March 15th, 1973
I feel more and more as if I am involved in an essentially unreal situation with Billy.
This has been weighing on me for two days and all I can think of is– again! again! again! It’s always fucked up somehow– even though this time is different because I feel that I am being guided by very honest– unquestionable impulses. This time I don’t think it’s because of my neurosis– as all the other times have been– this time I really believe I am being very real– very unneurotic.
I truly wish the pages of this diary were not such a tedious weary monologue of my inner world. I wish that every day I’m living could be flowing through the pages.
The fact that it’s summer!
(Spring)
and that the trees in front of Gayle’s apartment are bloomed and because the air smells like grass again and the air is warm and makes your forehead sweaty and because I am alive alive alive.