October 2nd, 1972

Sitting on the rim of the fountain in front of the Plaza– just re-read my first New York journal. It seems to me as if I really had my shit together much more then.

Fuck.

The past few days have been neurotic, disordered, crazy. Intense depression. I know I need to get as much in touch with myself as I was when I was writing in July. God. I hate the idea that in order to maintain a logical ordered flow of sanity I have to devote myself to such obsessive writing–

Fuck.

But– I do have a new notebook. Margie bought this notebook for me Saturday in Washington.

September is over thank god. I am so depressed because I really feel as if I’ve fucked up in September–

I just looked at this paper and saw how crooked the lines are. That annoys the hell out of me. I want the lines to be neat and ordered and straight. 

Today is gorgeous. The sky is bright and vivid blue and the air is clear. October crisp.

A girl is sitting next to me thoughtfully eating a sandwich.

Reality is a let-down for me most of the time. As beautiful and gorgeous as everything is right here– right now– I still cannot manufacture that body/mind euphoria that I get with drugs. So I just feel sort of distracted and incomplete. 

I have to go back to work– tonight I’m going to go to the library and have a full-fledged orgy of a writing session.