October 12, 2002:
Her life is like a rejection of life. Once wanted to be a nun. Barely goes outside. When she opens her apartment door, stale cigarette air spills out which you can smell yards away. There's nothing cheerful inside, on the walls. Darkness. Stacks of unopened moving boxes on the table.
I went with a girlfriend to visit her once when she was living in Spring Valley. Darkness: heavy curtains on each window. Cigarette ashes quarter inch deep covering every surface like the aftermath of a volcanic eruption. Girlfriend waited outside: rightly refused to breathe that air. Offered to play her some music I'd written. Uninterested.
Attempted to explain TriadCity to her over dinner. Listened with that smug "you are so cute" look threatening to curl into laughter; said, "that sounds... nice"; and after an attempt at a discrete interval launched back into the minutiae of her day: her thinking, her decision-making processes, the cute things the cats did; the motives she projects onto them.
Failure.