placed on us I cannot yet read it. Now I sit with the anxiety of waiting for something that is sure to happen—and soon. But when?

In the dream, I know Oprah’s card exists because I’m holding it in my hand, but I can’t read it because it’s not really here yet. It will come… in time.

Beyond this place, there is no time. Time is something we must deal with because we are human. Without time, though, the wonderment of Earthly living would be decreased. With time, I can only guess as to how the story ends… or begins.

Months ago, Christie said to me, “You’re waiting for the day your mum says, ‘That’s it, Giselle; get out of this house!’”

Today was the day. Of course, my mother’s words were more along the lines of, “I wish you would move out,” in her “pity me, I’m so weak” voice. (This is a judgement; I own it.)

Funny that the problem and the solution should be found in one person…


Today’s mantra: I refuse all fear and all worry, for I stand in the Grace of God.