February 16th, 1977

Current rumblings go like this: I am not driven toward any definite goals with my life. The issue is not now. I am still in the same position I was in three years ago when I moved to New York. After years of working at Army Times I realized that although I might have a “good job” it was not anything to satisfy my needs for a life’s work. The move to New York at best satisfied my need for sudden action. But it was so poorly planned and executed that, of course, it failed. And now I know that my marriage to Richard allowed me to avoid planning my own life. I could devote all my passions and love into our relationship, our future. When that failed, I found myself not only older– but with the same problems, I had as a 22-year-old. Now, I am approaching 26 and the problem still haunts my days: What to do with my life. 

I am not miserable– yet. As a matter of fact, a sudden change– embarking on some radically new career– would be too much for my system. The chaos of this past year is still very much with me and I need a sense of order and stability around me. Yet I also need dreams– and I have none.

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Time alone is precious to me. Sitting here now amid the rubble of the dumpy apartment I hear cathedral bells ringing the joyous chant you normally only hear on Sunday morning. On a cold clear night. I wonder why.