February 25th, 1977

Again– sitting on the train in Union Station. Another weekend in Philadelphia with Gene. My weeks have become only build-ups for the weekends. Days to be gotten through. Gorgeous days, nonetheless. Beautiful beautiful balmy warm days. Washington as elegant as a grand old lady under screaming bright blue skies. And yet I feel disembodied.

Living in Mary’s apartment is becoming unbearable. I never thought I would be there so long.

—-

Aimlessness and vague dissatisfaction are turning into a full-scale crisis.

—-

Oh, fuck you and your crisis.