December 20th, 1978
My annual Christmas depression begins to close in on me. As usual, I’ve put off everything until the last minute– the final week. I was counting on John repaying me $100 of the money he owes me and my last check for the laborer to buy Christmas gifts with. Finally today I called John and he hemmed and hawed and said he would try to get me $50. In the meantime the mails are completely fucked up and we’ve received everyone’s mail on our block but our own for a week now. So I don’t expect to get the Laborer check. I waited too long to buy my airline tickets and my reservations were cancelled. I managed to get another flight on Sunday, Christmas Eve– but I still don’t know if it has been cleared for Sadie to fly with me. And the check I wrote for the ticket overdrew my bank account by $30 or so (I expected to have John’s money by now). So I whine and bitch and hate myself and my dreary life and wish I could kill myself for effect– just to prove to this world that I cannot handle all these problems.
So where are the loving hands of God caring for his people?
Oh, stop it Larry– you bore me with your hysteria.
Lonely and unloved with more problems than I care to handle. I don’t deserve this.