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April 8th, 1978
Beautiful spring morning. Finally it’s legitimately warm enough to wander in the yard with no shoes. Chippy leaves early to study at the library today. She has an exam on Monday. I float around the house in my own mental fog and drink gin and tonic and smoke cigarettes and try to place time and thought between me and last night.
Wretched night out. Off to a bad start– I can’t seem to hurry and don’t get to Allan’s apartment before midnight. Then we both seem to be up for different environments. Allan wants to go to the Eagle. I whine and say I don’t think I’m in the mood. Allan, who is basically a brat, snips that it’s just my frame of mind. Not caring enough to resist, I agree to the Eagle. I was right. Within minutes the bizarre array of people had me claustrophobic and anxious for humanity. On a Friday night, the bar has all the ambience of Grand Central Station. If you can manage to get a drink and find a spot to stand where you’re out of the constant flow of people walking, walking, walking from one room to another– you can stand and survey a truly weird assortment of men, most of them pathetic– pot bellied middle-aged men in complete highway patrol uniforms. Cowboys, strutting with their draft beers and stetsons. The absurdity of the situation was crushing. I insisted that we leave.
On the street– at least able to breath– we can’t decide where to go. It’s really late and time is wasting. We decide to go to Mr. P’s. We did have a relaxed, if uneventful, time there. Till the bar closed. If only I could be a little bit clairvoyant. Just capable of more accurately sensing impending situations. I had every clear indication last night that the party was over. Time to leave. Time to go home. Unable to admit an evening of basic uneventfulness– we won’t give up. We finally close the Fraternity which stays open till five. Whatever rich compelling forces that bring people together were simply not operating last night. And I knew that. I sensed that. Yet I refused to believe that the night would not end in passion.
Finally dragging someone home at 4:00 AM. Sad little guy with a bad complexion and an absolute waste of a body. Smart enough to know that I was lowering my standards to be with him and that we would never see each other again. I made that obvious. When we finally get into bed, daybreak is filtering through the windows. We make imaginary love. Even with my eyes closed it is hard for me to imagine enough to make it work. As he was leaving this morning I said something ridiculous like “It was nice to meet you. I’ll see you again.” He half-laughed and I knew how aware he was that I did not ever want to see him again.