July 11th, 1981
After the meeting tonight, I walked to the Bagel, thinking perhaps there would be friendly faces I could have coffee with. I am lonely, and walking into the restaurant alone only accentuates my feeling of being an outsider. I am not comfortable and leave. I walk to Julius’– I am always comfortable in a bar. I sit at the end of the bar and order a Saratoga. From this angle I can see behind the bar. I see green bottles of white wine chilling on ice. I watch the men leaning against the bar drinking cold beer. The music is disco and evokes a thousand memories of summer nights. I think of Florida. It seems as if the key that would unlock me from this sober isolation is simply one cold beer. Two or three drinks and I would not be so all alone in this world. A few drinks and the old flush of excitement would return– that bravado necessary fro tricking. Loosen up, relax, have a drink. The music seems to be blaring. I grabbed my cigarettes from the bar and left, wondering if it looked to everyone else as though I were bolting. I got a New York Times Sunday paper, a pint of Häagen-Dazs chocolate chip and returned to the safety of my apartment. Even now, a few hours later as I get ready for bed, the desire to drink is like a mental toothache.