April 11, 1965

Mystery woman on a train to Poughkeepsie

April 11, 1965

The last week - ho ho ho!

Report cards Wednesday, too.

Why do I fool myself? V doesn't like me, no one likes me - why, sometimes I don't even like myself.

What's wrong with this world? A girl has to be beautiful but dumb to get anywhere. And I don't chase boys - just boy.

April 11, 1973

So here I am, the trip for Poughkeepsie. I feel a little lonely already, but it’s nice to be a single instead of half of a pair for a change. There’s so much flooding around here - - we seem to be riding through a 1/2 submerged forest.

Traveling is a bit of a bore. I could get tired of being mystery lady. Trains are odd. You get to see mostly asses of towns, asses of houses.

Wouldn’t it be strange to be on a train, riding into -say - Amsterdam , NY - only have it suddenly be like a WWII film - everything burning and desserted?  For no reason at all.

“Butt-numbing drama”

That’s a good line - well, it’s dark now and I can’t even see - oh, fuck.  Can’t write on the left side of the page.. can’t even see the house asses and town asses. I imagine I’m zipping down the Hudson now … no lights. If I look really hard there are trees.

Bunch of nerds got on in Albany … wonder if they’re low grade politicians who can’t afford to fly. Side burns…trimmed, of course. Coffee. What, no cocktails? There is a bar. ($1.35/short… too much for a low grade political nerd.) Guy next to me wondering what the hell I’m up to..MYSTERY WOMAN TIME!!!

Mystery Bear?

April 11, 2023

For the next week or so, I will be transcribing the trip I took with my mother fifty years ago. (!!!!) She was fifty-one, and I was not quite twenty-four. The last few years had been tough on us, as we argued over my relationship with Jim. I felt a little guilty, accepting this expensive trip. I really wanted to see my grandparents and other relatives, some for the first time since I was very little. It turned out to be quite a trip.

Explanations:

On my trips home from Syracuse, I used to play “mystery lady”. I would pick a book to read, or  more accurately, to pretend to read. It would have an interesting title or cover, clearly visible to anyone near me. I would periodically put the book down, take out a notebook and pen, and very ostentatiously take notes “like an intellectual”. I’d pause and look thoughtful, which in fact I was writing stuff like “Trains are odd. You get to see mostly asses of towns, asses of houses.”

Bear = my college nickname. Barraclough->Bear