December 16th, 1976

Friday night with Juan haunts me. Forced me to face that fact that I am in love with him.

Can I storm troop into my interior and demand that my emotions simply stop this nonsense? Should I admit to the pain? And do what? Wallow in it?

A situation that seems to offer no chance of any personal happiness. Goddamn it, isn’t this precisely my relationship with Richard? It scares me to think of a recurring tragedy like this.

Am I a junkie for falling in love with men who cannot love me the way I need to be loved? Or has all this been coincidental?

—-

I spend an entire evening, nearly, looking into a full-length mirror. I plot and plot and think and think.