February 12th, 1978
Another day floats past me. Sunday. Bright, cold Sunday. I scour the wanted ads for an apartment. Only one lead– a townhouse for $400 a month around DuPont Circle. I call Russ from the office and tell him about it. He is interested and we arrange to see it tomorrow at 12:30. Who knows what will happen to me next. I hate this feeling of limbo. Of not knowing what is going to happen to me next.
Salvation. Lynn calls and has me down for dinner and television. I sit and drink coffee and try to relax with my friends. We laugh at a Burt Reynold’s movie and kid each other and I keep fretfully trying not to think about the fact that very soon I will not have a home. I need to vacate this apartment as soon as possible. I will put my furniture into storage and move in with a friend, temporarily. It seems like such an imposition. Thank God that at least I have that option.
Why has everything fallen apart like this? I can’t understand why instability seems to haunt me. Stability is such a fundamental need for me. How can it be such an impossibility?
God, in less than one year’s time, I have broken my leg, had a ruinous relationship with a roommate, lost my father, had a root canal, worried constantly about money, gotten fat, and spent most of that time lonely and unhappy.
THIS IS NOT MY IDEA OF A HAPPY LIFE.
And the really scary part is that now– amidst the ruins of my current life, I am at a loss for a new dream. I can think of no escape. I feel no energy, no positive energy for change. Stagnation and decay is all I can feel.