March 18th, 1976
I am getting ready for work. In the bathroom. Bobby is still in bed. He holds me all night long and rubs my back and calls me baby. I am late. I must suddenly bounce into action and face a day at work. Buoyancy is a technique I am learning. I can’t exist in a slump all the time.
Why shouldn’t I spend time– good times– with a guy like Bobby? What steel traps keep springing shut inside? He’s nice. I can see and feel where his experiences are coming from.
But it’s not the whore fucking the sailor passion that I feel with Richard. Why do I close down when I realize that feeling is not there? I should be able to have a multitude of positive relationships.
—-
Later that night
Slipped away from being stoned and making out in technicolor blur into the bathroom to smoke menthol cigarettes and feel very stoned and gulp cool beer.
I am in love with Bobby. Bobby my bar boy. Sweet Bobby.
Rocking gently through another stoned night.
—-
I must remain as high as I can about certain things. I just walked out of the bathroom from taking a shower through cool rooms into my bedroom and delighted in being at home.