The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer by Jennifer Lynch Page B

his appetite, before insatiable, grows smaller. The animal frozen solid in front of his shotgun barrel, begging to fill that space on his wall.
    Remove the thrill. Program yourself. There will be pain, but none worse than before. Hold tight on the image of home and of bed and of the warm smell of him as you rinse and rinse and rinse. Home awaits you as it always has.
    Play with him as he plays with you. Accept that you are bad and dirty and cheap and should be thrown to the wolves as scrap meat, and must never bear children, for who knows the faces they would be locked behind from birth until death... Remember to ignore. Leave an opening large enough inside to take on his body weight in hatred and methods of reduction that only apply to the emotional portions of oneself, the most vital and irreplaceable of all.
    Believe that he is only intrigued by the fear he breeds, the lack of interest you display in life when he leaves you back at your home. How he pretends to ring the doorbell, mocks you, your life, your hopes, your most private insecurities, watches as you struggle with the sense that you are unworthy to even enter the house in which you took your first steps, feel as he watches you catch a tear before it has left your eye -
look for him and he is gone.
    As if it were a religion, I have chanted inspirations to myself, for days now I have whined, and taunted, and almost wished him to arrive, and he has not. I have an incredible headache from trying to think of his weaknesses, when in fact, I couldn't begin to know them. Perhaps I am wrong altogether about his lust only for the fear in his particular victim... I must say honestly, I am tired of making light of the situation and believe that if I do not sleep soon, I shall begin seeing BOB everywhere. This, need I mention, would not be good for me at present.
    I am lonely here, and find myself thinking about Bobby, who I know would hold me in his arms the way I can't imagine anyone else doing.

    Be careful, Laura

October 1,1986
    Dear Diary,

    I'm sorry I haven't written, but so much has happened. Tonight as I began to undress for bed Bobby Briggs came to my window. A beautiful, dreamy sight that sent me reeling. He says there is a party we couldn't miss out at the end of Sparkwood. A friend of his, Leo-who I think I've heard of before in the air of gossip that I often hunt down-is throwing a party. I warned him, I had only thought seriously of curling up with him, and confessed that I was missing more sleep than I need to be sociable.
    He promised me there would be no problem in the alertness department, as he had a new treat for me to try that sometimes negates the need for sleep entirely.
    I'm out the window, Diary. Shhhh!
    I'll tell all the moment I return. I'm hiding you... beware of BOB... he is sometimes tardy.

    Laura

    P.S. It just struck me that BOB's name is a warning in itself...
    B. BEWARE
    O. OF
    B. BOB

October 3,1986
    Dear Diary,

    I don't know where to begin! I returned home the following afternoon, without a single gripe from the watchdogs, Mom and Dad. I was halfway down the side of the house when I realized I was heading way out of upper town, to a party filled with people at least six to ten years my senior... and I was thinking I'd be back by sunrise? Never! Not to mention that Bobby had some "Go Fast" for me somewhere... at least I thought that to be the situation before we arrived at Leo's... I'm guilty of the understatement of the year with that one.
    But anyway, I must first brag about the tangled web I did weave, and how not a stitch was out of place or questioned when I arrived back home at nearly six P.M. the following day! Need I say, I have now crossed over into a dimension of intense sleep deprivation? Three days and four nights... and taking into consideration the treat I was given as a door prize before leaving, I could be up until next month, painlessly dropping pound after pound... (six and a half since the last day I slept). I find that