[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.