June 12th, 1977
Panic slashes through the day. Oh, crazy details. Tension.
Here I am on Sunday night exhausted by the treacheries of the mundane. Months ago our hallway light blew out. And it wasn’t the bulb, and it wasn’t the fuse. So we figured (Gregg and I) that it must be something strange with the switch or the wiring. But since no emergency seemed to be presenting itself– and also because of our desperate dead of causing difficulties for the rental people (nothing to upset the low-rent situation here–) because of all this– we ignored the problem.
Then, the dining room lights went out. OK– something is weird with the wiring– maybe a circuit blew. Oh well… Then the kitchen overhead lights went out. Next the lights in Jim’s bedroom. And of course, the overhead lights in my room have never worked. Jim’s room was two weeks ago and we continue to ignore the fact that the overhead lights are out in all except the living room and the bathroom.
Easy enough to ignore. You just use lamps in every room. Charming, actually.
Well anyway, conversation at Lynn’s for breakfast somehow brought up all this information. Richard, Lynn’s hunk brother-in-law (oh diary, I tell you everything) is an electrician. He commented on how potentially dangerous the situation and suddenly everybody at the table had a horror story about write smoldering in walls for weeks before bursting into flame. After smoking a joint after breakfast the whole situation exploded in my face. I left quickly and came home, my god, to do something! I was horrified by my stupidity, and my negligence, and the awful horror I had been subjecting myself and my loved one’s to. I saw the apartment going up in smoke as I lay passed out on the sofa and Sadie begged at the door to be let out.
Oh I have no ambition to recount the events. The day involved Richard’s coming up to disconnect the faulty fixtures and for me to swoon inwardly a thousand times for him. And Mary stopping by– and Glen, my retired old man who lives upstairs next to me– and everything’s OK– and everything is safe now. And Mary and I , at her friend’s instigation cleaned off a good deal of the back porch. So now, all I have to worry about is the fact that my fish, Uncle Willie, may be dying, and the apartment is a wreck, and I’m not the person that I want to be, and I’m becoming alcoholic, and I am unloved, and I have bills to pay.
and… and… and…
I wouldn’t trade this story in for one of being in Springfield, Missouri tonight.
It’s funny I should think of that. But as I just read of my daily tension I thought, “oh but how much better than the world of my cousin Freddie tonight.”
Sonja calls me today in the midst of my turmoil. I have to call back. Too much. I call back tonight. Sonja is too crazy for me.