November 7th, 1976

Cool grey morning. Glover Park is littered with the massive skeletons of bare trees. Spotted with huge forms of trees still dying– great dignified blots of deep scarlet and orange. Sitting now in my living room. In front of an open window blowing with a cool gusty breeze. The apartment is quiet. Gregg is at church.

Yesterday Gregg and I cleaned out Gayle’s room. An enormous undertaking that left me exhausted. Now the room is empty– my mission today is to get my bed out of the storage room at Lynn’s and set up my own bedroom here. But I need help doing it and I just can’t ask for help. I walked down to Lynn’s this morning. I called her and she said she was making breakfast, so I invited myself down for coffee. I wanted to ask George to help me put the bed on top of his car and drive it up here. But they’re having such a nice relaxed Sunday morning at home that I just couldn’t ask for help doing something as strenuous as hauling a bed.

While I was there having coffee, Richard came in. Obviously, he was part of the breakfast plans. I felt awfully uninvited– and I wished Lynn had told me that the three of them were all having breakfast. I can’t really explain the discomfort I feel being with Richard socially. When he and I are alone I feel relaxed– but with other people, I feel strained. For three years he and I shared a mutual identity. When I am with him and other people I feel somewhat confused as to my role. Always– Richard was the leader of our duo. He was the masculine, husband, leader. I was the passive, dominated, wife-of-sorts. I was the cocksucker. He was the cock. A delicious role for me. But what god-awful burden that places on the other person to always be strong and masculine and right. But then it works both ways. Richard cannot deal with me out my role. He cannot deal with a Larry who isn’t dependent on him– who is assertive and confident and independent.

My whole new life role is sort of a modified version of America’s vision of the happy, productive career girl. It’s definitely a female vision– I think. But a positive new vision of Mary Tyler Moore, and Rhoda and Cosmopolitan Magazine. Successful, outgoing, positive women doing wonderful things with their lives and being very happy. And deeply buried, somewhere inside my psyche is the full-blown image of my Aunt Doris– cleaning house, raising children– living in the shadow of dominance by my Uncle Willie. Her image has haunted my life.

I am forced to deal with the fact that my sexuality and my sexual needs are neurotic and at variance with my real human, intellectual needs as a young man. 

The ideal for me is a concept of dominance without oppression. Is that possible? Or is that a contradiction in terms? Are my sexual needs neurotic? Am I trying to get Daddy to love me by manipulating the world? Do I need Daddy to love me– or don’t I really need to love myself?

Trying to understand all these things on cloudy grey fall Sundays to old movies on television and Gregg in the other room studying and wanting Eddie to call me oh so much…