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October 9th, 1972
Yesterday was Gayle’s birthday– 22 years old. Quite an eventful weekend. I was separated from you all weekend my darling diaries–
I’m back at my desk– Jerry is on vacation for the next two weeks– I wonder if all eyes are upon me to see how I do at the job– hmmm?–
I have a good deal to write about when I get a chance about developments with Gayle over the possibility of a move to New Orleans–
What was a vague escape fantasy Friday could easily become a concrete project. Oh, we talked about it all weekend– but there are so many little complications to be worked through– so many things to be positive about. So– I’m just going to write down all the comments that I have and sort them later–
Do you remember when you used to be liberal, instead of a freak?
If I stay in New York it will be a very long time before my life becomes much more than a hand-to-mouth existence–
the simple fact is that as things are now I cannot support myself in my profession– which is the theater–
“when was writing anything but your religion?”
□ Fuck it, bubba, there is going to be no success story without a degree.