Discover more from The Last Hundred Miles
March 25th, 1971
To begin, waking up in my apartment this morning was possibly one of the finest things to have happened to me in a long time. I woke up very suddenly, I think. I was just all at once aware of the fact that it was morning and Margie was still asleep beside me and that the apartment was very bright with the mid-morning, Saturday-morning light and that the room was very cold. I rolled over and moved my legs to touch Margie’s wrapped warmly in the heavy patchwork quilt. Margie made a sleep noise and rolled closer to me and I saw that Solomon was curled up sleeping soundly on the other side of Margie. The three of us moved closer together under the quilt and I relaxed in the warmth to consider that today would be the first day of my new enterprise. Today, the fact that two weeks ago yesterday I really had given my two weeks notice at Army Times. Six fifteen yesterday afternoon when I had walked out the front door of Army Times I had indeed walked away from a situation, a group of people and a way of life that had been a constant for me for the last two years. In fact, the only constant I had ever established for myself. The world that I structured around Army Times has been the only world I have ever made for myself. Voluntarily, I have brought an end to everything that I had created. No more Don, Bob, big fat pay checks and work-week neurosis that builds and grows on itself until Friday night rolled around. All of that, dear reader, is gone.
So, here I sit… on a Saturday afternoon that I know is not going to turn itself into another Monday, another week. This Saturday has absolutely nothing to automatically turn itself into without my created something. So, I think I”m just going to sit back for a few days and contemplate this situation and decide just what it is that I think I must do now to start again.
On and on the river flows… watch the river flow…
My major activity so far today has been a walk with Peggy and Ed and Margie down to Schwartz Drug Store early this afternoon to buy some typing paper which, symbolically enough, is a new journal. This will be my third. I’ve put the other two on my bookshelf.
This must be the beginning of a new novel. I mean, after all, I am starting it aren’t I?