November 17th, 1981
Rainy cold night, cozy quiet apartment— radiators hissing steam. Bustly happy day. Some joyousness surrounds me and I feel wonderful. The city grows dim with winter. Grey solemnity halos the skyscrapers. I have never been happier— healthier— and perhaps, lonelier. My loneliness is an abstract awareness that never leaves me. This celibacy— physical and mental— does not feel healthy. Tonight I called my Aunt Betty. It was a dumb thing to do. We have nothing to talk about— we really don’t even know each other. It was my family I longed for. I need to be held. I need to feel loved. I am aware of my needs— and I am also aware of my inability to solve them. I am not writing this script anymore— and I must have faith that this scene is exactly as it should be. Laredo 8 months sober— starting to get his life back together— self-esteem beginning to emerge. A fragile delicate time. Quiet happy days strung together. When the time comes for our hero to fall in love— my higher power will write the scene infinitely better than I.