March 20th, 1979

Caged in Rosslyn.

At home alone; Chip is at work, Wendy is in New York for the week. My poverty prevents me from going out tonight. Although I’m somewhat relived to have to deal with all that restlessness. Allan and I have been going out quite a bit recently. No romance but much fun. Nights to myself like this have become rare. I’m not sure how much I enjoy them either. I have a tendency to wring my hands when left alone. I am a creature of compulsion and I find little in a house alone to feed my compulsions. My insatiable compulsions.

My recent breakup with Bob B. (there have been so many that I now have to start speaking of them with their last names– to avoid confusion) has left me (of course) battered (again).

It occurs to me that I don’t dislike these caged evenings at home alone as much as I suspect I should. Tanya Tucker singing country love songs on the stereo; swilling cold beer and watching smoke curling from my full ashtray. Tanya sings about heart break hotel and I clack away at my typewriter trying to dramatize my life. Yearning for some plot that I can cooperate with. Something to need.