May 21st, 1976

[continued]

A Friday night at home. I try to act calm and self-confident. Don’t want to feel sorry for myself. My own meager self-pity is tiring me.

I fry myself two hamburgers. I have no bread– so I shall melt cheese on them and eat them like little steaks. I pretend everything is normal. Yet, in the kitchen, I could collapse with my need for Richard and to have our world back. I brace myself and remind me how unhappy I was in that relationship. Tonight walking home from the bus I longed so desperately to walk on home to our house on 39th Place and find Richard at home– clothes strewn about the house– fixing himself a drink.

I rave about the pain of the past few months. I am waiting for something to happen to me. Everything in my life has always happened– as opposed to causing it to happen. All the important things have presented themselves to me as inevitabilities– while my puny designs and plans have been constantly altered to accommodate the surprises. The important things demand to be dealt with. Like meeting Richard. Moving to Washington. All the jobs I have had. All unplanned. Certain days I have had my life charted and guided.

Which means, I suppose, that I should sit tight and wait for all this loneliness and isolation to end. 

When will I fall in love? When will I have a home again? When will this loneliness be gone?