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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.