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September 6th, 1982
I realized this morning that one year ago today I was distraught with breaking up with David. Today is a gorgeous sunny day. I am puttering around the apartment. My hair plastered flat with henna. The day is mine and I feel great today. And I can’t even remember David’s last name.
Last week I had a very moving and beautiful experience in therapy. David induced a mildly hypnotic state in which I encountered and claimed myself as a child. I have never felt self-love in such a direct, absolute way. I found this little boy on a lonely Missouri country road at dusk. A beautiful, bright, sweet little boy. I took him away from those monsters— those idiots— those maniacs who had left him out on the road. He is mine. He belongs to me. And I have brought him back to New York— where I will be his daddy— where I will love and care for him and give him the best home and all the love in the world.
The moment that I picked that little boy up I found the center of my being.
It’s all changed now.
The way I am is different now.
Watching the Jerry Lewis telethon— big finale by Wayne Newton, Las Vegas Superstar— grand hype hoopla. I adore cheap sentiment— gaudy displays of emotion and drama. Show girls and feathers and boas and beads.