January 28th, 1973

I am sitting in a clean-shining kitchen. Margie has returned. We cleaned house today. Tonight Marvin and Sylvia came down and we had green been/onion soup– grilled cheese sandwiches and iced tea and chocolate cake.

We watched TV– I read a bit– Marvin and Sylvia went home. Margie is listening to the Stones– I have just finished washing dishes and now am sitting down partially stoned to have some tea and write.

Much needs to be written on the recent and current affairs of Margie’s relationship to me. My mind has been agonizing– analyzing for days.

I have tired of Margie– but beyond that I have come to distrust her– my acceptance of her superficiality has lately been transformed into a clear uneasiness of her parasite nature– how she feeds off my life, my thoughts, my experiences– how she robs my mind of its discoveries– 

I have come to see how destructive to me our symbiosis has been.

Our neutered sisterhood has become barren.

How it causes one to wretch when I realize how much personal vulnerability I have allowed Margie– so much that in her desperate unending negativity she can actually go so far into her madness as to effect an attitude of patronization toward me. As I write this I realize how free I have already become of the thousand unseen negative entrapments of Margie. I can’t be bothered.

I keep a journal– Margie keeps a journal– I read a book– Margie reads a book– I have an opinion– Margie has an opinion. I tell a story– weeks later Margie tells the story as a personal experience– forgetting that I told her the story. 

99% of all Margie’s friends she knows through me!

She never intrigues me– fascinates me– causes me to respect her. I tire of her mimicry. 

I resent her boy unspoken sexual availability to me– always getting it on when we trip–

Margie even looks over my shoulder when I am writing– seeing her name drip over my pages–

Now I must be taken with hiding my lovely diaries–

This venom exhausts me.