August 1st, 1975

I just spoke with Peggy and Ed on the telephone. Richard is late getting home from work. I am drinking beer and smoking cigarettes and trying to relax after my first week back to work. Except for the newspaper deadlines, which are inviolable, I have not put in monstrous hours this week.

Nonetheless, I left the office today with my back aching, my head throbbing, my legs sore, my hands stiff, my nerves on edge. Monday, my first day back I was vital and energetic. Slowly, day by day, as the week wore on, I felt the effects.

My conversation with Peggy was extraordinarily blasé. The guru-Baptists of 18th Street have settled into a typical middle-class existence with color TV and telephone. The audacity of Peggy– poor plain little brown wren Peggy– to condescend and criticize me.

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After a long winter’s nap, I am just beginning to come to life.