January 24th, 1982
Quiet Sunday morning. Allan has been away for the past week. In Florida, visiting his parents. It has been a marvelous luxury to have the apartment to myself. Perhaps I enjoy my privacy too much. This weekend I’ve done a nose dive into isolation. The weather yesterday was a perfect excuse for holing up inside— snow and ice and freezing rain. I spent the day puttering— napping and reading— washing clothes— chanting— not answering the telephone. It rang intermittently throughout the day. I resented any intrusion into my life yesterday. I think it may be very health for me to not live alone— to be forced to deal with daily experiences of sharing and communicating. I am such a solitary, isolated person. However much I choose to bitch and complain— Allan is my brother— my family— and living with him is probably very good for me now.