12:50 AM Plush Palace – exhausted and bathed in sweat. Guy tried to crawl onstage with me. He was in the mood to dance! Every dancer (except me and I guess him) is using Darla’s overdose death (suicide or accident? I say why not murder?) as an excuse to not dance. I like dancing. Passes the time faster and the tips are better. Steve managing tonight – he looks just like Dylan Thomas. I keep expecting a Welsh accent when he warns the old men with their balls hanging out. Great tales from new dancer Charmian – she has toured the entire country. Just dancing. (She has the body of a seven year old. Plasters pasties on her completely flat chest. ) There’s a townhouse in New City I like the sound of but nobody EVER answers that phone. Tomorrow dinner with poor A and that awful Mason whom I loathe and despise. Couldn’t get through Babs Deals’ The Walls Came Tumbling Down – and Crystal Mouse was so good. Fortunately I have Steven Marcus’ The Other Victorians which is excellent. Pornotopia, indeed! Should have $1000 in savings by the 24th June.
3PM Wed 25 May 77 Weighed myself – I shouldn’t have. Lost two pounds but I can gain it back through thought alone. Reading Gore Vidal’s essays – like them better than his novels – unsettling man. A says Dad’s taken hotel rooms for everybody in NYC. New City townhouse a terrible shock – NOT to be thought of. R. called to invite me to the Emmys June 4. He had the nerve to say I’ll “always come back” to him. So I have to be careful not to, even when at night I howl like an animal. I can’t trust him to “take care” of me. 7:45 PM Thurs May 26 Who knew the worst was yet to come? I was talking to A at Broadcast Agency and a call came in and it was Ryder. “Hello Broadcast Agency”. I said, “You’re on the wrong line.” He said, “Your private line is busy and I’ve got to talk to you. Come clean and beg your forgiveness.” Uh oh. Yup. He invited another girl to the Emmys BEFORE me (that’s his story) she said she couldn’t afford to come, he invited me, then she contacted him to say she managed to get a plane ticket. So he’s disinviting me! I disconnected him immediately. He’ll be lucky if I ever speak to him again. I ought to be glad it happened – I was dithering. Needed a decision maker. I said to Charmian this evening, “Are you happy? I’m taking a poll.” She said, “Well, I feel all right. All that bothers me are assholes.” So true! I think the pain is over if I decide it is. Struggling not to be feel ashamed of ever loving that man. Distance is required. Distance & discipline. Dancing makes me feel better. I kicked really high. Audience enjoyed it. 3:10 AM Home dreading he would be here – if so I was prepared to scream the place down. He wasn’t. Just a note – saying I was “right to get rid” of him. Calling himself a worthless shit! He said he’s “sinned” ever since he met me by refusing to admit how much I mean to him. The problem is it doesn’t matter. We are the wrong people for each other. 8:30 PM Fri. Plush Palace May 27 1977 The only place I can sleep is work, dozing off between sets. Not even masturbation knocks me out. Tempting to make Mon my last day but I should last out the week – I need the cash. Still have so much packing to do. Keith in my office the last day of Broadcast Agency work – I told him about the Emmys – he said it didn’t sound like a deathblow. Men! I had considered inviting him to the wedding – this decided me against it. 3 weeks alone in NYC house sitting for Genevieve while she’ on her honeymoon. The Blessing is an awful book. Nancy Mitford not cut out to be a novelist; she’s really not interested in motivation. Only wants a forum for her retro opinions. 4:30 PM Sat 28 May 77 – Plush Palace A girl left early so Laverne and I are splitting her sets. Courtly Jim of the hush puppy body and the Elvis Presley hair realizes he has to pay us more to keep someone onstage. Good tips – holidays make people feel richer. Only 3 days left. 7:30 PM Sun 29 May 77 Packed for six straight hours, ate yogurt and chicken, walked dogs now I’m lying on mattress more exhausted than I’ve ever been. Shoulders has agreed to store my furniture – we don’t need a van since his house is right across the street. Told him he can use whatever pieces he wants. Jim will be in to pay me Fri so I don’t need to trust the mails. Called phone, gas, water, elec people. Don’t think I like EM Forster (where Angels Fear To Tread) – Henry James without the Henry James. Edwardian didacticism makes me miss James’s scrupulous objectivity. Why did he write this book? Because he’s “The Literary Type”. Compare with Woolf’s Unwritten Novel. Stagger about forcing myself to gulp Yuban. So enjoying throwing things away. Wed. 1 June 77 – 8:30 PM Plush Palace $770 to take off with – not bad I think. Ryder tells me I am “fleeing.” Damn straight. Mom asked me what was going on – I said I proposed to Ryder and he turned me down. She was squeaking on the other end of the phone like a gerbil but I couldn’t help it. It’s almost true – I didn’t take her advice but showed him my true self! Too bad! Reading Forster’s Longest Journey. Still feeling another story trying to get through. Pretty sick of the glory that wasn’t Greece. Everyone in book sanctimonious prig. 12:30PM Forster so foul I reread this diary. Deeply shaming. Maybe Forster is right: whatever you do, don’t write about what is actually going on – nobody may ever recover. Opal took me out to lunch at Apple Tree – painless. Crab quiche and 2 Brandy Alexanders. An elegant poem unspools in my head about the difference between hummingbirds and hawks. Will I go round in circles? Or will I fly high like a bird up in the sky? Shadowe Island 23 June 77 11 PM Walked around corner of house to deck – there’s Devon sitting with his Mom and my Mom and Dad. Waiting for me. He is still dreamily beautiful; cut glass profile, muscles shining through his clothes; a star. The understanding between us electric as always – hope I did not gape too obviously. I felt a “reaching-out” from this shy man – seemingly frightened by his own beauty bubbling up from the deep wells of his most secret personality. Obliterating poor Ryder, which is just what I need. I must have babbled something as they gave me a huge Tanqueray gin and tonic. Mom has that wrinkle between her eyes whenever she looks at me like there is no book I can publish, job I can take, no man I can marry to iron out that wrinkle. We hear them talking about us as if we weren’t there: “1972 was such an important year for them, that Winter Carnival;” “Why don’t they get together if they love each other?” “Kids these days think marriage just a piece of paper.” Just a piece of paper? You won’t get a rise out of me over that. I pass my life in a blizzard of papers, which may (or not) survive me. May (or not) have any ultimate meaning. His Mom offers me studio apt in their ski chalet - $125 month utilities included. Staking an early claim to any progeny I may produce. I say, No thank you, I need a city. Still, it gives one furiously to think. When Devon left he lifted up my chin to kiss me – tight familiar “everyone’s watching” mouth and prickly blond moustache. He says he’s going to England for a week. Invited me to Boston after. I imagine us unpeeling at the station, two nude souls confronting one another. Rank terror. The body reacts first, hands trembling violently. All I could do to keep from just savaging him in front of everybody. I could hardly hold my drink. I am an easy catch, too. He quoted from my poem “the one you wrote on the bus” when I visited him at Amherst – I had completely forgotten about that one. Quote from my own works and I become your slave. Poor Ryder! He never thought of that! He will “feel” the moment I lose interest in him; he will lift his head – wherever he is and whatever he’s doing – and come after me. Just when I don’t want him any more. The quote: “memories like stones I’m free to choose and in life’s rivers, eventually lose” Still true. Barnacle - Sat June 25 - 77 I can tell it’s early by the light but can’t find out what time it is without waking someone. Health complete. Walked the dogs all over Heath Island, ran into Paul Morris who just bought the Burnside Inn. He invited me back for coffee and brandy, to show me the changes he has made. He sneered when he asked me if I thought “exotic dancing” was “art”. I said Sure, why not.? It can be. He read Boston globe “exposé” on “strippers who are just little girls. They were all molested by their fathers.” I think they get better tips by calling people “Daddy”. Now Paul has a mysterious live-in girlfriend who refers to herself as The Sinister Chambermaid. Helping him renovate the place, traveling with him from Boston where he is a university professor. Since they are not married I wonder about their “financial deal”. Let me guess, she invests labor, you own title and invest cash? But now I have a good excuse to stay at the Inn and I am considering it. They have electricity for my typewriter and the Barnacle doesn’t
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Broadcast Agency Thurs May 19, 77
Only $134 in my saving acct and $7 in checking, curse that clutch. Crisis brewing with R. He is jealous and suspicious that I am out so much in the evening. He’s the one who wants to be non-exclusive so let him sweat. I have too many negative emotions about him – that he’s a coward, for example. Which would make him angrier – if I was dancing or screwing some other guy? (Which I have no desire to do and he should know me by now.) I think he sees my privacy and aloneness as infidelity. While he’s doubtless experimenting with “goofy chicks” who’ve “never been touched”; I’m only “unfaithful” with Shelley & Brontë. But that’s STILL too much for him.) After all this time if he still doesn’t realize I’m the best, the hell with him. Worry about the dangers of scars. They can seem to heal, but sometimes they re-shape the life beneath. All I know, is, contempt is the ultimate relationship killer. To love is to be happy with! Boy scout methods won’t work with me, the sabre-toothed tiger. Our relationship may already be fatally spoiled by resentment and revenge. Last night audience bored and hostile, but who cares? Bouncers won’t let them show it! We are goddesses to be revered and if they won’t worship at the shrine they’re out. Compared to the Shalimar, Palace is sheer joy. We are never hassled. God forbid if they try to touch us! They are bounced on their heads in the parking lot. If I have plain grits when I wake up at 9:30 or 10 (also coffee and orange juice) I can last till 4. Hunger peaks at 5. Salad, then rush to work – when I get there I’m not hungry anymore. Would like to cut the burger habit. Need to sew my G-strings but Merribeth can see me through the glass and she won’t leave. Reading Robt Fish as an antidote for poor Charlotte Brontë’s pain. 1:00 AM Plush Palace – 20 May 77 Four dancers tonight. Less work, more intellect. (!) Fred, the cook, insists I try his potato pancakes and they are DAMN good. Can’t say no. Long wailing phone call from Maeve this afternoon. Why is it we can see other’s relationships so clearly? “Dump him”, I always say. Am I telling myself something? R & I make date tomorrow night. Now wearing black velvet, smoky eyeshadow, black stockings and glitter I look in the mirror and am astonished by my own beauty. Take that, Ryder, you poor bastard. Eight mins and I’m up – One more dance and home. Front table of impressionable navy cadets eminently shockable. 11:30 AM – Sun 22 May 77 It’s all over, baby blue. Getting up my strength for our date tonight by sunbathing in back yard – literally cooking in coconut oil. R. complained on Fri he called me “all night long” and I wasn’t home. Aww. Could have told him I was writing but lying just postpones the inevitable (because next time he’ll come over.) So told him I would explain on our date. A poem came suddenly :THE CENSOR’S CENSOR. Exhaustion from the violent motions of the pendulum. I made dinner, but he refused to eat. He said, “I think I know what you’re going to tell me. “ I said, “I bet you don’t.” “It’s another man.” “No. I’m dancing again. I’m living here alone. I need the money.” (I should have said “it nourishes me UNLIKE SOME PEOPLE” but I’m a coward too.) He said very dismissively, ”Well, if that’s all you think you can do.” He who read my novel! Bastard! He said, “Well, the ball’s in my court.” So I guess, that means “Game on!” (Was it ever off?) And he left! Put his dinner carefully away in the freezer (I’m not made of money) and took the dogs on an hour’s walk. Now I lie here again in Paradise - baking, basting, trying to recall every detail of the last time we had sex. Because that’s all I’ll ever get from him. 11:30 PM Session this aft with Chloe at Pacifica and a young PBS guy named John about writing a radio play for kids. I threw out some ideas. Then out for dinner with Chloe who complained that her husband has a mental illness given to him by the Army – he only wants to fuck never kiss. He fantasizes about “swinging” with another couple. I stolidly drink red wine and eat bad cake pizza. She says he’s always on the verge of suicide, but she would never leave him. Play around, OK, but never leave. And I think that I have problems. I reject “victim” AND “slut”. The poet alone in her lofty palace. Feels like an abscess has been lanced. Heard about a great apt in Takoma Pk that’s OK for dogs. Broadcast Agency – 4:20 PM – Mon 23 May 77 Present tenant says do not mention dogs so I am out of love with Perfect Apt. Would rather have a house. A lot of calls today. I seem to be getting fat – but I look so good – much too good for 128. How I hate to starve but it’s the only way. Need to be a fine-honed racing machine. Considering entering Courtney in the Saxton fellowship. Can I get a readable copy? Lack of sex keeping me awake at night. Now I know why people take drugs. Devon writes to say he’ll be in Maine on the island but not at Genevieve’s wedding for “financial reasons”. I plan to do my best to seduce him. Reading Mitford’s Wigs on the Green – not as funny as it is sad. Pastiche, really – Wodehouse is better. But I feel that way about E Waugh’s humor too – that it is basically tragic - “this is all we can expect”. R. called this AM as I was rushing to get ready – I said I was surprised to hear from him, he said he “knew I was upset”. We could have had a little argument about who’s more upset but I said what have you been up to? Horseback riding out in Sperryville. (Doubtless not alone. What would be the point of that? He is such a pain.) Asked me when I was moving, when going to wedding. He couldn’t be hinting for an invite – if I show up with him my family will have me institutionalized for sure. They never could figure out what I was doing with this hysterical little man. We’ve said our fond goodbyes. If the ball is in his court, it died there. Need to buy a dress for wedding. Macy’s? My mother criticizes me for: 1) Making money 2) Caring about making money 3) Needing money AND 4) Buying inexpensive clothes. AND fake jewelry. A lady never – etc. You figure it out. Finished Farber’s essays – very bad book. He seems to regard the female orgasm as some kind of personal insult – “Now I’ve got this to contend with!” We’re not doing it to annoy you. Hopelessness on the subject of sex a grave inadequacy in a philosopher I would say. Merribeth sent me to the bank today - I was thrilled to get outside – when I came back Keith called down to say he was having lunch at the Hyatt Regency and had seen me walking and wanted to say hi! Nothing to say after that. I thought of inviting him to the Palace but what would be the point? Everyone would think he’s my boyfriend and it’s a tips killer. 3:15 PM 9 May 77
Called into Broadcast to sub for Loretta. Working on Devlyn galleys. The main scary thing about this place is that no one works here willingly. “Morale” is a poisonous miasma. Kind of like the architects’ office. Mom & Dad raise hell over A’s living with Mason. I thought they were so worked up about “commitment”! Sharing an apt is a commitment, isn’t it? Not according to them. Glad poor A is taking the storm for once and not me. Couldn’t cope with them on top of everything else. R. and I are trying to evolve into a “friendship”. I know it sounds stupid but there has to be some third place between attraction and avoidance because each of those is obsession. When I ran this idea past R he said I was his “best friend”. This is why he is so impossible to deal with. Best friend? He wouldn’t treat a pet the way he’s treated me (the SPCA would come and get him.) Speaking of Ryder, he just called. Finished my book, found the Black Mass a little short otherwise liked it. Didn’t say a word about “who’s Hank based on.” Thank God. He did ask who the baby’s father is – I said even Nilssa doesn’t know. According to R. I have “no problems”. (He doesn’t know about the dancing. If he was REALLY my best friend I could tell him.) He says we have the whole rest of our lives to talk. He’s uncannily good at saying what I want to hear (unfortunately). Seeing him tonight. Take the bus home, buy wine, wash & set my hair. If only we could get to the stage where we no longer fear each other. 4:50 PM Tues 10 May 77 Well we’re not out of the woods yet but perhaps have found a path. Last night was like losing my virginity all over again – we were both so shy. Slept wrapped up and embracing. Many compliments on my body (no tell-tale glitter in the bed.) He said he was so upset by me breaking up with him at that McDonald’s he can’t go to any McD’s any more. Pledges of love somewhat ruined by an argument during breakfast about whether a novel can be “good” if no one will buy it. Uh oh. I tried keeping it philosophical, not giving historical examples he wouldn’t recognize (which would be “one-upping”.) Finally stopped when he got a call from a “goofy chick.” Should I be worried, I ask, and he says no. But I can’t avoid the sinking feeling that I don’t dare hitch my wagon to anyone so dependent on mass psychology – even as a friend – without losing my way. 8:20 PM Plush Palace Getting ready for my 2nd set. Thinking hard I decide I need 8 months in Maine. I should quit Broadcast Agency right away (I think they need two weeks, poor bastards. No one wants to work there. When you have to quit a job that allows you to read you know its bad. This job lets me read and it’s a lot more interesting.) Stay there the summer at the very least. Just writing. The problem is, if I’ve got Mom and Dad working on my one side and R working the other, I’m like a chew toy. Horrible realization that if I told R I was dancing he would demand I quit and I might do it. So when I realize the person I need to be afraid of is me, it’s a Mary Shelley-like horrific moment. Trying to read Household’s Three Sentinels but all I can think of is those awful Juan Carlos coffee commercials; “harvesting de beans wid de donkeys”. My own life way more interesting. 10 PM - It’s my diary that’s my best friend – tell you anything. Household’s women are unspeakable. Just got to the place where he describes being “turned on” by the hair on a woman’s upper lip. Doesn’t do a thing for me. Hungry, but maybe when I get home I’ll have a yogurt. Trying to save $1000. And stay away from the 12¢ donuts. 12:55 PM In an hour I’ll be on the road and not a moment too soon. Fall into the arms of empty house & importunate dogs. Just ate a whole plate of cold French fries (not good). Boredom’s my worst enemy. Food at least feels like excitement. Such pathos. Gentleman Jim just gave me Thurs night, which is welcome. Broadcast Agency – Wed – 11 May 77 5:35 PM R. says his latest philosophy is “To Love is to Be Happy With.” He’s all worked up about snowshoeing and horseback riding as the cure-alls for anything that ails us; says he’s budgeting money to spend on me every week. I do not find this appealing. He’s a warm puppy, all right, but I’ve already got two of those. In spite of that I fall into a reverie where we buy an old house outside of Annapolis, slowly fill it up with precious junk and love each other to death. Need to go home, eat rice & vegetables, and give dogs a good long walk. Reading Martha in Paris but thinking about Alysse in Annapolis… 7:50 PM Sun 15 May 77 Justifiably proud – paid ALL my bills and sent off my galleys. Nothing like money! (Stupid car needs a new clutch. It’s always something.) Able to refuse “help” from Mom and Dad who are dithering about whether I need to be institutionalized. Told them I was working at a “restaurant” (Let them assume waitressing. They know I can’t cook. PP does serve food; State of Virginia makes people who serve alcohol serve something to sop it up with. Good old Virginia. ) Sent M & D a DEVLYN cover. $57 left in my acct.; $100 in my purse. (Open a savings acct tomorrow). Ordered a beautiful Vietnamese print ($80) for Genevieve’s wedding gift (last time she got married I sent candy. Well, I wasn’t invited!) Horseback riding did make me horny however – Ryder & I made love like a pair of wild animals. He may be compact, but he’s beautiful. Cleaned the entire house. Now darkness falls – means its time to walk the dogs. How I love peering into people’s windows. When I get back, strong tea with milk and the “splendeurs et misères” of Monica Dickens. Or will I succumb to that modern master of the Grimm fairytale, Agatha Christie? No poetry, but plenty of trolls. 10PM Mon 16 May 77 Finally got a reaction from agent to Secaire. I was physically sick when I opened it but she was full of praise. I could teach Poe, Verlaine and Mallarme a thing or two! She’s sending it to Harcourt but telling them it’s “too fine for a paperback”. Says it’s also readable, which is a thing more “precious than rubies”. I was really afraid of what she would say after our literary discussions and her poetry sneers. So elated! Hit the library today and hit it hard – Nancy Mitford’s novels, Hilaire Belloc’s Letters, life of Brontë. Delicious dreaming. 5:35 Pm Broadcast Agency – 17 May 77 Enjoyed Helen Bevington’s The House was Quiet and the World Was Calm. In my bloodthirsty way would have preferred a better description of her husband’s death. Must make do with cuckoos and thrushes and loblolly pines. Bored to tears with this stupid job but you can’t say it’s “hard”. I’m the last happy dodo in a world of dinosaurs – all this equipment about to be ripped out. In 5 mins I get to disconnect phone, walk to Church St (parking’s free in Mafia territory). Drive to Arlington. Fish sandwich for dinner, read about Unquiet Haworth while wearing G-string & stockings. (So appropriate.) Expanding my house hunt to Rt 450. (Towards Annapolis; might need Dad to co-sign.) Obviously I can handle 45 min commute. (Don’t like rain, however.) Aware El Diablo is nothing but a hunk of junk. Future of American literature is fragile on some of these May nights. 5:15 PM
Mr. Pierce rooting in my desk finds my pornographic sample telegrams. (They look like cut & paste objets d’art.) I say obviously I didn’t send them and he reluctantly believes me since they’re not on charge list. But he was horrified and looked at me with unpleasantly new eyes. My days here could be numbered. R. is triggering flashbacks to worst aspects of my marriage to Bruce. Our marriage failed because of his character: he dove for cover in a shelter that held only one. He was a weak, shiftless, spineless, pathetic liar, so we know I have a propensity for those. Time for dinner? I brought pears, cheese, pineapple, bread. Finishing The Pursuit about Shelley – so involving and fantastic I should just start it over again the minute I get to last page (as I did with Anna Karenina). A good desert island book. I make a vow not to drink alone. Dangerously depressed. Sexual hunger is bad news. Standards could plummet. Pool of possibles restricted. Starting to see how good sex can actually be a bad thing in a relationship. Wishing R will move to Boston to take care of my situation but he’s too much of a “home boy”. The opposite of a world citizen. 10 PM Sun 24 Apr 77 Very good day at Pacifica radio. Worrying if I get 2nd job novel will suffer. Maybe Mr. Pierce will take care of that. Finished Shelley – why is Triumph of Life always the Triumph of Death? Nothing left to read – Natural Hist of Vampire; ho hum, Beyond Belief is a yawn, Spoor of Spooks holds some interest but grating tone. Finished scene between Nilssa and Labarraz – not really happy with it. Total collapse of self-confidence a real problem for an artist. Tues 26 Apr 77 Keith Dalrymple came in to place a call and unfortunately asked me how I was. Threw myself sobbing into his arms. Scary bad news. R. called last night to say, “I’ll take care of you.” Then said I should move to Maine and get an apt I can “afford”!!! Then said he’d been comparing everyone in Boston with me – no one stacked up. Whiplash. “Taking care… isn’t that what hit men say? Butchers? Garbage men? He is schizo. The unspoken message is I have to be what he expects – clearly impossible. So why am I stuck? Why can’t I just move on? Sexually he’s spoiled me, alas. Must finish this goddam novel but I need to run around town in a G-string auditioning. Wish there was anyone I trust to show novel to but everyone’s taste is so weird. They don’t see what I’m trying to do and they don’t see any point I getting there. Must learn to please myself but I’m bone tired, dammit. Making a list of Sources of joy: Art Writing Sisters Dogs Nature The Beauty of Everything Friends Love? 11:45 AM Sun 1 May 77 Keith softened me up by calling to ask if I’d been in his office. He smelled my perfume. (I hadn’t.) Agreed to go out with him Sat night. Just awful. Awful. Keep wishing he was literally ANYONE else. Dating someone who doesn’t interest you sexually is like trying to diet by ordering food you dislike. (I actually tried this. Ordered tripe.) Howlably stupid. Yet no one to howl to. R. says he’d “hate” to think I “needed” him and didn’t call. Am I the stupid one here? I think so. Sucker for punishment. Upstairs, Downstairs cheers me up a little. Considering renting little house in the wilds of Virginia. Or garden apt. utilities included. Dogs would like it – close to clubs. Read Eliz Savage’s Good Confession – very minor. Cleaning. Laundry, dishes, garbage. Thinking about Sylvia Plath and the problem of panic attacks. It’s all about learning to steer into the skid. Wed May 4 - 77 Made illegal copies of novel at work, drove to Plush Palace in Virginia to audition. (10 Mins down Rt 1 from Woodrow Wilson bridge. 1 HR commute). VA pays better, mandates pasties & stockings, Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco & Firearms (I’m not kidding) makes sure you don’t sit with or talk to clientele. Amen! I was hired immediately $90 day plus tips. So pleased. Got a car appt Fri 13th so El Diablo won’t die on Beltway. Working Thurs, Fr. Sat and there’s no holdback, they pay you immediately. Buy G-strings & pasties Landover mall. Avril says R “betrayed” me. But do you “betray” someone by having a weak character? He can’t help it. A says he’s behaved so badly there’s no hope for him. I think he can’t make up his mind – he wants me only if I don’t want him. Plus if he finds out I’m dancing again he’ll want to “convert” me. (He’ll think I’m doing it just to torture him. I don’t plan to tell.) Gave A a copy of my novel to read – feeling insane – got to get reaction from SOMEBODY. Broadcast asks me to stay “on call” so Mr. Pierce has forgiven me or is desperate. Plush Palace – 9 PM Fri 6 May 77 Very nice dressing room. Girl I’m dancing with (Darla) is just awful. Find the comparison very cheering. A gobbled my novel up, says it’s “deep” but “obsessive”; made me feel on right track. How much can I torture my audience? I‘ve GOT to stop blubbering and start fantasizing. Who CARES about the pathos of my existence? Make something up. Sat. 7 May 77 House is mine! Everyone moved out. (A’s & Mason’s new place just what they wanted – skyscraper urban nightmare.) Listening to opera, reading NY Times, feeling like a Big Success. Weasel across my chest in blissful rapture. ($100 in tips last night!!!) R called to say I “always have a place with him” and He “has never taken my heart ring off”. Is he nuts or am I? Realize for the first time he says things he KNOWS aren’t true just to hear himself say them!! Sort of like the Victorians – mouthing something is halfway there! You’re making an effort! You could not imagine anyone more opposite from me. Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless, as the rock musicians say. Reading Bottle Factory Outing – so wonderful. (But liked The Secret Glass better.) Trying to numb weird longings to write ghost stories and eat chicken potpie (regression). Wrote first draft of a short story about a grandmother telling her shocked granddaughter about “the time I almost committed suicide”. Very matter of fact. Feel I’m recovering from “mono-soul-iosis” – not just R but my first marriage, Devon and everyone between. Shoulders asks to borrow lawnmower – asked me if I want to watch him use it. (He knows he’s pretty.) I do. 7:15 PM 8 May 1977 Feeling much better, like I’ve passed a turning point. Wasn’t sure how much I could trust myself in the past, but if I’ve come through this, my core must be solid, instead of the jelly mass I fear. Sitting in my far-from-clean study beneath my poster of Blake’s God & the Angels enjoying an after dinner cup of coffee. Sanity returns. A. is coming tonight to get her flicati rugs – that will make the downstairs look empty. Trying to finish Household’s Courtesy of Death, so I can take all these silly books to the library, dump them, and get a lifetime supply of Peter de Vries. The only proven painkiller is laughter. My damn novel’s made a fool out of me. Time to admit it. |
Alysse Aallyn
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