Discover more from The Last Hundred Miles
September 6th, 1981
There was much confusion in my life yesterday; and now I sit on a grey overcast Monday morning and try to understand what happened. Something has just not felt right about my relationship with David. It’s hard for me to describe– but I have been isolating with him, remote, detached. I think that basically I am having a difficult time being part of a “couple”. My life is structured around working and going to meetings. Adding the framework of a relationship makes me feel crowded and confined. I have very little free time in my life and it’s very dear to me. I need that blank unstructured time to organize, understand myself. A period of re-creation. Solitude is an important component of my life. It occurs to me as I write, that this problem, this theme, has been recurrent in all of my affairs. Early on, I usually feel that a relationship threatens my solitude. Well, that’s what’s happening now. David and I went to the opera last night. On the walk over, he said “This city makes you desperate for love.” I told him that I didn’t quite understand what he meant. I said “The city evokes strong currents of lust in me, that has very little to do with love.” He said “I used to think I had it all figured out, that the two could be combined. Now, I don’t know. I just don’t know anymore.” This is actually the only conversation that occurred– yet David must have been sensitive to my moods, or I was insensitive to his. After the opera, he and his friend Susan went to meet her parents for dinner. I was invited, but declined. they walked me to the subway– and just before I left them, David said “I think you should go out tonight.” “That’s an odd opinion for you to have” I said. “I do, I think you should go out.” I left him and came home feeling completely hassled. I took Sadie out for a walk, and true to form, she would not piss. Now I know that this dog hasn’t pissed since early morning– and I know, from having lived with this dog for seven years– that she needs to piss. So trying to contain my rage, I walked her to Washington Square, which I loathe doing late at night. Nothing. She wags her tail and trembles and stares at me as if I were trying to torment her. Why!? Why should my fragile mentality be strained by such a hopelessly mundane detail as my dogs excretory habits. I beseech my Higher Power, I beg, I implore. MAKE THIS DOG PEE!! Nothing. This Power that shaped the Universe, this source of all life– this force which I have turned my life over to– apparently doesn’t care enough about my mental health to step in and remove this idiotic daily harassment. Back at the apartment, the toilet stops up again. Dear God. Standing in the kitchen I turn my eyes upward and scream: FUCK YOU, HIGHER POWER!!! In my rage I storm out of the apartment and head for the bars. I’ve been building toward this for days now. I rush down the street wondering why this HIGHER POWER which I have considered to be so operative in my life doesn’t help now– where is the comfort, the assurance, the serenity. I know the bars are dangerous ground tonight. I do not care. Fuck it. Fuck it all. I have reached some breaking point. I am totally hassled and I want to escape into the cool alcoholic darkness of a bar. I go to Boots. Jules is there. We visit at the bar. His presence temporarily removes the possibility of my drinking. Pride will not allow me to drink in front of Jules. I begin to calm down with the music and people. A group of AA people arrives and stands near me. I see Allan across the bar. He leaves with a trick and I resume they’re coming back to the apartment. Jules and I run out of conversation. I leave and go to Ty’s. It feels good to be out– although I am not at all sure what I am doing. I am having my third Saratoga– so it looks as though I am not drinking. I stand in the middle of the room. A very handsome man at the bar smiles at me. He is drinking. He looks drunk. I smile back. Am I going to trick? Am I about to fuck up the relationship with David? Am I ruining everything? The guy’s name is Steve. He has obviously had a lot to drink. He gives me a bright phony smile. I stare into his eyes and the smile fades. This is a lonely, desperate man. “Let’s go fuck” I said. His smile was gone. “OK” he said.
We walk to his apartment with our arms around each other. I do not know why I am doing this– but I know that I need to have anonymous sex with this drunk stranger. It is, in some way, an act of anger. He is too drunk to find his apartment. Finally we locate it. The apartment is a wreck. Bare rooms stacked with boxes. It looks like he just moved in. Sex is dirty but not good. I do not like this man. I pity him. Remotely. I play with his cock and try to fuck him. He grinds his body against me with a wild urgency. It is love he wants. This city makes us desperate for love. I talk dirty to him and we masturbate together. I come. He does not. I dress quickly and leave. We kiss at the door. A great kindness swells inside me for this man and his cluttered apartment. I do not know what has just happened on that mattress on the floor. I have used him for very urgent specific needs. I have given him that vital part of me that only exists for strangers.