August 22nd, 1979
Dearest Sonja,
I was so relieved to get your letter– I’ve lost your address and have spent more than one drunk evening dragging out unpacked boxes of personal debris that might have a letter from you in it. I panic when too much times goes by without contact. I’m always afraid I might lose you.
I moved back into the city in June; Wendy and I have rented a house on Capitol Hill. Getting out of the suburbs became a desperate mission for both of us. Besides, we prefer sharing a house without the presence of a third roommate. So here we are.
Perhaps I’ve not been more persistent in trying to contact you because my own life such a hackneyed rehash of every summer I’ve spent for the last ten years. Ten lurid humid suffocating summers trying to get out of Washington. But you’ve been hearing this story from me for so long that I even tire of hearing it. I am still drinking too much, smoking too much and still dragging myself downtown every day to put ads together for Garfinckel’s. And I am still being tossed about in supposedly romantic relationships that always leave me stranded in the preposterous role of a victimized woman.
And for the past week or so I’ve been nearly bedridden with a horrible summer cold that has transformed itself into a lung infection.