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October 5th, 1978
It’s one in the morning and I should be sleeping. After a week of working 14 hour days with a freelance job on top of an unusually crazy week at work. I am fatigued. Wendy, after coming home hostile and angry as a result of an evening in Georgetown at the opening of a new punk fashion store, is in bed. We watched Perry Mason and calmed each other down, now I sit up alone and type and drink beer and stare at the house and try to get my bearings.
I’ve not written in so long– and it feels like so much has happened. Suddenly, I got real busy. My days have gotten to be real teeth grinders, trying to balance all the elements that seem to be demanding my attention. Work assumes the dreadful pressure that a retail advertising department seems to manufacture every October and November. The two worst months of the year. Also, this past week, an unexpected freelance job (the second) coincided with the November deadline of The Laborer. So, I have literally been working day and night. I go at it with great zeal– this unexpected money will alleviate many pains that I have borne so long. Now instead of fretting that I won’t have enough money to get by on until the next paycheck, I figure how to take exotic vacations with all the money I will be getting. Oh, they are exotic… I want this to happen in December: John and I fly, with Sadie, to Kansas City the Saturday before Christmas, we spend holiday through the following Wednesday and then (that day) fly from Springfield (K.C., actually) to Miami, where we rent a car and drive to Key West until the following Tuesday. Five glorious days in Key West. Five days of gorgeous sun and water and John and tropical nights. And a follow-up to a childhood dream of Christmas and winter Missouri and family and John. Oh, have I imagined more than can be done?