August 2nd, 1977
Riding to work with Jimmy. Went out late last night to Cy’s for a nightcap. Met and went home with a very interesting man. Married with a wife and two kids in Potomac, Maryland. He talks like my Uncle Lewie. He is intelligent and kind and makes me feel good. Next morning listening to his shower noises– having coffee and feeling like a whore propped up on pillows in his wife’s bed.
Whoredom as a function of loneliness.
I saw a picture in an advertisement. A photograph in my Apartment Life magazine of a happy couple at dinner. Terrific people, terrific apartment, terrific clothes. Good looking people who radiate intelligence, zest, vitality.
I contrast this view with the mentality that I encountered in Missouri– the existence my parents have endured throughout their lives. Constant hard work to survive. My God, knocking themselves out every day on making money. Paying bills. Getting by. This view of life dominated by toil. Toil and trouble.
I am more fantastic than that. And I need to be fantastic. And I love having fantastic people around me. I need vision and romance and drama. This is my lifestyle. Passion. I think of my cousin, Bill, and his wife, Anita. How they live. (It occurs to me that I am wrong about them. They really don’t typify what I am trying to describe)
The fact that we are not here forever makes content so important. We should be deeply concerned at every moment with where we are– and what we are doing.
I shall pursue any love story to its logical conclusion… consequently, I fall in love a lot.
Miss Lotsa keeps comin’ on.