August 19th, 1973
Aboard Southern Flight 718
Just left Mobile, Alabama– gliding queezily through thick grey clouds. Homesick and a little nauseous.
Mom and Dad and Aunt Cat and Hank and Joey saw me off at the airport– I felt particularly tender about leaving Mom this time. I love her very much and there is a lot that I worry about her. At 43 years of age, she is working as hard as she was at 20. And they have very little materially to show for their work. Oh, they are quite comfortable– they live and enjoy themselves very well– but it’s that type of security peculiar to the American working class. You’re secure so long as you can keep working and bringing home a paycheck. I can’t keep from wondering what it will be like when they are both too old or infirm (god forbid) to work.
When I leave I always feel that I’ve been a horrible guest. Moody, quiet– withdrawn. It’s not that way when I’m alone with Mom and Dad– but when Aunt Cat (and Hank) or Uncle Willie and his gang of terror are involved I usually just get overpoweringly tired and lay down. Uncle Willie even commented today– after I had slept through their visit– that the next time I’m down to drop in and sleep.
I wish I could be more like Naomi– or my mother for that matter. In social situations, they can be relied on to keep the conversation moving. I wish I were more cheerful and sociable. I’m afraid it has become a lost art for me
I am sick at my stomach.