July 1st, 1995

## Tara

\*\*\*Posted July 2nd, 1995

**Saturday, July 1**I am trapped in the ugly jaws of depression. At the moment, I hate all my housemates at The Spot, including Spotnik who shed all over my bed. Here's just a few of my least favorite things about these people that I live with:

Michelle:

1). She is convinced that The Spot is haunted. I think she just wants attention.

2). She always acts like men are a pain in the ass interruption to her life, yet she flirts and leads them on like they were dogs begging for "liversnaps."

3). She claims that she was an abused child and deserves special treatment. We were all abused in one way or another.

Lon:

4). Sharing a common bedroom wall with a guy who likes to keep score of how many times he climaxes is making me crazy.

5). He's so cavalier about women yet he claims he's not sexist.

Jeff:

6). I catch him looking at me and then he looks away. Is he studying my beauty or an errant booger from my nose? His level of assholishness seems to grow in geometric progression.

Spotnik:

As mentioned earlier,

7). He has no consideration. He sheds wherever he wants to.

Carrie:

Now, either I feel better having vented, find it funny that I just complained about a dog's lack of consideration, or I really just can't find anything that bothers me about Carrie. She's just a sweet girl who...

8). Oh yeah, she's so naive about the intentions of her employer Hank at the bookstore. He's going to get her right now in the poetry section and she'll never know what hit her. Stupidity like that really gives women such a bad name.

**40 minutes later:**I bolted off the computer for a while, because my depression was giving way to anger. I wandered around The Spot until I came to Jeff's room. I knocked on his door knowing I could count on him for a venting bag. But he wasn't there. So....I wandered in. Now you might not think this is such a big deal, but Jeff doesn't allow any of us in his room. And if he found out, he'd probably kill me or even worse, make me move out of The Spot.

Jeff has the smallest room in the house. I guess it's the room he had as a little boy and he's just never changed it. I laid on his bed for a nervous minute and breathed in the scent of his blanket. It was terrific. My mood has lifted.

Remember, Thursday, July 6th:

* IRC chat line
* #spot
* 5-8 pm Western
* 8-11pm Eastern
* I'll be chatting on-line live.

July 1st, 1995
## Lon

\*\*\*Posted July 2nd, 1995

7/1 7:13 PMThe vibe at The Spot has been getting a little better. Carrie seems to be getting over her issues; that is to say, she's at least talking to me. Jeff and my schedules have not at all mixed, so I haven't even seen much of him in the past few days. Fine with me.

Ying and Yang. Some things are good, some are bad. Work sucks hard. I used to have the best stations and the best shifts, but this new manager, Susan, has taken over and rearranged everything. I hate that. Doesn't she know this is what all of us do to pay the rent? I can't make any less money than I have been making. I'm gonna work on her and explain my sitch. Acting classes are expensive.

The only cool thing that's come out of my lack of Wait shifts is that I've been able to spend more time with Joanne. I have no idea how she's got any money; the girl doesn't work at all. She seems to be independently wealthy and totally focused on her acting career. Joanne thinks that having any sort of other job would take away from her acting. Anyhow, the majority of what she and I have been doing together can be summed up in one word: SEX. And the sex, as you know, is good. That she enjoys it so much is of course a huge compliment to my ego, but I am learning something about myself that I didn't know: I would also like the girl I'm sleeping to be a real human being. With feelings.

**7/1 later**Just hung up with Joanne. Or her likeness, anyway. The girl is a trip! It's not as if we've known each other very long or anything, but I truly have no idea who she is. Every nuance seems calculated and characterized. That's probably why she's such a talented actress; she is constantly practicing. Personally, I'm starting to think she's a little out there. What do you think? It's almost like she always wants to have sex because that's the only time she can let go. And I know she thinks it's what I want. OK, so I want it. But not all the time. (Does that surprise you?) She just doesn't seem like she has her real self together. Or maybe I'm wrong; maybe this whole relationship is her just testing out a new character. I can't tell what's going on. Either way, she's always on stage. just doesn't seem real. She goes from this little girl voice to Dominatrix to Woman of The World. I don't get it. If she didn't look the way she does.....

**7/1 even later**She just called again and said she'd like to make dinner for me tonight ....and for all my housemates. Who is this girl?

July 1st, 1995
## Michelle

\*\*\*Posted July 2nd, 1995

July 1I think we're alone now. I think we're alone now. I think we're alone now. I think we're alone now. I think we're alone now. I think we're alone now. I think we're alone now. I--THINK--WE--ARE-- ALONE--NOW!!

The above message is a sample recording from my brain at any given moment of the day. I've just about lost the ability to tell whether I'm hearing someone say it or just thinking it.  I find myself singing it aloud in the shower, at work.... argh! I don't even like that song! Does anyone know the name of the group that originally sang it? No one I've asked knows.

Secondly, thank you in the form of a big wet kiss to everyone who's sent letters of support. For a bit I thought I might be losing it. A special thanks to Steve Lister. He's the AE (that's account executive) at work who's been listening to my ghost stories. He said again that I should do some research about our spot. So I played naive, "Research? Where?" Bottom line, he volunteered to do some initial exploration for me.

The latest sighting...

I was in the shower. I was trying to wash the soap off of my face without closing my eyes. (I've been a little afraid of the whole closing my eyes thing lately). Anyway, I'm staring into the stream of water spraying from the shower head and then I heard her - quiet, distant and sad... almost weeping, "We're so alone now, Michelle." Then in the mist of the water spray an image of young girl formed. It was like looking into to translucent mirror.

Who are you? I asked. The image burst in a flash of rainbow and she was gone.

Is she too weak to stay around long enough to have a conversation? And if she could have a conversation what would she talk about? Do ghosts gossip? Maybe she needs skin care advice... she did look a little pale... And what does a ghost need a shower for? Does that mean that you perspire in the afterlife. Yikes.

That's all for now... oh and to Clay... Boo! to you too!

Michelle

July 1st, 1995
## External links

* Tara's entry
* Lon's entry
* Michelle's entry