1/21/91

I went to the Tate Gallery today - saw everything and loved it. Kevin, of course, hated it, but that is fine. It'd be awfully boring if we all liked the same stuff. I still feel strange when standing in front of one of Picasso's paintings. I don't know why. Isn't it just different colored oils smeared on a canvas, or a block of stone chipped into a recognizable form? The more abstract the works were, the more compelling they were to me. I saw a red square with a white line across it and I was moved.

It seems that all we talk about anymore is theater or the war. I'm worried about the war and that I could conceivably be drafted. It really scares me to think that the government could send me off to die, especially since I totally disagree with what our country is doing over there. It really seems real. Everywhere we went today our bags were searched and there were guards all over the theater tonight. I thought we only read about this stuff...