April 14th, 1975

Late night. Richard is in bed. Maggie is snoring away beside me on the sofa. Sadie is curled up in the wicker chair across from me. The dishwasher is splashing and whirring in the dark kitchen. 

My home is a dark moist womb.

I am curled up. Eternity is ticking away.

I worked until 10:00 tonight. I am tired. Physically, and emotionally, I am tired.

I got a telephone call from my mother Saturday night. Drunk. Crying, complaining. Telling new horror stories. Same themes as all the old ones. Now she wants to leave him and come live with me. She wants me to check the classified ads for a job. I told her I would send her the money to fly out here. My God, how the call tore me up. I have spent two nights worrying and scheming for her. And, after two nights, the fact that she hasn’t called me back leads me to believe that it was little more than a drunken call at midnight.

I have given a lot of thought to a letter to my father– totally and forever severing our relationship. A letter disembodying myself of my father. Or, at least, the myself of my father. Or, at least, the image of my father. Freeing myself. At last.

I continue to amaze myself with satisfaction. Tonight I feel so satisfied.

It’s an old feeling with me. A feeling I remember from my show biz career in high school. I remember the passion I encountered with my plays, my drama.

It satisfies me greatly, in much the same way as my old passions to put out a magazine. Such drama leading up to the deadline. Such tensions and panics and moments of intense concentration. 

Believe me– it’s nice living here right now. Our house is so warm and rich and wonderful. And mainly– chiefly– because of Richard’s richness and warmth. How he fills this place up with his beingness.

Moments like now– when I can sit in a room in a house in Arlington, Virginia and imagine the ocean roaring outside. And dream about the ocean roaring outside.

It’s raining. A gentle warm spring rain. 

All the earth is coming to life.

So am I.

Thunder in the earth.