Sunday, April 09, 2006
April 9, 1965
You'd think I'd learn. Well, silly me went to a dance and that dolt Vincent was there. Of course I didn't dance with him. I felt like crying, but I didn't - at least not until I got home. I love him for what he is, but I hate him for what he does. He must hate me an awful lot to tease the way he does. I wish I never noticed him. Or do I?
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Haiku on Vincent
After the sock hop
I said I never loved him
With my fingers crossed
And so began my descent into the hell of the woman scorned. My diary entries about Vincent were about to turn very bitter and mean. Was it my attempt to exorcize my feelings for him? Was it too many romantic films where the lovers detest each other at first, only to realize the depth of their passion in the middle of a crisis? Poor Vincent. He wasn't teasing me. He was just dancing with girls his own age and avoiding the wierd 15-year-old stalker.
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