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August 10th, 1981
Recuperation. Sitting on the sofa drinking seltzer water. Sadie sits in the middle of the floor and, curiously, stares at me. In one corner, the television mumbles on low volume, in the other corner the fan roars gale winds across the room, breaking this thick hot summer night. Eleven days of incredible activity at work. There have been three major projects going on simultaneously. I have managed the work and myself with great elan– maintaining a strong steady pace, never breaking stride. Handling my job beautifully and joyfully. With a little surrender and a Higher Power. Channeling energy into every moment. Now the major crush of work is over and I must tend to the equally important job of rest. Refilling. Restoration. I went to the beginners meeting at St. Luke’s tonight– and did not stay for the 8:30 meeting. Home alone I make myself a cheeseburger and scrub the kitchen sink and clean the bathroom. I put my shirt to soak in the sink. And wait for David to call. Oh, dear diary, whatever shall I say about this wonderful man who has entered my life? This beautiful, sensitive, intelligent, sweet wonderful man. This infatuation seems to be mutual. Two dates and we are in the midst of a full fledged affair. I do not allow myself to analyze this. He is a warm and beautiful man I am enormously attracted to him. I seem to have met my match romantically. Ah, romance. Ah, infatuation. Beautiful webs spin by the imagination. They break apart and tear at first contact with reality. I know that I have the maturity to love. Does he? The ancient impulse to protect myself, not to get hurt emerges. Fuck it– I am not the script writer anymore. I just play the scenes I find myself in. And I find myself in a wonderful romance with a beautiful young god.