We must be poor losers - Indeed

 September 22, 1986

Yesterday was my birthday - it was the nicest day I've had. We went to my dad's with Ann - to work on our boxes for shop - which were due today. Cris helped me a lot - gave me the idea and helped with the technical problems and all. My dad helped Ann do hers - they both turned out quite nicely. I think we have done well on our grades. I hope at least because it is worth 70% of our grade - EEK!

Cris bought me a fish for my birthday a few days ago and I thought that was my present - it was a beautiful black moor. I loved it and was very content, but when I got home from my parents he brought out even more! A funky sloop sticky thing like I've always wanted since I was a little girl - no shit - and an e.e.cummings book - wonderful and a full sized chess set.

We played later. We are both so bad at losing I don't know why we play. I think we must play until we can get used to the losing part. It's so insane. Some sort of deep psychological struggle we must over come. He captured my three last big playing pieces in three moves and I almost started crying. I just don't understand. Oh Well. We must be poor losers.

All in all it was a great day. Couldn't have been better. I feel quite close to Cris, of late.

Here I go again, with all these "we" statements. No one was a poor loser but ME. Cris always won. I never understood chess until years later - 1993 - the year after my bone marrow transplant. I bought a house in South Minneapolis with the money that I had received from Social Security Disability. My mortgage payments plus insurance and taxes = $279/month CRAZY!

I had moved into the house with another single mother, who had a toddler. I was subbing on and off. She got a job driving a school bus. One day, I was going to sub and I discovered she had left her baby with me - no baby sitter!!! I was late for my sub job - they never let me come back to their school again. She never contributed to the house. Once I went grocery shopping and did not buy popcorn. She was mad that I didn't notice that we were out. So I drove to the gas station, bought a bag and threw it at her as she lay in the living room chilling. Soon, I asked her to get the hell out of my house.

Cris, who I had divorced, was living in Bayport with his mother. He was wearing out his welcome. His Step-Father was calling him a leech - lawls. I was thinking, "Hey, I could work nights". Subbing was making me sick with my brand new immune system. I told Cris that he could move in to watch the kids while I worked. Stupid idea, I know.

We started playing chess again. I began losing again. I was always angry, sometimes tossed the board to the floor when too many of my pieces were lined up against his the side of the board. I had bought a Child's Book of Chess for the kids. I picked it up one day, thinking that I could get some idea about the game. The book was wonderful, magical. It described why pieces were laid out the way they were, and why the moved in certain directions, e.g. the church has the ear of the Queen and King. I learned the history of the game. The basic strategy - protect the four squares in the center of the board. The King is the Most Important Piece - not the Queen! The pieces had value, so you should trade them accordingly. The point of the game = capture your enemy's KING. I was always just looking at how pieces could move and trying to whittle down the opponent's pieces. The King was just one of the pieces to consider. My idea of the game was similar to Quiddich, where it is important to try to score as many points as you can but, in the end, it is the golden snitch that wins the game.

Wow! I never knew! I played Cris that night. He laughed when I said that I had read a kid's book of chess. He mocked me. I beat him soundly. He never beat me again at chess. I read more chess books. After awhile, he didn't want to play with me anymore.

Chess became a special interest of mine for several years but I have more recently abandoned it because I am much too emotionally involved when I play. I shake and sweat.  I am very angry when I lose. I am very angry when my opponent refuses to acknowledge the beauty and strength of my position. I am angry at people who use petty tactics to win. I have no ability to detach myself from the game. I am the game. I am the army. I die a little inside when my pieces are captured and my beautiful defense is destroyed .

I am the poor loser, not we, nor anyone else.

Satyriasis - the male counterpart of nymphomania

January 19, 1987

Dart thrown at Cris's forehead
Dart in the Penguin's hat
The back of my neck is all tingly
Doing dishes
Listening to Roxy Music from the recorder on the wall

January 25, 1987

A Story

U stood in the hallway of a dimly lit apartment building, listening, straining to hear the conversation within the apartment before her. She held her ear close to the door, hands outstretched as if to balance herself and not fall forward and bump the door. She held the keys to the apartment in her hand, wondering if she should use them. She heard sounds of kissing, laughing, and the low mumbling of conversation within the door. A man and a woman were in there - or was that a television?

U thought the man belonged to her. This was of course a delusion because that was not the case at all. She is feeling very threatened. She thinks of the time when she was the one laughing and kissing, having a conversation with this man. She had caused these feelings of having your "prize" stolen from your grasp by another woman who now thought of him as her own.

They had met at a party. He had been warned not to have contact with U because this woman believed or thought somehow that U was a threat.

The man was inclined to do things that he was forbidden to do, so at the end of the party, he had taken U home, much to the dismay of his present woman, who returned the next day, questioning the man in the kitchen, "What is she still doing here?"

Through the years, U had become too secure in her position as his woman. This assumption had driven the man away, seeking out another woman who might not assume such things.

U felt anxiety. Her heart was racing. She jumped at sounds she heard within. A moved chair caused her to quickly run down the hall and hide around the corner in terror. What would happen if she was discovered? Noticing that no one was coming out of the apartment, she walked down to the door, again putting her ear close to listen. This was futile! She decided to go outside to see if anything was happening.

Outside, she scanned the surroundings for elevation. She decided to climb a tree that was nearby for a look. This view was not sufficient and she gave up after 5 minutes or so.

She was in the same place: she could hide out somewhere and wait for them to come out - but what door would they use? If she chose the wrong hiding place, it would be too late.

U decided to go back inside. Within seconds she was in the hallway, at the door again. Taking the keys from her pocket to fiddle with them, she struggled with the decision to either use them and discover the man in bed with his lover or pretend she knows nothing.

U had pretended a lot about not knowing about the man and his others. She had dressed up to look like someone else and watched him with others.

She decided she might as well get it over with. She knows it will destroy her relationship with the man, but she has had enough pain. More pain than she thought anyone could bear. It had changed her.

She thought she must be quick as possible in order to catch him in his betrayal. She tried clumsily to put the key in quietly, but her hands were shaking too much. It was too late. He was aware and had rushed to the door. U turned the key, he on the other side, tried to prevent it. The door is unlocked. Push. He pushes back.

She does eventually have the door open. She is insane with rage. She wants to get inside. She uses her body as a tool not caring what becomes of it. She squeezes in and sits on the floor,  her back to the closed door, emotionally and physically unarmored. She is a rock. She is not going to move.

The other woman has fled to the other room so as not to be seen - or is that the television playing in the background?

"I expected this U", the man says, standing before her like she is the plague. He wants to get rid of her but knows not how to go about it.

U sits. She is staring madly straight ahead. She has accomplished her mission. Her heart is beating fast. She is sweating and shaking. She is not going to move, ever again.

This is an actual account of me breaking into my husband's apartment after we had split up. I had stolen his keys while he was making breakfast for the kids one morning and walked to the corner hardware store to make copies. I slipped them back before he noticed. I would break into his apartment when he was at school to read his journals, to snoop around. I was looking for more salt to rub into my open wounds. It was painful, and undeniably wrong, but I did it. I own it. 

The actual event described in the story above ended in the hallway, a physical altercation. I flicked my burning cigarette at his chest. He shoved me back. He took my keys. He ordered me out. There was another woman in the apartment at the time. I never climbed a tree to look inside.

 Below is a shot list for my video production class I was taking at MCAD. I was planning on filming this story. When it actually came down to the video shoot, Cris had come home in the morning after spending the night with another woman. I was angry. He attacked me. Cris picked me up around the waist, bruising my ribs as he threw me down on the bed. He choked me. I used my legs to kick him off. The children were watching. They were crying. I called my sister to come. I called my friend Halle to come. 

Halle took me to Stillwater to visit a friend, whose husband ironically had just took their kids and left that very day. I filmed her talking. I had to shoot something. I had the video equipment checked out. The assignment was due. I called the video "Halle Driving". I earned a "B" for the project - oh well. If I can find it, I will post it.

Video Shot List

1. Walking down street, turning into apartment building. Using keys to open doors.
2. Walking upstairs to the door - listening intently - she is going to listen.
3. The man and woman (or watching a television) inside unaware, laughing, kissing, talking.
4. The woman listening intently.
5. Inside the apartment, a chair pushed back, man gets up to get something.
6. The woman in the hallway leaping away to hide. The woman freaking out.
7. Vision of man coming out and finding her.
8. Woman hiding, decides to go back to the door.
9. Man and woman talking, kissing, laughing in the apartment - or is it a television?
10. Key in hand.
11. Vision of man and woman in bed.
12. Key near lock.
13. Another different version of man and woman in bed.
14. Open lock.
15. Man leaping to door.
16. Woman's struggle.
17. Man's struggle - as woman flees.
18. Woman gaining - leg getting crushed in doorway.
19. Woman getting in, plopping down.
20. Man staring at her.
21. Woman staring straight ahead insanely.
22. Vision of man and insane woman happy together.
23. Man confused.
24. Woman staring.