5:25 PM Plush Palace - Sat 14 Jan 78
Snakes dropping into paradise one by one. First, although Jervaze is incredibly easygoing – it is impossible to get him to state a preference about a movie or a restaurant, for example – (had to drag him to Eastwood’s Every Which Way But Loose) I can tell he is nervous about introducing me to his brother and sister in law. Should I just suggest we lie about what I do for a living? I guess that wouldn’t really solve anything. Sartre is so right. Hell IS other people. Then there’s my mother – the latest demon fondling my ear. Once a woman has made herself vulnerable to a man, she’s through. Uncommitted sex brings out the worst in men, blah blah blah. Because it’s “too perfect” from his point of view. I am “causing him moral hazard”. Yes, I tell the voice, and it would be perfect from MY POINT OF VIEW TOO IF YOU WOULD JUST SHUT UP. WE ONLY STARTED DATING A COUPLE OF WEEKS AGO. But one can’t shut out THAT voice so easily. Mystified by Willard Gaylin’s irritating Caring. He acts like mutual dependence or interdependence is some “failure” of personal autonomy. Powder Mill Road - 11 PM Sunday 15 Jan 78 Jervaze “dropped by” this afternoon. Since it’s such a long way from his place to mine I was astonished. Is it that I can no longer believe a man will climb mountains for me? Or is it just my sensitivities to Jervaze’s strangely inchoate “disabilities” warning me and sending up red flags? We had a nice talk – he seemed faintly down – then he had to leave because he needs to get up extra early tomorrow. I was in too good a mood to work on my novel, bought clothes instead. 3 pairs of pants, sweater coat, five pairs undies, one gauchos. All clothes size 7. Packaged MSS when I came home so as not to feel too unproductive. Coleridge poem taken by Virginia community college screed. No money. (Natch.) 11Am Tues 17 Jan 78 Reading Evelyn Waugh’s diaries over my third cup of coffee with open mouthed amazement. It seems almost a work of fiction. Try to imagine these whines and wails ever appearing in print! Imposserous Bert Lahr would say. Thank God for The Victorian High Colonic: a pre-mortem bonfire. Highly recommended, my dear. 7:30 PM No word from J so I assume he is really coming to eat dinner here. The evening’s menu: sherry and smoked oysters, cheese and crackers, burgundy and manicotti stuffed with crab. French bread, banana nutbread and coffee for dessert, if we make it that far without attacking each other. Need to watch the drinking – had two glasses of sherry while cooking and am definitely feeling it. 2:15 AM Wed 19 Jan J gone – he had to – no clothes here. I let him go fairly gracefully – after hours of sex without anyone coming I was happy to be alone. He’s definitely an alcoholic. He gets away with it by never seeming drunk (only once in awhile. His “tell” is he wants to talk about Alabama.) But he’s also never not drinking. He seems too young but it definitely explains the physical problem. 11Am A came home from a bad date. Glad her classes start tomorrow – Limbo an unpleasant place to live. Need to walk dogs now – going to AFI theatre tonight to see Next Stop, Greenwich Village. Time keeps chewing us up and spitting us out. 1 PM Thurs 20 Jan 78 Excellent morning lying in bed reading Ottoline. It would be lovely to be rich – it would not be lovely to be Ottoline. Another deeply rooted legacy of R’s is that I now expect others to constantly lie (to themselves, above all) about their motivations. You can only judge by what they actually do which throws all planning into the crapper and means you’re stuck with a lot of confused, open mouthed standing around waiting for disaster. I don’t make promises either – I just don’t say anything – which fact apparently caused me to assume I’d really enjoy a relationship with a totally nonverbal type like J. Turns out: noooooooo. I torture myself about what he must be thinking and feeling which – let’s face it – may not be much. Wish my royalties would arrive – I’ve spent them over in my mind a thousand different ways. Can’t do anything about island property, travel, car, or self-publicity without them. Capital expenditures, all. I am making dinner for A at four thirty to hear all about her first day of classes – then I go to work. Love driving down the highway with the other “night shifters” – I always think I can pick them out. Our special sense of purpose makes us different. Sunday 24 Jan 78 7:30 PM Read Popcorn Venus, saw Julia, so alternately depressed and cheered by turns. Thinking a lot about “impure relationships”. How innocent to assume those are the ones with certain kinds of sex in them. In actuality, it is more the hostage taking mentality that is to be feared. Can one just “Glance in” so to speak and then hustle the hell out? I’ve been so scared off I am having a non-relationship. When Jervaze is not in my bed, it’s as if he never existed. Would I surprised if I found out he had some secret life? Hell no, I’d be encouraged. I think the truth is he watches football alone, gets drunk, sleeps and works – that’s all he does. I liked Julia because I am interested in the question of what repressed sexuality does to relationships – does it change them? Seems it would have to. Well, you can fool some of the people… Starting to re-think Courtney. Worst novel ever written? If so, what can I do about it? Is it too late? Tell it from the cat’s point of view – something radical like that. Write it in blank verse like Spoon River Anthology. Jervaze is mystified that I read by choice. A says “Don’t you get it? He’s a mud puppy.” What can I say? I’m such a sucker for male beauty. Mon. 23 Jan 78 Enraptured by biography of John O’Hara. Starts brilliantly, describing his study at the time of his death – framed awards, Cape Cod lighters, bound diaries. Everything just “perfect” the way poor F. Scott always dreamed. The novels were steppingstones to the study, not the other way around! I am feeling alienated from my study at the moment. Have decided that my typewriter table – a board atop a wine rack – is all wrong. A and I went to Hechinger’s and studied several “office systems”. Plastic cubes $70 even for a looksee. I’ve set my heart on satinwood so I guess next stop antique stores. What would an antique typing table look like? A dressing table is the right height? Sans mirror? Wouldn’t want to look at oneself while working! First step to madness! When I work without interruption, time vanishes. Maybe it’s like riding without spurs: you become the horse (one’s deepest self). J. showed up Sun night. We drank sherry, played cards. He is getting to like sherry, which I’m afraid, is my fault. Someone needs to go on the wagon and I don’t want it to be me. Heard via the rumor mill that R broke his leg skiing! Ha ha! Did he get insurance for that? Maybe he wasn’t kidding and he was trying to kill himself. I just don’t understand people like that. He approaches everything as “it’s you or me” so the mountain let him have it although frankly I’m surprised it wasn’t someone else’s leg that got broken. Maybe he killed the other guy. Sent him a card – he’s “recuperating” at his parents house on a steady diet of Italian food.
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Alysse Aallyn
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