on the four-thirty movie. We all agreed that Knotts’s work was superb, and were perplexed at the absence of a sequel. We decided to inquire about the availability of the rights when we get out of here.
Maybe I should have a baby.
What if I got into this? I doubt I would, but I know I’d be a better therapist than Stan. He’s so unpleasant to everyone. I think he has something in particular against me, which isn’t fair. They should get someone unbiased.
They should have a real doctor or something. I would like to be treated by someone in the medical profession rather than by these amateurs whose only qualification is that they took a lot of drugs eight years ago, and now they haven’t taken drugs for eight years. I think they should be more qualified than that.
They keep telling me this is a serious situation. Well, if it’s so fucking serious, there should be doctors here. We should be on medicine. I don’t think I’m getting properly attended to. I don’t know that any of this is that good for me. I keep hearing about all these other drugs I didn’t even know about. It’s like putting thieves in with murderers-they learn how to be murderers. Well, I’m learning how to be a drug addict. What if I wanted to walk right out of here and go find some lodes like that guy Sid took? I’d never even heard of lodes before I got here.
Fuck them! Telling me I’ll never stay sober, I can’t beat the odds. I’ll show them! I’ll do it. I’ll do it without them. I can’t do it without going to meetings? Fuck them. I’d rather go to a doctor than be judged by people who took a lot of dope. I mean, what is that? What is that? I have no intention of sitting in a room with a bunch of alcoholic personality types drinking caffeine and smoking cigarettes. That’s not how I envision my life.
I know Stan has something personal against me. I think he’s keeping Suzanne away from me. I think they’ve said something to her about me. Fucking Stan. And Julie, with that string of pearls. I
47
C A R R I EF I S HER
just want to rip it off her neck and watch them go bouncing down the hallway. She wears enough perfume to knock out a horse. I just don’t see the point of talking to these people, and watching these stupid films with the floral couch and these understanding parents and their whacked-out daughter and the group therapy …
Group therapy with my parents. I would sooner die. I would sooner swallow a handful of lodes and die than sit in a room with my father and mother and talk about my “drug problem:” I just want them to keep paying the bills and stay away from me. Well, not paying the bills, but paying the bills until I can get back on my feet again. I think I’m owed that. They fucked up somewhere along the line and I ended up taking chemicals.
If they actually expect to get Stan and my parents and me in the same room, they’ve got another think coming …
DAY TWENTY-THREE
My inner world seems largely to consist of three rotating emotions: embarrassment, rage, and tension. Sometimes I feel excited, but I think that’s just positive tension. Stan gave us a list of emotions today and told us to circle the ones we’ve felt recently. I lied and circled seven.
Mark refused to come to group today-he stayed in his room and listened to the Doors. He had his Walkman on so loud at breakfast we could hear the music through his nose.
Marvin announced at lunch that he thought he might be an alcoholic. We all sang “God Bless America.”
Amy brought Sam back today. He seemed a little chagrined. I was embarrassed for him, and subsequently tense. Two out of a possible three.
… This is what I get for coming to her rescue. This is my reward. Everyone goes off to a shopping mall and I wind up stuck here alone in this stupid room. I hate Stan, I hate him.
I can’t believe Suzanne went without me. How could she? I de
48
POSTCARDS from the EDGE
fended her. He was attacking her and I stuck up for her, and I wound
Maybe I should have a baby.
What if I got into this? I doubt I would, but I know I’d be a better therapist than Stan. He’s so unpleasant to everyone. I think he has something in particular against me, which isn’t fair. They should get someone unbiased.
They should have a real doctor or something. I would like to be treated by someone in the medical profession rather than by these amateurs whose only qualification is that they took a lot of drugs eight years ago, and now they haven’t taken drugs for eight years. I think they should be more qualified than that.
They keep telling me this is a serious situation. Well, if it’s so fucking serious, there should be doctors here. We should be on medicine. I don’t think I’m getting properly attended to. I don’t know that any of this is that good for me. I keep hearing about all these other drugs I didn’t even know about. It’s like putting thieves in with murderers-they learn how to be murderers. Well, I’m learning how to be a drug addict. What if I wanted to walk right out of here and go find some lodes like that guy Sid took? I’d never even heard of lodes before I got here.
Fuck them! Telling me I’ll never stay sober, I can’t beat the odds. I’ll show them! I’ll do it. I’ll do it without them. I can’t do it without going to meetings? Fuck them. I’d rather go to a doctor than be judged by people who took a lot of dope. I mean, what is that? What is that? I have no intention of sitting in a room with a bunch of alcoholic personality types drinking caffeine and smoking cigarettes. That’s not how I envision my life.
I know Stan has something personal against me. I think he’s keeping Suzanne away from me. I think they’ve said something to her about me. Fucking Stan. And Julie, with that string of pearls. I
47
C A R R I EF I S HER
just want to rip it off her neck and watch them go bouncing down the hallway. She wears enough perfume to knock out a horse. I just don’t see the point of talking to these people, and watching these stupid films with the floral couch and these understanding parents and their whacked-out daughter and the group therapy …
Group therapy with my parents. I would sooner die. I would sooner swallow a handful of lodes and die than sit in a room with my father and mother and talk about my “drug problem:” I just want them to keep paying the bills and stay away from me. Well, not paying the bills, but paying the bills until I can get back on my feet again. I think I’m owed that. They fucked up somewhere along the line and I ended up taking chemicals.
If they actually expect to get Stan and my parents and me in the same room, they’ve got another think coming …
DAY TWENTY-THREE
My inner world seems largely to consist of three rotating emotions: embarrassment, rage, and tension. Sometimes I feel excited, but I think that’s just positive tension. Stan gave us a list of emotions today and told us to circle the ones we’ve felt recently. I lied and circled seven.
Mark refused to come to group today-he stayed in his room and listened to the Doors. He had his Walkman on so loud at breakfast we could hear the music through his nose.
Marvin announced at lunch that he thought he might be an alcoholic. We all sang “God Bless America.”
Amy brought Sam back today. He seemed a little chagrined. I was embarrassed for him, and subsequently tense. Two out of a possible three.
… This is what I get for coming to her rescue. This is my reward. Everyone goes off to a shopping mall and I wind up stuck here alone in this stupid room. I hate Stan, I hate him.
I can’t believe Suzanne went without me. How could she? I de
48
POSTCARDS from the EDGE
fended her. He was attacking her and I stuck up for her, and I wound
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