January 11th, 1981
Winter twilight. This winter feels like one long twilight. I’m glad for work tomorrow. A week off in the apartment and I’m starting to get stir crazy. I’ve spent the day cleaning, finally. The apartment was a wreck. I’ve managed to get it put together with the exception of the hallway, where I have been piling debris from all the other rooms as I clean. I’ll do it next. I seem to resist getting the place put together and keeping it that way. It’s sort of like not losing weight. By staying fat I have an excuse for not being loved. By keeping the apartment a wreck I preclude the possibility of bringing anyone home. Enough of this. Tuesday I start Scarsdale again and look forward to the self confidence that sobriety always brings.
Tom called late yesterday and asked me to meet him for a drink at Ty’s. Allan was on his way over so I had him meet us there. We go to Boots and Saddles and wonder what to do next. It’s early but none of us feel like being in. We go to Trilogy. We went to Tom’s apartment and listened to Evita and drank beer and I took a hit of that marvelous mescaline that Tom has. Tom shows us his “family album”– pictures of him and George, his roommate and life long friend. I see a younger pretty man who barely resembles Tom. The pictures are not that old. He really looks haggard– but it’s not that craggy “been around” look of a seasoned New Yorker. It’s a tiredness, a weariness. Our joke about marrying each other and settling in Westchester is more than a joke; I think Tom really wants to stop the boozing and brawling and do a domestic routine for awhile. And there are long afternoons like this when dusk settles like fog across the Village and I stare at my quiet ordered apartment and think I want the same.
Allan and I left Tom’s and came back to my place and watched Valley of the Dolls on television. By now, I was buzzing on the mescaline. I burn popcorn and we drink coffee and watch TV until nearly 2:30. I tell Allan we must hit the bars before they close. I am really off on the mescaline and I know that I need a few beers to quiet down. Ty’s is an old friend. Dennis, sexy Dennis, visits and buys me beers. God, I love that man. Ex-air force solid guy. I stare at him and remember the night with my fist up his ass. I want to have an affair with him desperately, but will not jeopardize this good relationship that has developed between between us as bartender and regular at the bar. Tom and his roommate George arrive and some pathetic little number is with them. I am not sure, but presume, that this is Tom’s trick for the night. God, I feel sorry for you, Tom. Let me love you and move to Westchester and you away from all this. Oh, but not tonight. He leaves abruptly with his “friend,” and my feelings are hurt, mildly. Indignant, really, that Tom should be with such a little twerp. Allan and I close Boots and Saddles which by now is into those last few desperate minutes when all the drunks are trying to pick each other up. The mescaline makes me godlike in my perceptions and I love watching. Allan and I wound up at Tiffany’s, drinking coffee and talking until God knows when and finally came home and crashed.