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October 11th, 1981
Exhaustion sets in— depression and anxiety prowl like wolves through the shadows around my campfire. There’s no hot water in the apartment. My episode with Mr. Cunningham at the opera Friday night looms like a Lana Turner movie in my life and I am torn by excitement at meeting the Man of My Dreams and pissed by its tragic plot and wonder if there’s not some horribly basic connection. The drama of hopeless love. I want to drink gin and smoke cigarettes and play sad songs. That is my old alcoholic self that I thought was gone.
Perhaps this close-up view of my alcoholic personality is a necessary part of the healing of my self-hatred. I don’t know. I’m tired. I’m depressed.
I pray for faith.
Notes from the pitty plot:
Allan (who has been out drinking all day and whose trick just left) announced that today in the bars he saw Phil and his new lower, David, at the Ramrod and had dinner with Jules. All God’s faggots are out drinking and cruising— and old fat dog Larry is working himself into a loveless unhappy grave.