Second day of Scarsdale, sobriety, and getting my life in order. Reagan was inaugurated today. The hostages were released from Iran. I eat my brussel sprouts and cry through the news. I ignore the homesickness for Washington that has nagged me for the past few days and wait for my life to take hold here. I spec’d type for the Garfinckel’s Spring catalogue tonight. My first project with the new job. Oh, please god, please let me just love and adore this job. I need to so badly. I will. My determination to lose weight and get my life back in an upswing is enormous. I’m hyper with sobriety. After finishing the work, I straightened the apartment and took a shower and dressed. Andy called and we talked for awhile. I feel ambivalent about going out. I still talked for awhile. I feel ambivalent about going out. I still have the remains of fever blisters on my lips and I just don’t feel like I look good. I paint, which is a practice I’ve nearly stopped. I iron a shirt and dress three times. Fussing in the mirror. Staring at my middle and wondering if I’ve lost any weight yet. I need to go out. I need to be in a bar and have disco music and people around me. I go to Ty’s. Jack, a trick from years ago is there. I love running into Washingtonians and playing the par of New Yorker. I stand at the bar and drink club soda and lime. This bar is not hot tonight. The men are not good looking and they do not look like Villagers. I leave and walk to Boots, amazed at home different bar hopping feels with a clear head. Boots is at least crowded and there are several pretty men. I stand at the bar and half-assed cruise a couple of men. Tricking feels remote. I’m glad just to be out. There is no sexual or emotional urgency. I went to the bathroom and while I was waiting in line, out of nowhere, a fat man in a tie and overcoat plunged headlong across the floor and fell, hard, face down in the men’s room. It was an awful picture, lying face down in the piss covered floor, with one hand in the repulsive toilet which he grabbed as he fell. He just laid there. He did not move. I was closest to him and I just watched. Someone from behind me went in and tried to help the man, who still continued to just lay there on the foul floor. Is he drunk? Is he hurt? Why doesn’t he get up? Finally, two men managed to get him on his feet. His nose and mouth were bleeding. He stood impassively and made no effort to wipe the blood from his face. Kendall, the bartender, came rushing back with a wad of napkins from the bar and with great tenderness put his arm around the guy’s shoulders and wiped his face. Kendall spoke to him as if he were a child. The man just stood there and allowed Kendall to minister to him, he made no effort to help himself. He just stood there dumbly. When I left a few minutes earlier, I saw Kendall walking the man down the street toward the subway. Still with his arm around his shoulder. Big, brawny bear Kendall. I am moved by this show of compassion. You are a good man, Kendall.
January 20th, 1981
January 20th, 1981
January 20th, 1981
Second day of Scarsdale, sobriety, and getting my life in order. Reagan was inaugurated today. The hostages were released from Iran. I eat my brussel sprouts and cry through the news. I ignore the homesickness for Washington that has nagged me for the past few days and wait for my life to take hold here. I spec’d type for the Garfinckel’s Spring catalogue tonight. My first project with the new job. Oh, please god, please let me just love and adore this job. I need to so badly. I will. My determination to lose weight and get my life back in an upswing is enormous. I’m hyper with sobriety. After finishing the work, I straightened the apartment and took a shower and dressed. Andy called and we talked for awhile. I feel ambivalent about going out. I still talked for awhile. I feel ambivalent about going out. I still have the remains of fever blisters on my lips and I just don’t feel like I look good. I paint, which is a practice I’ve nearly stopped. I iron a shirt and dress three times. Fussing in the mirror. Staring at my middle and wondering if I’ve lost any weight yet. I need to go out. I need to be in a bar and have disco music and people around me. I go to Ty’s. Jack, a trick from years ago is there. I love running into Washingtonians and playing the par of New Yorker. I stand at the bar and drink club soda and lime. This bar is not hot tonight. The men are not good looking and they do not look like Villagers. I leave and walk to Boots, amazed at home different bar hopping feels with a clear head. Boots is at least crowded and there are several pretty men. I stand at the bar and half-assed cruise a couple of men. Tricking feels remote. I’m glad just to be out. There is no sexual or emotional urgency. I went to the bathroom and while I was waiting in line, out of nowhere, a fat man in a tie and overcoat plunged headlong across the floor and fell, hard, face down in the men’s room. It was an awful picture, lying face down in the piss covered floor, with one hand in the repulsive toilet which he grabbed as he fell. He just laid there. He did not move. I was closest to him and I just watched. Someone from behind me went in and tried to help the man, who still continued to just lay there on the foul floor. Is he drunk? Is he hurt? Why doesn’t he get up? Finally, two men managed to get him on his feet. His nose and mouth were bleeding. He stood impassively and made no effort to wipe the blood from his face. Kendall, the bartender, came rushing back with a wad of napkins from the bar and with great tenderness put his arm around the guy’s shoulders and wiped his face. Kendall spoke to him as if he were a child. The man just stood there and allowed Kendall to minister to him, he made no effort to help himself. He just stood there dumbly. When I left a few minutes earlier, I saw Kendall walking the man down the street toward the subway. Still with his arm around his shoulder. Big, brawny bear Kendall. I am moved by this show of compassion. You are a good man, Kendall.