August 22nd, 1981
It is a strange transformation from a week of such extraordinary hyper activity to near total non-activity. It is early evening. The agenda for tonight is making dinner and watching television. The house is quiet and tranquil. I find myself mildly unhappy and cannot say why. I feel tired. This morning Wendy and I walked the dogs to the park. Then the three of us went to Eastern Market and bought fresh vegetables. Wendy made cheese omelettes and then we went to Georgetown and saw a Russian film “Moscow Does Not Believe in Tears.” Back home, we all napped. Now the evening gently arrives.
Last night I went to a meeting up Connecticut Avenue– a gay meeting. So many memories and emotions surface just by my being back in Washington. My whole adult life was spent here. The memories of a nineteen year old Larry. Some element of sadness is awakened, a feeling akin to loss.
I just don’t feel very good tonight. Off-key. Mildly depressed. Perhaps it is the cumulative effects of fatigue. I miss David. I long to make love to him. I called him this afternoon in Santa Fe.
It is past midnight and I am sitting cross legged in my bed. I got home no long ago and Wendy and John are asleep. The house is quiet. Washington is unseasonably cool. Crickets chirp outside the open window.
Tonight I had planned on a quiet night at home with John and Wendy– but I found myself becoming more and more out of sorts– vaguely depressed. At the last minute, I put my contacts in and made it cross town by Metro to a gay AA meeting. Inexplicably, as usual, the meeting got me back together in one piece. I left feeling joyous and full. After the meeting several guys came up to speak to me and invited me out for coffee. I love being in the role of “visiting New Yorker”– I feel like it is a charade– D.C. still is as familiar to me as ever; and feels like home. We all went to the Trio for coffee– great bunch of men. In my whole life I have never had many male friends. It is very difficult for me to relate to men in a nonsexual manner. Jim’s arrival in my life was the beginning of my relating to men in a loving, but nonsexual way. Afterward, en masse– there were twelve of us– we all went to Mr. P’s. Then we went across the street to the Fraternity House. The music was good and the bar was comfortable. I was down to my last few dollars and left to catch the last metro before midnight. The meeting, the fellowship, was all just what I needed. Whereas I was feeling very mixed up about being back in DC– now I feel wonderful. This is a great town after all. New York is my home– but it’s great fun to visit the city where so much of my life happened.
Sober alcoholics are gods in service to a Higher Power. They are my brothers. And the energy that passes between us is pure love. I cannot be long away from them.
Back on the Hill, I went into the Snake Pit to spend my last dollar on a Perrier. The bar had a good crowd and the music was wonderful and I felt great. I always enjoy that unusual bar. I got a couple of heavy cruises, which flattered me but only made me think of an angel sleeping in Santa Fe. I would give anything to hold him next to me right now.
Now I tuck myself into bed feeling happy and well.