Diarrhea of the Mouth

If we don't get along with someone, why can't we just NOT talk; why do we have to go around tripping one another?
-James Kirkwood
"Good Times, Bad Times", a novel

Twenty-five years ago today:

June 7, 1985
Friday

Dale called me between 2-2:30AM in the morning.
“You know…you pissed me off!”
“Why?”
“You know, I read my May 25th journal entry to Rachelle. She has never had a hold on any other parts of my journal!”
“It’s not that I was trying to cause a break-up between you and Rachelle,” Dale said, defensively.
“I don’t know about that.”
“You have to be more honest and hope to discuss everything with me,” Dale begged.
“Oh, sure…that’ll be the day.”
“Well, I won’t be talking to Rachelle anymore. Don’t get me wrong. I like her very much.”
“I’ll talk to you in the morning.”
“I don’t want to see you in the morning to talk about this. I think we should just part as friends.”
“Fine,” I said, and hung up the phone.

Rachelle told me she’d been crying for the last twenty minutes. I find this hard to believe.
“I was talking to Dale…but we need to talk now,” Rachelle said, holding back tears.
“Why?”
“I want to know about your four month relationship with George.”
“Oh God, give me a break!”
She really set me off right ether. Dale’s a fuckin’ trouble-making bastard (whether he realizes it or not).

On my way to work this morning I was thinking of Dale and how I don’t wish to converse with him. Perhaps we won’t talk unless he takes the initiative. He claims that Rachelle knows other things from reading my journal. I know its all ‘bull’ because we fooled him. I only read to her what I KNOW I read. Dale has gone and had ‘diarrhea of the mouth’ as usual.

The work day moved fairly quickly. My supervisor, Stephanie, had the day off. Our section decided to have a pot luck celebration for Stephanie’s birthday. I hardly exchanged any words to Dale today. Ryan did invite me to go to break with him (and Dale). I accepted.

Ryan and I talked most of the time. Ryan got the vibes that Dale and I were not on speaking terms. He was correct. I was surprised when Dale said, “No, we’re speaking.”

At lunch I went on my own to visit my bank. Then I went to my car for Paloma’s mailing address. I wrote Paloma a lengthy letter. I wrote her a lot more about me that I had never shared with her before. I wrote a lot of the same information that Rachelle had recently learned. I cannot wait to hear from Paloma now. I need to know her reaction.

Paloma wrote me a lengthy letter about how she missed and loved me. She had written about some guy that she met who already wants to share an apartment with her. She wrote that she’s not interested. She claims Paris gents are different from Americans (a generalization?)

I have a June 7, 1985 postmarked postcard of MARILYN MONROE from Paris from Paloma.
She wrote:

Hello Michael,
Here is one more for your collection. Do you know that right now I’m writing you more than you are! I bet you just write me when you get one. I won’t say anything else—if you see what I mean. I miss you very much and I hope we’ll go dancing together very, very soon.
Love you,
Paloma

Dale appeared while I was on break with Sue and Mary. Sue and Mary were going to the countryside this weekend. There were going to invite me.
“It sounds great,” I said to Sue and Mary, “but I am going to the A’s game on Friday night and Bobby McGee’s on Saturday night.”

I came home to change clothes and I drove to Castro Valley to pick up Rachelle for the A’s Game. She wasn’t exactly ready, so I hung out for a while and looked through Heidi’s high-school yearbook. Once we arrived at the COLISEUM there were a lot of cars because there was also a Phil Collins concert.

Rachelle left me at my seat to get our hot dogs and beer. When she returned Ryan Hargrave and Bob Gross (from my office) showed up! They sat next to us. It was fun. The game was ‘so-so’. We managed to bear with the whole scene. As far as I was concerned “our” company (Rachelle and I) was all that mattered.

Rachelle wanted to go up to the third level of the stadium. I obliged with her wishes. Suddenly, she bumped into Rick, an old chum from her ‘Trock & Bock’ boot shop days. We talked to him for a bit and then went back down to our seats. Ryan and Bob had already left for the night. We hung out a bit longer and some ‘fellas’ by the snack bar were “ogling and haggling” over Rachelle. It made me feel jealous. At the same time it made me glad that she was mine. Why she turns to check out the other male scenery is beyond me. I feel it belittles me.

We went to my house and made love a couple of times. We kissed and caressed. She’s such a beautiful lady. I just hate her little nag about days and moments. The slithering dirty looks are annoying. It’s like she is yelling at me for no good reason at all. I was trying to be helpful while she was driving.
I said, “Rachelle, don’t tailgate so close to cars.”
She moaned and groaned.
“Rachelle, don’t turn that corner so tightly.”
“You ALWAYS correct me over everything!” She yelled out defensively.
I was silent. I thought she was crazy. I knew she’d been talking to Dale just because I correct him sometimes. It’s because he always does wrong, too. It was funny after the A’s game because we couldn’t find my car. Our being together and loving of one another was all the more memorable for me on this night.

There was over me a yearning for sleep, in some sort of blind belief that to wake would be to find things changed, and that any change must now be for the better. Before we parted, we discussed what our next step was to be, but we could arrive at no result.
-Bram Stoker
"Dracula"