08/21/1999

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.

Giselle

08/20/1999

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?”

“No.”

“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:

5-5-5-1-9-9-9…

5-5-5-1-9-9-9…

5-5-5-1-9-9-9…

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

Kennedy picked up the phone, of course.

“Hello.”

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

(pause)

“What?”

(pause) (grrr…) (deep breath)

(again)

“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.

(pause)

“Could you tell him Giselle called?”

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

“Bye…”

Wow.

What a rush.

Oh no! Damage control!

“Leslie… is mum home?”

“No.”

“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.”

“Bye.”

Ah, the waiting game.

Giselle

08/19/1999

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.

08/19/1999

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!

Giselle

08/18/99

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…

Giselle

08/17/1999

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.

Giselle

08/16/1999

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:

08/12/1999

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…

Lawrence?

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

Giselle

Happening Here in the New Year

Starting January 1st 2016, Like It's 1999: Diary of a Teenager in Love with a Teacher will be posted RIGHT HERE for your reading pleasure.

Because Like It's 1999 is my actual diary from when I was 19, it's written in short journal entries (and dreams, because my diary doubled as a dream journal) so it'll be posted that way. Each and every day, you'll be able to come back and read a new entry. There are enough to take us to mid-March, so this'll be quite a journey.

Discover why my nickname in high school was Flakie. I always thought it was because I ate these mofos every day:

Passion Flakie: the breakfast of champions

...but after reading my teenaged journal, I'm not so sure.

Come back January 1st!
Love you!
Giselle