If he doesn`t telephone me, I`ll know God is angry with me. I`ll count five hundred by fives, and if he hasn`t called me then, I will know God isn`t going to help me, ever again. That will be the sign. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five, forty, forty-five, fifty, fifty-five... It was bad. I knew it was bad. All right, God, send me to hell. You think You`re frightening me with Your hell, don`t You? You think. Your hell is worse than mine.
I mustn`t. I mustn`t do this. Suppose he`s a little late calling me up ?that`s nothing to get hysterical about.Maybe he isn`t going to call ?maybe he`s coming straight up here without telephoning. He`ll be cross10 if he sees I have been crying. They don`t like you to cry. He doesn`t cry. I wish to God I could make him cry. I wish I could make him cry and tread the floor and feel his heart heavy and big and festering in him. I wish I could hurt him like hell.
He doesn`t wish that about me. I don`t think he even knows how he makes me feel. I wish he could know, without my telling him. They don`t like you to tell them they`ve made you cry. They don`t like you to tell them you`re unhappy because of them. If you do, they think you`re possessive and exacting. And then they hate you. They hate you whenever you say anything you really think. You always have to keep playing little games. Oh, I thought we didn`t have to; I thought this was so big I could say whatever I meant. I guess you can`t, ever. I guess there isn`t ever anything big enough for that. Oh, if he would just telephone, I wouldn`t tell him I had been sad about him. They hate sad people. I would be so sweet and so gay, he couldn`t help but like me. If he would