August 2nd, 1981

Up early for a busy day. Sadie and I walk to Washington Square. The park is quiet; birds chirp, butterflies dart across the grass. A young man perches atop a bench playing a flute. The lawns are littered with bodies of winos still sleeping– lying face down, sprawled on their backs, curled fetaly– scattered like casualties of a war. Back home, Allan is up and we visit over coffee. A shower and head uptown for a couple of hours in the office. Easy does it, but do it. Take it easy. Next week is going to be monstrous; I must go through it composed and efficient. I was back home by 2– I napped briefly, watched part of The Thin Man on television, and went to the laundromat.

Joanne and I visit on the phone. Then I showered and met Adam at the Waverly for The Wolfen– a rather awful horror film. Afterward we went to Jean’s Restaurant for coffee. We had marvelous conversation about meditation and sobriety and sex and insomnia. Sitting at the table across from us was George, who I met a couple of week’s ago at Sheridan Square. I like him enormously. He is filled with light. We smiled at each other. When he stood to leave he stopped at our table and spoke to Adam. Then he touched my face and hair and said “you look good in red”– I’m wearing my red t-shirt. He is sweet and kind, and I know I would like to sleep with him. My feelings for him are strong and bright. It would be an act of love.

This late night Sunday is an act of love. My dog snores on the sofa next to me. Joy folds about me like strong silent arms.