June 27th, 1973

I walked over to Gayle’s today after work. I had to get out of the house. Jesus, I haven’t been out of this scene between these four walls and work. Everything has been work or home for so long. The walk over was fantastic. So great to be doing something that used my whole body instead of just my eyes and shoulders and hands. I get so tired of crouching over that paste-up table.

I am tired– tired, exhausted and bitchy and I’m sitting here stoned, worrying at the negative, tension level of my life. Really. Gayle said I looked terrible– she mentioned it a couple of times. My face is pallid– my eyes are sunk into shadowy pits. I look yellowish and lackluster. I’m also wanting to smoke a cigarette really badly. Did have a few– several drags on a couple of cigarettes at the drive-in the other night when Richard had left the car– I felt so guilty about it– God how fucked up– all the suffering I go through is so mentally induced by my non-standards– needs–

It really seems to me that sanity must really be just not really giving a fuck about anything– no values, no standards–

Just plain don’t give a shit about nothing– loss or gain–

the superior man takes not loss nor gain to heart.