As soon as my education was my own to manage, I bollixed it up. My high school’s near total repudiation of Art left me seeking some kind of art school, but which? I was accepted at a School of the Arts in San Diego but depressed by the distance – a visit to my ex-boyfriend in Oregon and a visit to my handsy uncle in Hollywood had not endeared me to the West Coast. I auditioned at glitzy acting schools but had zero game and even less confidence so obviously THAT wasn’t going to work, so I started off modestly by interning at Southwark Theatre School (they gave me office work) and taking classes at the Philadelphia Academy of Dance. I was physically clumsy and slow and this was going to hold me back from any theatre career. I was very well developed in the left brain areas but my right brain appeared to be asleep. Although I was the worst in the class I did get better and I was amazed to be accepted by a prestigious theatre school in New York City. I got an apartment in New York city, signed up for classes at Martha Graham to prop up my confidence, and gave that a try.
The desire to participate in the world of art hit me early. As a young teen, I was fascinated by the internecine struggles of the Trojan War and the Wars of the Roses. History was a family story, history was a crime story. Books for children – the Narnia stories, for example, couldn’t match the explosive, desperate sweep of historical intrigue. I had a facility with English that allowed me to “opt out” of language drills – I read the encyclopedia instead, which was full of improbable information. I loved reading to the class, and the class loved to have me read to them.
When I entered boarding school at age 14 I really began to write in earnest. But the faculty did not like what I wrote. Moby Dick and the writings of John Steinbeck were seriously offered to me as models. This was the first moment I chose the Warrior Path. I complained that we were not reading any female authors and in fact, made a resolve never to read male authors again (I broke it for the Russians, who were feminine enough for me – especially Turgenev.) I liked Colette, so I read Francoise Sagan. I modeled myself on them – they were literally anathema at my school to such an extent that I decided not to go to college and pursued acting school instead.
That was a dumb decision literally no one helped me with but by that time I had discarded The Appropriate Path to such an extent I don’t know if anyone could have reasoned me out of it since Adult World seemed so desperately stupid to me. What I chose – I thought – was the world of inspiration where magic could be created, second by second.
Intuition is the Warrior’s most critical tool. It starts in childhood when adults say something that sounds “not quite right” to the child. Something about their facial expression and the way they hold their body suggests they’re hoping you won’t inquire further, meaning they have no evidence or rationality for what they’re proposing. Sounds like they don’t quite believe it themselves and they’re just passing it to you, like an infection. It’s an infection you don’t want to get.
Sometimes you ask further, other times you snoop around for evidence on your own. You can usually catch the Grownups talking earnestly in what they think is privacy about what you will buy and what are the consequences if they fail to persuade you.
Reading is a helpful source of information. You can always find evidence that completely contradicts any BS du Jour.
And right then, you’ve become a Warrior, because you’ve realized you need to rely on yourself. Not them.
Breaking Free
In retrospect we Forgive ourselves Imperfect inspirations Unbecoming intuitions Seeing how high we flew; Unaltered Compared to many others Scraping by along the Substrate; Just a memory of cloud’s Enough To settle into sunset Pillowed into selfhood; “I heard I saw I Flew”
We teenagers at our co-ed religious boarding school wanted to mate. This desire was more powerful than the faculty, it was more powerful than anything. They were always digging us out of bushes, rescuing us from ponds, chasing us out of the woods. We were lustfully ablaze. They kept trying to demand we give an account of ourselves but reason had been bypassed – we were in the grip of an eternal force powering the planet, perpetuating our kind.
I knew that force again when I turned 29 years old. Suddenly I wanted to have a child. There were men on the scene – but they were a shiftless crew of can’t-bes, don’t-bes, and wanna-bes. Warriors don’t take No for an answer. I had to be able to do better than that, but my parents assured me that because of my career of exposing My Body For Profit, no decent man would have me.
But suddenly High School Boyfriend showed up, a working journalist, half-way through law school, interning for Ralph Nader. On our first meeting he told me he’d never loved anyone but me.
When I was 11 I saw a 3,000 year old Greek play in a Greek stone theatre and was very taken by all its mechanisms of chorus and emotion. When we went back to the boat I sat down and wrote my own play, Chrysothemis, about Electra’s other sister. I couldn’t help it, I had to reflect that emotion back. It was a hot day and everyone else went swimming, but a Warrior would have finished that play. I finished the play.
One of my earliest jobs was an office work temp – ending up as receptionist at an architecture firm. In my hegira through multiple workplaces I did not find one where I liked the lowly way I was treated. But Warriors, by definition, don’t put up with the Status Quo. Seeking to ratchet up my power level I used my training and auditioned to be a dancer. Things improved mightily! Although I still encountered some mistrust and scorn, on the whole, I achieved my goal of feeling plugged into the Universal Power Source.
From the very beginning I didn’t like doing the same thing as other people. What was the point of that? If someone ordered the same food as me, I changed my order. I was surprised that people would want to do the same thing at the same time. As I grew older, enthusiasm was ruthlessly damped down and my possibilities seemed to harden. Who other people thought you were was “ego”. And they wanted you to stay in that place. Much as I wanted to be admired, maybe even cherished, I could see this categorizing was limiting. A very bad thing. But how to get out of it seemed a conundrum. How can you view the situation you’re in from a point of view you don’t actually have? Lucky for us, there’s imagination! If we are really lucky, imagination crystallizes into Art.
I discovered we don’t have to settle for Ego, for making ourselves distinct from other people. Artists are shape-shifters – they all the best lines, all the brightest colors, giving themselves the best possibilities.
When the “multiverse” became popular, I wasn’t surprised. I was used to living several lives at once.
Baby’s eyes slowly closing in his rocker – thank Goodness. I am ready for a nap. Finished Hope Cooke’s fascinating Time Change (I can read while I breastfeed.) Certainly takes courage to write about one’s life that way. How I would love to! Must get free of this money question. I used to be obsessed with sex – then love – now it’s money. Would like to get my press money together. Always something.
Last night Lois and Toss came in to dinner together – they had been at a mortgage bank in Irvington, NJ where they met with some sympathy.
Baby sleeping 2 hrs! Put aside my John Anderson mystery and find myself opening rejected poetry mss. I am too “ornamental.” Not “formal” enough but these poems “kick up their heels” says the Quarterly Rev of Literature. “Originality & gusto.” Does seem as if every day I have a little more energy.
Man O’War – Abaco – The Bahamas – Hummingbird House – 21 Dec 81 – 3:30 PM Rare minute’s peace. The children screaming all day, except Shane, who did his screaming on the plane. Almost screamed me into a post-partum depression. I was too upset to speak for 45 mins. Toss is fixing a broken lamp, niece Tremayne is reading to other niece Lylo who is tearstained from an encounter with local cat. Mom looking for a Band-Aid for Lylo, Genevieve and Dad trying to determine if second boat is usable.
Island not what I expected. I expected New Yorker style resort instead of bidonville out of a Graham Greene novel. Hummingbird House buried in foliage – wild poinsettia & succulents. 5 minute walk to the beach; a very nice beach and deserted. Unfortunately, windy today and it took some nerve to decide to go in. Water seems cool, then you get used to it.
Shane snoozling next to me. Just put aside Mary Chesnut’s Civil War which I am enjoying tremendously.
Our Pan Am flight was late which made us miss our Air Florida flight to Marsh Harbor and had to put everyone up at local hotel. Not too bothersome although we saw way too much of the Miami airport.
Sisters are in 2 little houses I haven’t seen yet on Dickie’s Cay. Avril says they are nothing to write home about and their advertised “view” is simply a lie. Avril seems happy but her skin very bad – trying to talk her into seeing a dermatologist before wedding. Glad this trip is only a week – tough being in such close quarters with family. Friday I had a very bad day – too many errands to run – had to take Shane in a rush to doctor who fortunately was calm. He’s VERY healthy in the 90th percentile of EVERYTHING. Weight 11 lbs and has grown ½ inch. I am tired of being fat but my discipline is good so it should GO.
Thurs Toss had a wonderful meeting with Central Mortgage – looks like they’ll loan all monies if T raises $50,000 on his stock which he would get back the moment loan goes through. Daisy came over to go over my poetry! I was resistant! With a “view to publication” is just more of the same problem I’ve been having. Screw publication or anyone’s views about this but my own. This is like girls “fixing themselves up” so some man might “have” them.
5 PM – God – it’s all I can do to get Toss to take Shane – now he’s got him and I can write 5 sentences.
Next few years a voyage of discovery – figure out how to please MYSELF. 11:30 PM – Very agreeable evening. Mom & Dad & Toss & I have been drinking & talking & reminiscing for the past 3 hrs. Good relationship with M & D – Dad talks about how I challenge them.
T. just finished reading this diary! (With my approval.) Mostly he’s Ok with it – minor reservations – sort of like Rosencrantz & Guildenstern – he sees things differently from Hamlet. It was painful to have him read my resolution to concentrate on work and say to hell with money – I feel like I’ve tried but I don’t want him to think badly of me. I want to write ghost stories! Lead a subterranean life. Answer no phones between Jan and March. I could always write the story of the way things OUGHT to be – Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre.
5:15 PM Tues 22 Dec 81 Very erotic night – Toss delicious. A lovely lazy day – took baby to the beach –parked him in the shade & swam in the surf. Slept 2 hrs in the afternoon – tonight ham dinner & Christmas celebration!
Wed 23 Dec – 3:30 PM So much to write I’m scared to get started – Shane could interrupt at any moment. He gave me a fairly rough night – been sleeping only 45 mins – needs to be fed every hour and a half – felt I’d gone several rounds with Sonny Liston. This AM at the beach he needed constant holding. During lunch he slept ½ hr – up 2 hrs – now sleeping again. Do I want to sleep? Read? Write about money or sisters?
9:30 PM – Very pleasurable evening. Read thru NY Times – review of Adrienne Rich’s Wild Patience making me feel human again. A little privacy to chew intellectual meat brings me out of any downspin. To write poetry of the most important simplicities individual to our era suddenly seems of maximum importance.
Just fed S – he sleeps very sweetly in his “Little Jogger” outfit – Xmas gift from Avril. “To assemble Japanese bicycle one must have peace of mind.” If you accept the slavery of Zen does it make you free?
11:30 PM – Christmas Eve Firecrackers…and they’ll probably go off all night. Feeling well rested – 2 extra hours sleep at breakfast (Shane’s fussiest period) while T took him, then lay around till 2 when I went swimming. Expressed 2 bottles milk.
Played cards – wild, vulgar Michigan – WON. Shane sleeping since 9. Tomorrow – snorkeling! I part company with Mary Chesnut – it’s a valuable historical document BUT her tirades on slave-owners going bankrupt through their “charity” makes you puke. She regards herself as quite an authority on slave behavior! I’d say the reverse is likely true. (Why do they keep singing “Massa’s in de Cold Cold Ground”? Hmm.) Reminds me of that bizarre man who studied homosexuals to find out what men are really like! Weird.
Thinking of Lois’ reaction to my press idea – that I am neither a good writer nor a good businesswoman. I refuse to look at my press as a business but operating a philanthropy at this stage of our lives too insane. Third way – seeding the ground? The Literary World is a malignant casino where the statistics are against you.
Start a vigorous exercise plan when I get home – right now I’m lying around worrying. Can I afford BOTH cleaner and therapist? Cleaner DEFINITELY more important! Was Guilders College a senseless detour? Made me a bit sad to see how proud it made T.
Concentrate on being a good mother to Shane – not making others’ mistakes. T thinks he will have financing for project in Jan. Priorities are family and writing – friends & school just have to wait. I want to be known as having a valuable contribution to make.
2:30 PM – Mon 28 Dec 81 Interesting and FAIR article on Plath in the New Republic. Since I wrote the above I have taken Tylenol for atrocious headache and put Shane in the Swing-o-matic to stop his screaming. First he didn’t like it at all, then sat with a hurt and insulted expression throughout – finally fell asleep. It’s not moving any more but I refuse to touch it and wake him.
Feel like I’m in an inescapable maze! MUST surmount this. Shane awake, so swinging again. Still looks far from happy but at least I get to write this.
Yesterday draining – up at 6:15 to catch 8 AM ferry to Marsh Harbor – traveling, airports, taxis and trains all day toil 8:15 PM – lucky to get home THAT early – caught the 7 PM train at Penn Station by 12 seconds. When we finally got home, Shane went on a shriek – I was numb just wanting to retreat into Times Book Review. Then all night long he needed nursing at hour and a half intervals – till I finally had T give him sugar water so I could get some sleep.
He’s now lying so beautifully – magnificent legs extended – I feel dumb & stupid. Rejected romance novel – they liked love scenes but want less barter. Agent asks do I want to revise. HELL NO. Plath needed to stay alive & keep working, article concludes!
10 PM – feel much better. Some food – 20 min nap – good hour reading NY Times. News: the Blands divorcing. I realize with such thankfulness my luck in having Toss – intellectual yet sentimental (in the best sense!) humorous but passionate, sexy but monogamous!
The baby, after being a wild man all day, has been asleep 2 hrs! Think I’ll try to stay up.
1:45 AM – I am a new woman! T and I have been bouncing around – wrote my thank you notes, wrapped 3 presents, packed one, sorted through oddments preparatory to cleaning bedroom. T has mounted phone cord to avert trip & falls, now mounting heating pad controls so they won’t get lost in Dusty Under-bed Darkness. The only solution to babydom is to do without sleep. God, I’m in a good mood. Still plan to do my nails & read a little.
Read wonderful Plath poem Child’s Park Stones. Different from her best-known stuff, yet excellent. Wrote a letter to Barry about my press. I need an upswing.
Bad news – Scribner’s rejects mystery, so I went to the hairdresser in great determination to get a new cut & body wave. I showed her pictures and she seemed to know what she was doing but it came out much too curly when what I wanted was a wave. She said after I washed it most of the curl would leave – it HASN’T – even the color looks brassier – now I think I look like Little Orphan Annie. Toss says “you traumatize easy” and it’s the truth. Never acquired the rhinoceros hide. Trying to be philosophical but feeling hopeless about my work which is the obvious result when you try to please people but don’t. Afraid agent Lavallee is going to abandon me and I couldn’t blame her – also the whole thing about having an agent is they have to think about the market and the market is telling me to STOP THINKING ABOUT IT.
Luckily the baby is a great joy. I let myself get too tired – made a big effort to get to Women’s Group and it was distressingly boring Old Testament stuff. When I tried to apologize to Mom for dragging her to this event she behaved strangely – maybe she PREFERS Old Testament – couldn’t figure it out. Daisy wanted to know why I was distressed and I couldn’t explain how my parents seem to feel threatened by my religious beliefs. Mom & Daisy did NOT like each other. At least Mom didn’t act scornful which was my big fear.
Last Sutton & Pansy came to dinner with Mom & Dad – it was a successful event and the parents liked Pansy very much. Didn’t sniff afterwards about how vulgar they were or over-interested in money. In fact, they acted like rich people around me for the first time, drinking a lot of wine and talking about Merrill Lynch Cash Management Fund. Toss very surprised to hear his father say that if certain targets are reached, he plans to give the Country Store he bought for $125,000 to the manager, a virtual stranger! T used to be against hitting up Sutton for bucks but this might change his mind.
Tonight parents are off to Aunt Fred’s so Toss & I can have dinner alone. Tomorrow afternoon Mom & Dad leave.
Thousands of phone calls to make and letters to write but I think I will just be ruthless and postpone them till I feel up to it. God, I feel better! Just need to talk to myself once in a while. Having a beer and trying to express milk for the baby’s night bottle.
8 PM 4 Dec 81 Started hemorrhaging at midwife appt today. Adair gave me a shot of methargine and had me rest until the bleeding stopped, then prescribed bedrest! No stairs for a week! No housework! I was so tired I was grateful for the directive. I especially want to avoid a D & C.
8:20 PM Tues 8 Dec 81 I did have to go to the hospital – had to call Adair at ll:30 because bleeding started up again with enormous clots! She came over and said I needed Medical Management.
I went to Middlesex Hospital at 2 AM where I was prodded and probed by literally EVERYONE in the emergency room while I clung tearfully to Toss, upset at being separated from Shane, who was being cared for by Lois. Finally, I was sent to a private room where I was able to express milk. Sent 2 bottles back with T so Shane never did run short.
The Pitocin in my IV finally stopped the bleeding and I was released at 5:30 without having a D & C.
Since then I’ve been OK – no bleeding at all.
I am being driven insane by being waited on. T never has dinner ready before 9 and when I send him for tea or coffee he always forgets.
I don’t mind giving up housework but I want to resume a normal schedule and take Shane places but we really can’t go anywhere before the Bahamas.
My reading diverse – The Economist, Money mag and 2 Agatha Christies. Also the entire diary of the Princess of Pless, which I found fascinating.
Yesterday I almost got back to my writing but Shane thrashed around like a whale in a tank all afternoon and by the time he subsided I needed a nap myself. Baby needs changing AGAIN!
Last week the nearest I got to postpartum depression was sobbing over Scribner rejection. I hold 2 contradictory views at the same time. Money represents freedom & dignity, and, it doesn’t matter at all.
Daddy weirdly touchy with me at the beginning of our visit asking what mistakes I’m going to make with MY child (as if I knew!) The only thing I can tell for sure is I’m bound to make SOME (but I won’t make THEIRS.) Sutton seems to have made an impact on him – he bought Printronix, opened a margin account and checks out the stock possibilities of California wines.
Freedom would mean writing what I like and selling directly. What fun. But you have to be prepared to lose money on it. I like doing things MY WAY which is probably why I’ve had so little success so far.
Dr. Jones trying to discover how my self-esteem got so badly damaged in the first place. Feel power slowly returning to me through the confusion & helplessness. Dimly realize I should welcome these difficulties if it makes me stronger. Freeing myself from people liking my poetry. My enemies are exhaustion & demoralization. Still want to write a mystery and have so many ideas I am afraid of them. Also, bothered by Toss. I have been horny the past 3 nights (no full sex for 6 weeks) but he keeps falling asleep with his clothes on.
Being good on my diet so hopefully will be skinny soon. Already look not-too-bad though stomach loose. Swimming in the Bahamas will help. Reading Troyat’s Catherine the Great. Looks like baby needs a feeding. Won’t tackle stairs till the weekend – then I’ll feel I’ve done my best.
10:45 PM Wonderful interview with William Stafford in American Poetry Review. Helpful yet caused fresh agonies. It was about writing for the process, avoiding disapproval AND approval. Yet how kill this terrible hunger?
My last conversation with Charlene making me think this friendship is pretty well over. I have the sense of not being listened to. She thinks I’m too privileged to have problems. Says I should try a tutorial with Ezra (whose taste I deplore) when I have given up on Guilders (and it has given up on me.)
Wed 9 Dec 81 Poor Weasel killed by a car this morning – killed outright, thank God – ½ hr after leaving the house. Very sad knowing she got away with this because we couldn’t pay attention to her. Lately we’ve been trying to get her to sleep in a cotton lined bed because of her allergy and she was taking it as a punishment. In a year or two it will be time to get a puppy Dixie can lick into shape.
Goodbye, beloved white dog. See you where all things are perfect and I can give you the attention you deserve. Valiant Toss out burying the body.
Thinking tormentedly about my writing. So much I want to write and can’t – rejection and poverty are difficult. But my “problem” is something else. The terms of my bondage are unclear. What is the condition I am searching for? Serenity. It’s funny how much better this diary makes me feel.
3:15 PM Baby asleep almost 2 hrs now. I’m still in bed – the crises and chaos of this morning haven’t allowed me to get up yet. Reading Living With Your New Baby which is very helpful. Called Lois to tell her I can’t cope with phone calls for the time being – I need to isolate to cope with stress. However, I could address announcement envelopes if Toss would remember to bring them home. Granma is being a pain, constantly calling & writing – we will see her Sat. She offered money but seems to have forgotten.
Hard to believe Weasel, so vibrant a few hours ago, is bloodied & broken in the earth.
Disappointed by mail – no acknowledgement by agent of MSS. Sunk in hopeless apathy, I refuse to speculate on how long it will take her to read the book. However, some good things are happening. Phyllis Chesler’s Women, Money & Power really excellent. Like all these women in the book I am just attempting to survive. The best I can do is keep an eye on commerciality. Maybe I can teach.
Toss sold his Suburban Propane during a brief market rally and got $6000. This weekend heavy socializing. The Plattens over for drinks Fri, the Weiners dinner Sat. Duke Droyer & his new wife Muffy for lunch Sun. This entailed quantities of clearing, cleaning & cooking. As a result, house in great shape. Toss a big help , thoroughly scoured the kitchen & bathrooms while yelling how dirty I am. That made me sad. Chesler is right – don’t ever get cast in the role of having more than 50 percent responsibility for housework. Never accept blame.
Women who do housework are so abused the only reason to do it is because you enjoy it or you don’t want the baby to slip in the slime. Today only empty & reload dishwasher, make bed, vacuum rug.
Spent 4 full hours on poetry only interrupted by phone calls from Toss & Dom. Received International Directory of Little Mags so mailing out droves of material. It has taken me 6 yrs to get 30 acceptances. My aim is 100, but I may get disgusted sooner. No decent relationships result. Seems like a great reason for having your own press. Now I love my Siddall poem which I almost threw away. You never know.
Need to buy nightgowns for my hospital kit but that will have to wait for tomorrow – we took the depressing tour yesterday.
At 6:30 make hamburgers, meet Toss at the train, drive to Bradley class – an important one – Adair explains Caesareans.
Sat 31 OCT 81 Met a woman named Daisy at Trinity Church yesterday – she has 3 kids, plastic surgeon husband, hopes to write for money. I showed her my poems – she has never been published. She admired them, pulled out hers – wish I hadn’t shown my poor, thin, stuff! (I am a late as opposed to early Eliot.) She is a natural poet – use of language acute, original and free. She doesn’t k now how good she is. On the other hand, her fiction is a mess – classic poet’s fiction – everything happening at once. A novel in 3 single-spaced pages! It’s a curable condition but her forte is poetry.
She’s coming for dinner (with husband) Sunday. Now I am faced with the difficulties of getting up when I don’t like being vertical.
Rewrote my Mansfield essay & shipped it off to new journal. Last night couldn’t sleep – woke Toss at 2 AM to make love to me – he was very good-natured about it.
3:20 PM Already exhausted with much left to do. Finished the ironing. Unfortunately mail brings rejection of my romance novel. They liked the writing, said the characterization “strong” but narrative “diffuse.”
3 PM Mon 2 Nov 81 Good intense work on the accounts but can’t wash the dishes till I write here. At dinner Daisy asked me if I wanted REAL criticism of my poetry – her tone full of warning. I steeled myself & said yes. She said I don’t write about the subject I write AROUND it using words as defenses & shields.
I am particularly vulnerable to such criticisms right now. I am escapist. The uncomfortable truth is I will never be as good a poet as Daisy because I am a “literary” poet who should be writing fiction. Toss told me afterward he likes my poems better than Daisy’s because they “get richer with every reading.” He never criticizes just to make me feel good so there must be some truth in this.
I contemplate the shocks of the past few months. Feels like all my props have been taken away. Feels almost spiritual, as if God is hammering on me. Seems like time to start building afresh. But I’m not yet ready to repudiate my dream of writing a commercial novel. I don’t need to get rich, I just need a grubstake. Do I even believe in myself? I think I don’t (it’s too hard) but I do believe in my work.
Guilders has the nerve to ask me to take classes THERE for my degree – I don’t burn that bridge – but I don’t want to. They are not emotionally supportive. They are preparing me for a world I don’t believe in. I can do better.
Starting to come to terms with the deep scars inflicted on me by my parents – I just wasn’t what they had in mind! Feel like I’m on my way to a workable life. Feeling my way. I want to be known. Spend my class time at Marycliff (Dr Jones’ college) trying to get closer to God. It’s a feminine voice that is speaking to me.
3 Nov 81 Discouraging letter from agent. She has sent Pinch out first time, still sending around Wolves & Blood. I need to get some hope going but nothing’s there. This is a life of slow starvation. Avril calls to say she & Karl are engaged! Will announce after his divorce (January) then marry in July.
Read 2 murder mysteries with fantastic openings & disappointing endings.
4 Nov 81 Pray have baby before Thanksgiving. Letter from agent saying my romance “very good of its kind.’ The SMALLEST encouragement helps but I needed it a month ago. Seems impossible to ever write another romance now. If my original editor hadn’t been fired, how different my career might be now?
Definite steps forward getting ready for Baby. Bought baby lotion, oil, talc, etc, made and froze 4 little meatloaves. Finished accts, cleaned the kitchen, read Agatha, brooding over what makes a good mystery.
Tomorrow sew, iron, clean study (soon to be baby’s room).Snap out of my stupor & fetch Toss from train.
10:45 PM Thurs 5 Nov 81 Always wonder how close I am to THE BIRTH, as I write the date. Don’t pick T up at train for one hour; can I stay awake? I finished cleaning kitchen, freezing two lasagnas; not in the mood for all the virtuous things I MIGHT be doing. Painted my toenails over my vast belly for what I hope is LAST TIME.
A little ironing this AM before time to rush off to Women’s Group.
Rather terrified to face Daisy! I very unwillingly discover I do have a rather large fund of self-contempt. Makes me sad, I don’t like admitting I’m so cruel to myself. I thought my parents were full of contempt for me and “transferred it.” Every time I exposed my aspirations they made me burn with shame. Feel Daisy has “exposed” me as a “non-poet.” Pregnancy causes loss of identity and her strong personality moves in.
Excellent Women’s Group with a beautiful communion which I think Daisy – lapsed Catholic – really enjoyed. Woman who contracted cerebral palsy from a riding accident in midlife (and then her husband dumped her!) wrote book & spoke about it.
Afterwards lunch with Fran Drevers & Daisy. Why be in such a rush? Everyone asks me. Have to get it done before my nervous breakdown! Pity my family took no interest in my writing. My role was “needy”. They threw money & food at us and fled.
Writing requires an extensive underground existence. Probably neither romance nor mystery will be accepted. (Fatalism, let’s blame that.) And I will have to start over as I’ve done oh so many times. Children will be different! Look forward to this labor as a watershed.
Alysse Aallyn 