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October 17th, 1976
I make telephone calls and, listening to the ringing, forget who I am calling. Gayle tells me point blank that I am critical of people. Euphemistically she says I am two-faced. I suspect the worst. That I have been mildly accused by a friend. I suppose it could be defensiveness on her part for knowing with her comments that she had made herself vulnerable to me. Even that offends me. Perhaps I should be offended. How could I possibly have fallen in love with last night’s trick, Frank? But I have it seems. I have. Oh, I hate being in love, and I love it.