This AM Toss told me that putting my name on his accounts makes him 50% poorer in the eyes of those who read his financial statements. I cold say the same, except that I am worth nothing right now. I want this marriage to work. Men contribute money and women contribute the bodies of children which are both everything and nothing under their ancient laws.
Everything outside God is imperfect. All my life I’ve been battling this undertow – a sense of being pulled in a direction I don’t want to go. If I quit fighting I’ll be sucked away. Would like to reduce my sense of confusion & division. I will negotiate & re-negotiate.
4:20 PM – Fri difficult therapy day. Dr Jones trying to get me to see similarity between my lack of acceptance in writing and my lack of acceptance by parents – I can write about it now but was shaken at the time. I think it cannot compute. After all, you have a good chance of being loved by parents but always a small chance of acceptance you’re your original ideas in a buyers’ marketplace. But what would happen if I believed her and translated my search for an income into an effort to be loved? Surely that way madness lies. Is it the goal of therapists to make clients crazier (maybe so they can help them more?) Feel naïve that I expected her to “cure” me. But very attracted to her intellectual world.
T’s brother Dom is coming to dinner. He’s only staying an hour and a half but I hate my solitude being broken. I want to write an essay on Muriel Spark, work out my ideas.
Hoped to have the baby tonight. Thumpings and soundings on my pelvic floor. Braxton-Hicks contractions – reputed to be ‘nothing” – are actually rather painful. Housework hangs heavily over me – Toss does nothing, won’t even pick up his towels off the floor – when I speak to him he apologizes profusely and pledges to change. Doesn’t. I’m boggled by this. I told him I don’t believe in his “as soon as I finish x-y-z” any more I want cleaning person NOW. He purposely arranges his life so he can’t meet his deadlines.
He usually does housework once a week – scrubs kitchen & bathrooms and sweeps breakfast room but he missed this week. I wonder if one of the privileges of motherhood will be my increasing sense of my own power. I hope so. Been difficult up till now.
2:30 PM Mon 9 Nov 81 This world just too crazy for me. Silhouette says my love scenes “lack fire.” Really the funniest part of this is how undiscourageable I am. Better off with a flat turndown than a false carrot. Lavallee writes to say Pinch turned down by Coward & St Martins.
The thing I really hate is how this looks to others – I am sick of being a deadbeat non-person. One needs talent, persistence, application & breaks. I got the first 3!
Managed to find a cleaning woman! I hope this will make it easier to turn to my desk with a sigh of relief. I think freedom is the key to great writing and I’ve been constrained by these petty editors. Miracles occur! T. very nice about my rejections, no “Maybe you should just try harder to please them” thank God. Plan to go on working endlessly without pay, support or recognition – to please myself, while the mystical brass ring floats alluringly by.
Last night Dom said he hopes Sutton is leaving us some money in his will. Toss said when their dad dies we’ll be so wealthy we won’t care! I regard such prognostications with the utmost cynicism. I suppose I’m technically better off than in my working dancer days when I owned a paid off car, an unpaid for house and $300 in bills but it doesn’t feel like it.
9;30 Am Tues 10 Nov 81 Cleaning lady half hour late. So she is probably lost. Yesterday I drove my car out and drove ahead of them to show them the house but she speaks barely any English. On the phone her son says she left to come here “a long time ago.”
Last night read Phantom Prince about Ted Bundy written by his girlfriend. One of the best crime books I’ve ever read! Bundy was like Lizzie Borden in that he ran counter to police theories on crime. They kept letting him go because he “couldn’t” be the guy they were looking for. If he’d known how to STOP he would never have been caught, but he got addicted. Intrigued by the atmosphere of pizza joints & rafting as counterpoint to this couple’s lives. Reminded me of old boyfriend Kyro!
This is a really a whole book about female helplessness and dependency. Women have been trained to act like this to provoke protectiveness in their menfolk – but it often has the exact opposite result! He needed her to protect him from the knowledge of his own monstrousness.
Granma woke me from a nap – still tormenting us about a palace oriental the Schulz Foundation is giving us for reasons that are obscure. Why the principals can’t deal with each other I can’t comprehend. Nap & then try Mrs. Rozo the Lost Cleaning Woman again.
“Memory is our private literature” – Aldous Huxley
11:30 PM Sun 15 Nov 81 Getting lots of sleep hoping a beautiful angel will be born tonight. I’d like to have the house clean. First cleaner doesn’t want to do it, found a new cleaner Margaret who’s coming tomorrow. Washed the white dog in the bathtub and it was really too much for me, can’t bend over at all. Read Lynne Wiley’s Abigail Adams with interest. I enjoy the sweep of a life.
I wasn’t to review Spark’s Loitering With Intent but it’s too thin. Enjoyed the first 7/8 but when it’s over, impossible to say why it was written. She really writes too many books. The transplantation to Rome has not agreed with her.
Yesterday Toss & I drove to Wyomissing to get used (family) crib & car seat. New relationship combustion. I am very emotional right now – told him I don’t want to be solely responsible for harmony in the relationship. In a marriage, there has to be some way to disagree without slipping the rug of love out from under the relationship.
Had Toss to myself all day – an ideal day – reading NY Times in bed.
6;25 PM We 18 Nov 81 Good visit with midwife. She assured me baby will be on time and I will have it at birthing center. Relief. Blood pressure nicely down.
Finally talked Toss into open a housekeeping money market acct with $3500 (and hopefully writing money). Margaret worked hard all day, house looks great. Sat down to write – to my surprise got 8 pages.
4:30 PM – 27 Nov 81 Well it’s all over – my 8 ½ pound baby boy sleeps beside me. Labor was both more and less bad than I expected – I had dysfunctional labor – 2 days’ worth – exhausting & discouraging but I was only able to get to 3 cm dilation myself by noon Wed after having contractions since Mon. The actual contractions were not hard to deal with although they could be painful lying down. Adair transferred me to the hospital after 13 hrs at the birthing center where my contractions finally spaced out to 10-15 mins apart. At the hospital they gave me Demerol – heavenly – enough for 5 hrs sleep then I was ready again. Jane my labor coach showed up and I was refreshed enough for Pitocin at 6.
We were lucky to be in a birthing room with a borning bed – as I discovered later when I got back labor. (Baby high & posterior.) I did all right for 2 hrs then the back labor became so intense I couldn’t tell when I was having a contraction any more. It was torture to be touched. Finally, I asked for more Demerol – Adair didn’t want me to have it because she feared it would increase the need for Pitocin but the Demerol relaxed me between contractions – my eyes became blurry and couldn’t focus. Toss said contractions continued as usual.
The pushing stage I remember well – I enjoyed it – the baby didn’t feel too big & I could feel him moving along. Crowning was a little painful and I got annoyed at everyone shouting “Push! Push” when I wanted the doctor to stretch my perineum a little more. Thankful for the tiny episiotomy they gave me.
1 Nov 80. Toss so angry when I criticized his procrastination (he keeps saying he’s going to look for a job and not doing it) he pushed me into the bathtub! He denies that housework is humiliating but he doesn’t do it because he doesn’t want anyone to see him doing it. When I was having coffee in bed he pulled all the sheets off as if he was going to wash them but when I got home they were still on the floor. Guests to dinner – in the middle of the meal he would suddenly turn and glower at me hostilely.
Horrible day at school – EVERYONE IN THE CLASS got an F on their Prelude paper! We all had the “wrong” reaction because we had the nerve to react personally. I immediately bought my first-ever set of Cliff’s Notes. If there’s a “right” response I’m going to give it – don’t want another F. (We all get one more chance.)
K. Mansfield’s Letters unbearably sad. She would envy T’s & my life together so much.
Sun 9 Nov 80 Thrashed it out and fell into each other’s arms. One must insist on justice but not too much. Love requires acceptance and we both are suffering. He envies me having someplace to go and I wish SOMEONE ELSE was going there! I have to give up this 50/50 concept – our definitions are just too different. If you want it done your way you really have to do it yourself. He applied for a job in Princeton – relief. Hope he gets it.
Still reeling from nightmarish election results. T. telling me I threw my vote (for Anderson) away.
Vet Day 11 Nov 80 Toss out sleeping in his study. Poor man. He promised he wouldn’t but the next 2 weeks will be a nightmare for him so I hate waking him. The house is at last tidy which is something that’s frustrated me for a long time. I think I talked T into my plan to paint the wicker furniture dark blue. We can use my study as the baby’s room for the first year.
Just finished Sackville-West’s Challenge – the whole course of the Violet -Vita affair laid out there.
15 Nov 80 – 4:30 Toss and Lois’ boyfriend Ricardo roofing the barn – but it’s getting dark and they’ll have to come in soon. My nerves are snapping with exciting revelations about my writing. Cut my teeth on other people’s writing – sharpened my tools – now it’s time to do my own thing. A bit frustrating that my Fiction is class so stuck in Stage 1.
17 Nov 80 Bad times for us get worse and worser. Intense nostalgia for my dancing days washes over me – because I feel alienated from my own body! Part of the “psychology” of “giving it up” to get pregnant I know. Need to find a dance class for fatties.
T. and I had a terrible argument about child pornography – he says acts can be censored, ideas never. I totally disagree! One bad idea leads to another one – you have to cut SOME of them – bad social ones – off at the pass. They’re taking up brain space you could use to think other thoughts – it becomes a race to the bottom. He said I was trying to “control” him which surprised me. Doesn’t he try to change MY thinking? Aren’t we trying to influence each other?
Fri. 21 Nov 80 Toss read my diary – said, “I want to save you from this ogre but it’s me.” I said I have to write what I think is happening and how I feel about it! He asks – why aren’t I controlling my own thoughts the way I recommend others do?
I say I’m trying. But we need to figure out what reality is first and if you’re a writer you REALLY need to. I found and read him some good parts where he’s the hero!
Really enjoying Fat is a Feminist Issue. I’ve definitely been eating my anger!
1 Dec 80 Easier holiday than usual for everyone except Avril. She’s gained weight during the scary move, then the frightening job search then the threatening days of a new job surrounded by traumatized women. “I don’t even want to THINK of anyone touching me now,” she says. I get it! I am contemplating swelling up to blimp size on purpose! Will my husband still love me? Will the honeymoon be over forever or will I be able to get back to normal? Stay tuned. I lend her Fat is a Feminist Issue which I think is a big help but she never likes those books as much as I do.
Thought of a good ending for Pinch of Death. Hate myself for compromising all the way along trying to get Fiction class to like me. Means this novella is not good enough to represent me.
6 Dec 80 – Lying in bed with a glass of vermouth while Toss in long underwear plays on the floor with Weasel. Soon he’ll take a shower – then delicious sex.
A wasted day – cooking, housework, letters – making social engagements for Xmas. T read my story Kisses in the Dark through and liked it. Made love last night after movie It’s My Turn (not very good) partially clothed on the living room floor! I prefer the bed!
9:30 PM 8 Dec 80 Lying in bed with a beer – there is no wine – feeling very bad tempered. Fordham very dissatisfied with Chevenix transcript – they say they need some sort of “evaluation.” Why do I attend these hippie schools? Oh, the horror.
Rough time today Christmas shopping. Toss thinks it’s an insult to buy inexpensive presents – he wants to follow the rich people’s “codes” but on the other hand we’re broke! Conundrum. The bar exam’s the end of Feb. Can we make it till then?
9 Dec 80 Glamorous new gilded diary – I was hoping for a new life to go with it but here are the same old problems. Last night I was so upset at the prospect of having to find someone to evaluate my work at Chevenix I cried. Feels like having to describe a rape in order to get “compensation” – how could that be worth it? What a horrible school that was. Toss very, very good with me, so tender & supportive.
We were supposed to get up early and go running – I woke at 7 still with the headache I’d had the night before – realized that in my crowded life I’m crowded to the wall – something has to give. Won’t even try to grade those papers today – maybe not go in tomorrow. Finish up the Seiden paper as good as I can do it.
9 Am phone call from Lois – Aunt Henrietta died in her sleep, John Lennon shot by a crazy. If he’d stayed in London where it’s harder to get a “warm gun” – oh well.
Toss & I went running – lost Weasel dog – called & called – came home to find her cowering. Me furious. Run ruined. Gotta dress & go.
9:05 PM Another bad, frighteningly depressing day. Being necessarily humbled, I suppose. I am as sick with fear over this Shelley paper as if I were a 15 yr old about to be tested in math by Master Don Byerly.
Read Prometheus Unbound when I got home, glanced through criticism, had a bath, “treated” myself to Monica Dickens’ Winds of Heaven. The shrieking blasts of anguish through that book doing nothing for me, however. The point of Dickens’ books – God hardening us. Prophetic case on 60 mins.
Should reason myself out of this depression. Happy memories of Washington, sitting in my garden reading Bloomsbury Portraits, lolling in restaurants over wine, no bills due. Bad conjunction with Ezra giving me bad news about Kisses and this awful Shelley paper. (Charlene wrote a good one but it mentioned God and Seiden gave her an F.) I take my F with all the equanimity I can muster. Long break upcoming – maybe finish Pinch for Ezra’s inspection.
What I hate most about depression is being depressed. The physical condition. Worry it’s hurting Toss (who has more reason to be depressed than me.) Give it up to God. Throw it at Her like a curveball.
15 Dec 80 2:30 PM Living with Toss kills my diary dead. I use it as a steam valve. The only things I can’t discuss with Toss are my fears about him! The result; it seriously distorts our life together. Decided to forget “stream of consciousness” and try Page A Day (I really need 2 pages) so bought a beautiful white leather one I can’t wait to attack. Full of horoscopes, religious holidays, full moons. But now in the 16 days remaining I glut myself of Complaints & Fears.
I really don’t know what’s the matter with Toss. (I’m sure he’d say, “Marriage”.”) He talks endlessly of wanting a job but takes no steps whatever. (Says he only has Jan to look, Feb he needs to study.) Look back on my times of similar paralysis – mainly 1973 – every step an effort. I blamed PLUMLY. All the “assumptions” of my life completely unacceptable. Bound hand and foot by speechlessness – needing new definitions of world & self.
In Toss’s case can’t be that – he was “successful” before me – and it’s gone on too long for mere indecision. I think it’s an overwhelming fear of rejection – something I can sympathize with (although his chances of success are 1000 times mine.) This AM he was in a bad mood because of sleeping till 11:15. It’s against my nature to push, shove & nag, I just won’t do it.
Saturday we made an agreement – I would clean the kitchen, he would vacuum. He didn’t get to it till Sunday! I had to remind him about rest of the house. He seemed surprised but cracked down & did excellent job. I think it’s critical we share housework but his non-violent non-cooperation tough to get around. He thinks a big effort once every 2 weeks should cover it.
My slightest comments become part of his “mythology” so I guess I’m handling this badly. Maybe I should assign tasks. I am cooling off on the idea of him having his own law firm. He really needs to work for someone else. I like the idea of having our own press or buying a small newspaper. He’d be wonderful at that.
11:45 PM – Finished Waugh’s Letters. Very instructive – a necessary corrective to the impression one gets elsewhere. His loneliness, fear of poverty and modernism are sad enough – but not so tragic (TO HIM) as people thinking him a “bore”. That was the revelation from which he never recovered. (He WAS a bore because of the drinking. His solution? Drink more!)
Always a mistake to surrender one’s responsibility. (Only possible result: alienation.) Inevitable that Waugh’s identification with Catholic injunction against birth control would lead exactly where it did – unbridgeable distance from wife. (They lived in separate houses so he wasn’t bothered by kids’noise.)
Half read, half skipped Wills’ Chesterton. Very PhD thesis – no concession to reader. No frills. Radio program about Christian employment agency got me thinking. I’ll write to Witness and see if they want my writing. Put my name in at the agency – just fishing. I’m sure there are more born-agains and Catholics looking for edit jobs who would fit in better but you never know. Toss’s friend Dave Swift might turn up something also.
Met Toss at the station at 8:40 we agreed we’re too ornery & snappish, must be more gentle in future. A perfect night. Me in nightshirt, T in bathrobe – silver tray between us containing emptied manhattan & rob roy glasses. We share a stogie. Feels like Christmas!
Reconciled to not getting pregnant immediately. We talk of taking Sept trip to Ireland – how I’d love it! Discuss a year in Eng – me absorbing the place while T studies law. Time is closing in on us making it impossible to break free. I think about Chesterton’s statement that Christianity represents a crossroads in one’s life. Feeling free.
When she opened the front door at Norfolk Crescent the delicious scent of roasting lamb assailed her nostrils at the same time as laughter struck her ears.
In the kitchen, she was surprised to encounter a mini-cocktail party – Enid chopping vegetables while Miss Bottomley looked on, enjoying a glass of red wine. Her withered-apple face glowed.
“I hope you had success?” she enquired. “Enid’s been regaling me with tales about Morocco.”
“There’s just a bit of hummus left,” said Enid. “Really you must try it.”
Scarlet was more interested in the wine.
“Sawditch is ordering couscous!” Miss Bottomley said. “Enid promises to cook us a mush-wee!”
“A meshwi,” Enid corrected, handing Scarlet a glass of wine. “How did your publishing encounter go?”
“Sadly, the man is a complete dunderhead,” said Scarlet, throwing the books on the table. “THIS is the sort of thing they publish! They expect us to accommodate ourselves to this ghastly drivel!”
Enid looked thoughtful but Miss Bottomley seemed so crestfallen Scarlet sat right down to comfort her before taking a single sip.
“They’re doing it for money,” she said. “They are on their beam ends – the place looks desperate – and remember, you are a very rich woman!”
Miss Bottomley’s face cleared. “Buy the series back? Of course!”
“These wonderful books deserve republishing, but I’m suggesting a lot more than that. What if you buy the publisher?”
Miss Bottomley looked appalled.
“Buy a PUBLISHER?”
“Your money is currently all in property, which you’ve stated you don’t really care that much about.”
“That’s true enough,” agreed Miss Bottomley. “But what if these dunderheads – as you call them – are correct and my books are such old hat no one will want them?”
“Impossible!” roared Enid and Scarlet enthusiastically together.
Scarlet said, ‘This Mr. Mountjoy is overlooking an entire market of mature women. They are the most enthusiastic readers of books, and Miss Clew has so much to offer them. Isn’t there a revival going on of the Golden Age of Crime?”
“But buying a whole publishing company – “
“Or you could simply become an investor. Bob Thomas will know how to set it up.”
Miss Bottomley’s face cleared. Obviously “Bob Thomas” had become a magic name for her.
“You’re right,” nodded Miss Bottomley. “Bob Thomas will know. Let’s call him.”
“Call him tomorrow,” said Enid, spilling wine on Rod the Spy as she swept him off the table.
“Dinner’s ready!”
The dinner was delicious enough, but for some reason Scarlet had trouble sleeping, and Nick, too was wakeful. Enid seemed to sleep like a rock – at least Scarlet didn’t hear her or encounter her on the way to the bathroom. That’s all right, thought Scarlet stolidly, I can handle the nights if Enid can handle the days. But she was worried. How did she know Enid was who she said she was? Even if her past was impeccable, what if she was, say, an alcoholic? Who had she really brought into Miss Bottomley’s home? She was surprised – shocked wouldn’t be too much to say – at the vulnerability of this old lady. She had handled the hiring of an editor much more expertly – though of course I think so, Scarlet admitted, because she hired me. Obviously, others might quibble.
Enid put Scarlet’s fears to rest in the morning with her vigor and drive. She made crepes with fresh fruit for breakfast – Miss Bottomley sat at the table expectant and eager as a child. Enid managed Nick and the cooking effortlessly enough, Scarlet had to admit. A pile of clean diapers was already whizzing around the modern dryer.
“Could you pick up a copy of Dr. Spock’s childcare book while you’re out?” Enid requested. “It had a wonderful recipe for infant’s milk I seem to remember. Probably get one at Foyle’s.” Any excuse to go to Foyle’s was welcome.
“I’ll take the afternoon,” Scarlet promised. “Pelham D’Arcy has an appointment available for you at three-fifteen.”
“That would be suitable,” Enid agreed. “I most concerned to protect the children from knowledge of – er – their father.”
“I’m sure your husband wants that too,” Scarlet comforted her, hoping it was true. Enid, who knew her husband best, didn’t argue.
Scarlet phoned Bob Thomas and asked if she could have a short word with him – he suggested she join him for his “elevenses.”
Scarlet dressed carefully, called, “See you later!” from the door and found herself out on a fashionable London street on a brisk winter’s day with the most blissful sense of freedom she had experienced since Nick’s birth.
Wonderful weekend in Horse Cave, Kentucky with our soon-to-be wedding officiant, T’s OTHER gay friend/Baptist minister. Came home to hear T’s grandmother Louise (whose house we will be living in) had a stroke in her nursing home. They are looking for blood in spinal tap but it seems her speech is returning. (She is 88 and very frail.) Hope this doesn’t cast a pall over our cork-popping evening with friends. A cup of leek & spinach soup then walk to library.
20 Feb 80 Feeling crazy – in potentially the worst distress of my life. T says he can’t leave before Ap 15 – Granma changing the date of her party – I get the creepy notion T doesn’t care how I feel as long as I get my housework done and shut up about everything. Last night – after 2 nights of dinner parties – he invited people over – I said I’d be upstairs. Couldn’t see anyone. He suggested I was “manic depressive” which I consider insulting. He said he can’t work worrying about what if I’m “committing suicide.” That I’m “undermining” him by leaving him alone with guests.
He said he will do all the cooking for tonight’s party and I can “do all the drinking”. I said No thanks. After guests left our worst fight so far. He asked me threateningly if I REALLY want to know what he thought of my novel. I said yes. He said my novel is terrible – for emphasis he shook a floor lamp at me and he set it down so hard, it broke!
Said the Erin part doesn’t work and I should read National Lampoon’s clever “takeoff” on a school girls’ diary where she discovers she has a penis – they captured “girlish chatter” perfectly in a way I could learn from. I stare at him ASTOUNDED.
I’ve got to get out of here before I become a basket case. As long as he insists my misery and fears are imaginary we are far, far apart. I shouldn’t have come here – should have stayed working in DC saving money till the wedding (and his MOVE.) But we were so I love and he didn’t want me to dance!
8PM Thu 21 Feb Last night we had it out – every last bit and he SAW. I worked hard all day rewriting the passages he objected to – I agree it’s too bumpy coming out of “nowhere” but taking National Lampoon’s advice on “schoolgirls” is OUT OF THE QUESTION.
I tried to get him to understand how INSULTING he is being – that he wouldn’t accept this behavior from me. First, he denied he’d said the things he’d said, then he denied being hostile and angry – all while shaking a chair over my head! It’s like he’s possessed! He says I make him “want to smash something”.
I asked him if I’m this crazy awful person that he says then how can he love me? NO NO he insisted – you’re wonderful! Finally he got tender and said, “You need a love-letter, don’t you?” And I answered, more than I need a broken chair!
He said what if things get worse this summer. I said they WON’T. You will have graduated and passed the bar! You’ll have the support of me and your family! EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE. We both fell together, relieved.
Fri 22 Feb 80 6:45 PM Dinner ready for T – he’s late as usual so I have a moment to reflect. Up to p. 200 – one scene to go.
Last night he asked about “the relentless floods of blood” in my work. I tackled his comment that I’m “suicidal”. First, he denied saying it – then eyes full of tears –admitted and apologized. He gets “so upset”. He reported an incident with a Reed college psychiatrist – it was an intervention – he was accused of being the college’s heartless heartbreaker and said he was so surprised. I said But I have the marks on my heart to prove it.
He admits he’s jealous of my writing because I can “write anything I want.” Tough to defend against that! I DO write anything I want and I expect to make it my life goal! But I absolutely accept that people don’t have to like it.
Parents offered to buy my car for a grand and give to Genevieve. But they would keep it in Mom’s name because insurance in Maine is cheaper! I can’t criticize a gift horse’s choppers.
Found Monica Dickens’ autobiography at library today – could hardly believe my luck. Reminds me of A. Christie’s however – seems bit muted. Most difficult thing of all is telling the truth about oneself. No doubt all the best story is left out.
12:50 PM Sun – 24 Feb 80 Toss sighing and groaning over my book like a martyr. Sounds like he hates it. I finished writing it yesterday in 4 glorious hours. Toss NOW angry because I won’t answer the phone when I’m working. We’re suffering from “Doll’s House Syndrome” – anything he wants to do is for US – anything I want to do is just selfishness.
He’s 21 p from the end. He says I “sneer” at his suggestions but I told him I’ve incorporated a lot of them.
T. says it’s “corrupt”. Uh oh. He means the teacher scene. I reminded him of the Professor Emeritus at Plumly who wanted to talk eagerly with the boys about how to get erections, what they looked like and how long they could stay up. “Corrupt”? Toss thought he was adorable!
Better prepare myself for the tirade. He says he’s the marketing expert and I won’t get published if I “dismiss” his ideas and he might be right. He yells, I cry and we’re both wounded.
This feathered dervish Is an endangered species, Always seeking center of the fire. Does he know what we don’t or Is he just trying to make us feel guilty?
Iridescently decrescent he’s Always fighting someone else’s battles. He wins quite a few because Celestial wing’s always Quicker than the eye.
Cuckoo’s darling Sphinx-lipped hound stink Springs a balance tipped by weakness Of the Mighty. Doing The Master’s dirty work For centuries now You should know your way around.
Sidereal astromancer Always smiling – Bone poor A busy employee Avoids the traps of the past. Someone else’s coffers you’re Lining now you hypocritical Suit of someone else’s armor.
God said, “Bring for the creeping things” It is you who are a creeping thing thinks Lord Julian Of his pasty priest, with the Underdone face.
Were he a fish I’d throw him back. Good thing his knees are flexible as his Scripture. The priest speaks Of dominion, something
His lordship understands. It means Possession without surrendering the Self. Power begs abuse. He’s the master, he alone
Understands that here. Necessity’s The chain that stops the dumb animal Straying. Lifting eyes to the Steepled trees he feels the boredom of fall
Fade into the dullness of winter. The animals would be fat Were any left – ripe for scissoring but He ripped too many out.
Life’s start and stop – a blood bath brings Renewal. These men could stand a wallowing. They await his pleasure with Lowered eyes.
His pleasure is not them. He needs Men glamorous as girls, hopes As high as fever but none Are to be found.
Like the animals, they are gone. Julian’s scarred hands twitch the reins – Each scar is named, he counts them proudly: Attempted usurpation
The burning brand, the bear that fought The dog that turned on him The boar defending young. Past pain surmounted
Makes him long for wounds – A cut so deep he looks into The creature’s eyes for Some sweet glimpse of freedom.
Lord Julian, the scorpion-hearted Scents a smell the dogs can’t follow – The jingling behind him should be men The silky shadow should be deer.
His horse afraid – the creature moves Too smooth – when he dismounts Avenger plummets off – now He’s alone in moss and slime.
This thing is stalking him! He sees it through the trees Smells hot stink – a tiger! What ghost is this?
The prickled hairs stood high – he threw His knife – a sailor’s trick but Useless. He saw boars Twelve deep, spirals snorting
Through their tusks. The trees Morphed into deer and every beast He’d ever killed surrounded him. Face forward in the muck
At least the mud was real. Fox feet pattered, the tiger whisked him With its ruff – he dreamed a lifetime Lying there – every friend a slight
And every promise broken. This dark that stops his ears is surely death. But when he stands it’s not hell he sees but Dripping swamp. The mare he kicked and drove
Now leads him home. His blood is dried But he must cleanse the blood of others. To be struck he understands, now he must Know what spared him.
Washerwomen lift their heads At his approach – they don’t recognize this man. Hiding faces not from fear but Some new glory.
Wish I didn’t have breasts. I don’t like them. They make me feel like Somebody’s Mother. I would prefer to be flat chested. No sex since JULY. Bought a bottle of New York champagne from Laura for $8 and locked it in my trunk. Not sure what I’m saving it for. Kate Moody signed me up for Operation Match. I got a list of 4 names and I told Casey “I’m going to get us a date. “ So I called the first name on the list – Craig Crawford, a U of Penn student with an apartment. So that’s good! He answered his phone! “Must be a loser if he’s home on Sat night” said the loser home on Sat night. He had company but told me not to worry, “I think she’s in the bathroom.”
He turned out to be absolutely charming, all American, ROTC. By no means a lost cause. Said he’d gone out with 2 girls through Operation Match and one of them spoke no English. I asked for a millionaire (Kate asked for me.)
I said, “Craig, will you be my millionaire?”
He said, “I want to be. Help me make my million.” Asked me out for Fri. I said sure if he can get a date for my friend. So – a reason for champagne.
Tues. 20 Feb 68 Mom came Sun night and took me & Casey out to dinner. Unfortunately she brought a Lame Duck Boarder – one of her “pretend children” some shockingly ugly girl she feels sorry for. I bewailed my barren existence. She told me I’m just “dissatisfied” not miserable. I told her about our date Fri night and she insisted Craig & Unknown Boy have dinner with the family! I told her Impossible. Not wanting to contradict her at dinner I called her up later and ruined it by crying. I SO want to be THERE and not HERE. She thinks I’m the worst spoiled child ever.
Paris Match said Bonnie & Clyde “encourages crime” and Pauline Kael said “those sawdust heads missed the point.” I like her.
1:15 AM Sun 25 Feb 68 The date was AWFUL. Just horribly, incredibly, irredeemably AWFUL. Craig was FAT (why didn’t Kate ask for someone thin?) and his friend was SHORT, with very glisteny wet slicked back hair. But still better looking than Craig.
The evening was so awful there’s no point in describing it. Shared a bottle of Almaden during a decent dinner (eggplant, mushrooms, chicken livers) but when the boys saw we were presentable all they wanted was to get us drunk. The only way this could have been worse would be if it all happened at Pewter Hill. Casey was no help – she’s been in that convent too long! She just went all glassy-eyed on me. The boys wanted to go to their apt and drink and she was all for it! I tried hard to talk them into The Electric Factory and thought I’d succeeded but they said, “Ha, we lied, we’re going to the apt.” Talked them into the Trauma – they stayed 10mins. So we ended up at their apt after all where Casey & Friend made out and danced while I parried pass after pass from Craig who finally gave us and lay with his head in my lap psychoanalyzing me. “You’re restless because you’ve never had roots.”
I had to call a cab before they agreed to take us home. Asked us to fraternity party Sat. Casey wants to go! (I talked her out of it later, thank God.)
We no sooner get home than Mom’s psychosis raises its ugly head, how starved and desperate I am so I will never get anyone good. That same woman who accused me of “going to meet boys” when I was trying to bike ride to Trevallion, who accused Merrill of “living in sin with Bill Saint” (they weren’t) and said Genevieve’s husband wasn’t “clean.” Just weird. So embarrassing with Casey there.
Then Dad came in and asked me “how’s school” like an uncle who hadn’t seen me for twelve years and I burst into tears. A mess all around. This dating stuff SHOULD be easy but its so not. You’d think Mom would be all for “Operation Match” – as long as people are honest it should work. (My advice: ask for a photo.) But no. It shows you want to date and that is evil.
Wed 28 Feb 68 Called Devon this evening – knew I shouldn’t have but I was so depressed. I’d invited Preston to the Mar 5 dance but he said he can’t go. Has to be in a play. Invited e to the play and asked me out for the 22nd instead. I agreed to that but it’s not The Dance. Called Devon to feel something – anything – he said he was glad I called and happy to speak to me. Thought I called to wish him happy birthday! (So I said I had.) He apologized for his letters said they were “written in moments of weakness.” I said they were very romantic. I felt better then, but worse after. He HAS a girlfriend (more than one) there is no point to this. Wrote a poem, Considering the Chill Factor. Hopeless couple who can’t connect.
CONSIDERING THE CHILL FACTOR Considering the chill factor As I always try to do The day was hot Too hot for love or war. We sit in restaurants. I pick The blue veined shrimp He picks the black-veined news. Outside drunkards Carom off the plexiglass like entertaining fish. “They envy us” and Andrew says “How nice.” I see a couple coming in; she holds him up As I so often upheld you. I know that touch surgeons who manipulate the dying. She wears my dress the one I wore the day you Shamed me Stuck me sizzling to the sidewalk Shamed us both with those red red stains. Andrew I don’t think I ever have forgiven you. Andrew says “How nice” he lays his coffee spoon upon the cloth I hate the brown stain it spreads like murder Like the bad smell of death Breeding fumes as we do Corpses in the sun. I rise to speak Shrimp spewing from my mouth like Parasites. “We have always been so happy, you and I.”
Mon 4 March 68 I’ve learned my lesson: when this huge book is used up I WILL GET A SMALL ONE. Gave up on March dance, called Preston and said I’d go to his play if he’ll go to the Electric Factory with me, Casey & Kip and champagne supper after at Pewter Hill. Mom likes Preston because his parents are her friends so she should behave herself. Rich parents used to give their sons peasant girls to practice the facts of life on and Mom is giving Preston to me. He has a nice bass voice, but something festers in his soul. I’m going to find it and poke at it. Mom wanted to invite Brice to dinner! I had to tell her the truth about him so she wouldn’t but if I thought I’d get points from her for spurning his dark desires I was wrong. Everything’s my fault because of clothes & personality. Past midnight – I write by flashlight. Casey talking in her sleep.
Hard to read Spark’s Mandelbaum Gate after Genet. Spark is trapped by her form, defeated by her subject and killed by her characters. Ho hum.
Casey & I started a film company – Gryphon Enterprises – to film my movie ideas. Marquis de Sade (of all people’s!) Eugenie de Franval is a terrific story (without the moralizing obviously) – also Donleavy’s Singular Man. Working on my scripts. Also wrote a short story – Odalisque – about a teenager robbing her own “Christina-esque” boat. Can’t use it for English because Master Gwill hates “plot” on principle. Gives the highest grades to character studies & mood pieces. For him I wrote To Bed In the Afternoon dialog of a frigid woman with her doctor. Sunday into the city to see Pinter’s The Lover – excellently done.
Tues 5 Mar 68 Benson builds a new philosophy in Defense of Homosexuality – happens to be my philosophy as well. One caveat: “the freedom of the subjective person to do as he pleases is overruled by the freedom of the responsible person to do as me must.” Who’s subjective and who’s responsible? For that matter, who’s free.
Benson knows he’s in enemy territory so he follows every argument to infinity: no loose ends. Do women take to lesbianism the way men take to homosexuality or are men just appalling lovers? Take Craig Crawford for example. #1 he’s hideous, #2 he WANTS to be drunk. Any rational sexy girl would start to look good if you’d had too much of that. At the moment I can’t imagine ever wanting to bear children but who knows maybe someday … At the moment 69ing sounds impossible. (Casey & I discuss.)
Merrill writes she “spontaneously aborted” after a month of pregnancy. Depressed her. I hastily replied that since all Aallyn girls are built to be Earth Mothers so she need have no fear. I can see my senior thesis needs to be a “book report: What’s Out There”. They will downgrade me for not expressing my view but they would downgrade me more if I did express it so Lesser of Two Evils…
Wed 6 Mar 68 Wonder if I can sit in a chair for auditions. Dr Gilmour says not. Don’t know what to do with this lump of a body of mine. I should be taking dance EACH DAY. What if I recite my poem?
Got a full weekend permission, there’s a wonder (before lowering of the financial boom.) I have overdrawn 3 times!!! Think of all the starving children in Asia and I spent $4 on a bottle of hair conditioner.
Like to think I am free from all the ridiculous dating taboos like “girls can’t call boys” so I phoned Preston. He’s an unpolished diamond – delighted to speak to me. He’s tall, intelligent, sensitive, thin, witty, friendly, etc. Plans to go to Harvard, run for everything & rule the world. So what if he doesn’t actually attend to this school? The less he knows of me the better, considering what people around here seem to think.
1 AM Sat 9 Mar 68 Twelve hours and my Wretched Audition will be over with. Numb with Dread. Chances very strongly that they will hate me, I will hate them, we will hate each other. I don’t see how I can stand any more rules. But everyone tells me I have to audition at Juilliard so audition at Juilliard I weakly do. Preston and I discussed it thoroughly fifteen mins ago. Nice to have someone to confide in. I impulsively invited him to the operetta and he impulsively accepted. Will he fear being Managed, like Shawn and chafe at it sorely? Insist on “spontaneity” while my calendar goes soggy from disuse? We’ll bomb that bridge when we come to it.
Thinking about Devon all afternoon. “So sweetly cold, so deadly fair!!!” (Byron) Really stupid. It’s like those chicks fixating on the first beak they see.
Plumly – Sun 10 Mar 68 “A character’s recognition, through the force of circumstance of the truth about himself is one of the classic themes of comedy” Walter Allen, NY Times Book Review.
Me at Juilliard. Get ready to laugh. I panicked at the institutionality of it all. Don’t want a building; was hoping for an ocean or a green field. Got through the audition but they’re going to hate me. John Housman told me to “pretend I was in the shower” and I froze. What the hell did THAT mean? Well, I didn’t figure it out. Should I strip? I sang instead which I’m fairly certain is NOT what he meant.
Depression not helped by Preston’s inept kisses, his damp limp hand throughout Guys & Dolls. Everyone envious of us as a “beautiful couple” but I couldn’t get him to apply pressure. Uh oh. This bodes ill, ill, ill for everything else. In memory Shawn tears apart my Lurex stockings to kiss my blue-veined legs.
I looked good I have to say. I wore a gorgeous white and silver glittery dress, white stockings and white six-strap heels. The most glorious part of the entire evening was fleeing this lousy institution in his father’s car instead of returning to my sex-starved roommate (same gender as me!)
We wander in the park at 1 AM in parka & boots over party wear. Steam rising out of the ground looked like Fall of the House of Usher. I climbed the rock wall to the art museum while Preston stared at me. Alas, he is no fun. A mad-haired spectacle was I. He says my nerves look like Francis Scott Key’s flag which is probably right. But I was NOT in the mood for psychoanalysis. Will I survive this place? Because it is winning.
Thinking about Devon all afternoon. “So sweetly cold, so deadly fair!!!” (Byron) Really stupid. It’s like those chicks fixating on the first beak they see.
“A character’s recognition, through the force of circumstance of the truth about himself is one of the classic themes of comedy” Walter Allen, NY Times Book Review.
That’s me at Juilliard. Get ready to laugh. I panicked at the institutionality of it all. Don’t want a building; was hoping for an ocean or a green field. Got through the audition but they’re going to hate me. John Housman told me to “pretend I was in the shower” and I froze. What the hell did THAT mean? Well, I didn’t figure it out. Should I strip? I sang instead which I’m fairly certain is NOT what he meant.
Depression not helped by Preston’s inept kisses, his damp limp hand throughout Guys & Dolls. Everyone envious of us as a “beautiful couple” but I couldn’t get him to apply pressure. Uh oh. This bodes ill, ill, ill for everything else. In memory Shawn tears apart my Lurex stockings to kiss my blue-veined legs.
I looked good I have to say. I wore a gorgeous white and silver glittery dress, white stockings and white six-strap heels. The most glorious part of the entire evening was fleeing this lousy institution in his father’s car instead of returning to my sex-starved roommate (same sex as me!)
We wander in the park at 1 AM in parka & boots over party wear. Steam rising out of the ground looked like Fall of the House of Usher. I climbed the rock wall to the art museum while Preston stared at me. Alas, he is no fun. A mad-haired spectacle was I. He says my nerves look like Francis Scott Key’s flag which is probably right. But I was NOT in the mood for psychoanalysis. Will I survive this place? Because it is winning.
Preston said he liked the sound of my dress. At least. He brought me the candy bar that used to be my favorite. It no longer is.
Tues 12 Mar 68 It is SNOWING outside. Final proof the world’s gone mad. Yesterday so spring-like Casey & I played tennis. Sat I lay in the lower field coated with Bain de Soleil! Vibrating like a wire over second mug of gray coffee.
Thurs. 14 Mar 68 Last day before vacances and I seem to have a fever. Sore throat ripped by endless scream, ears popping, the works. Getting out of class the only benefit. So no date for me. (Word for the day: Nacré. Means mother of pearl. Oh so beautiful. )
No date, but perhaps champagne. Casey and I looked at this enormous bottle (a magnum) and decided it was just what the doctor ordered. Invited Rob Severn (English exchange student) and Bob Burke (black eyebrows, long golden hair from Kenya or someplace) down to the Greenwood to drink it with us. They said they’d be delighted. Smuggled it in a Gimbels shopping bag. It was gone in about 10 mins! (Very grapey stuff.) Did make me feel better however. Unfortunately Burke threw me to the ground, tried to drag me to a shed and stuck his hand right up under my turtleneck. We are in the same weight class: I successfully fought him off.
Severn offered to show him how to behave, I said “please” and he kissed me beautifully. Very nice. I was regretfully forced to tell him I had probably given him typhoid but it was thoughtful of him to risk it. He invited Casey into the shed; she went. Burke said he would like typhoid too. I had to say no. I guess I am not as starved as I thought I was.
Pewter Hill – Sun. Midnight 17 Mar 68 Just read my diary for ’67 instead of writing my Special Project paper. Nauseating. What a boring idiotic little child I was. Pathetic. There is anguish associated with diaries and no mistake. This poor body is one raw nerve. Preston came over last night, I was too weak to make the first move so No Move Was Made. Shouldn’t there be SOMETHING between fighting for your life and fainting from boredom?
Saw his Yeomen of the Guard last night – Preston a very fetching spear-carrier. We saw Closely Watched Trains, came home, made coffee & hamburgers. I told him he didn’t miss anything with the champagne. Was a movie about a shy boy’s fear of impotence the best possible choice? (The best thing about it: Czechs don’t use extras, they use people.) Tried to discuss film (did not like it as much as Loves of a Blonde) but could hear Mom & Dad humping upstairs. Probably working on some kind of manual the doctor gave them. Thanks folks. Preston obviously embarrassed left early.
Alysse Aallyn 