Robert seems not to need the privacy I need; and I need very little. But the small amount that I do need in my life is a relentless need. Tonight, for example, I needed to just be alone, collapse about the house in my bathrobe haphazardly reading a biography of Gertrude Stein. I haven’t even turned on music or television. The quiet and alone-ness feel necessary.

My lifestyle has grown to preclude solitude.

I grasp at moments alone.

I try to take advantage of time alone.

I hate for Wendy to lecture me on matters that are clearly self-evident. I just had a conversation with myself about how pulled I feel in so many directions and how a relationship that takes up so much time becomes difficult. I hear Wendy pointing out how neurotic and middle-class it is for two people to be seeing each other so often– every night. Planning each and every social situation with each other. How boring. How bourgeois. How like two monkeys clinging to each other.

Privacy, maintaining a personal life is vital to a healthy relationship. How much more inspired and sensual one’s personal possessions than public domain.

Learning to assert my needs for privacy.

This odd crossroads between my new life here with Wendy and my new life with Richard.

It’s not an unpleasant life, having separate homes– but not one I would want to pursue indefinitely.