My whole body hurts from dancing 5 nights in a row.
It’s not good for tips, either.
Poor May Sarton is trying to exorcise Eliz Bowen.
Good luck with that! Elizabeth so contemptuous of “schoolgirl crushes”!
Real love in EB’s world seems strangely synonymous with corruption &
loss. Old fashioned view and more male really – “ejaculate” and die. We women get children, poems & novels out of it. Avril stood up for dinner by Shoulders. Uh oh. Beginning of the end. Apparently saying “yes” is fatally unsexy. She & I will be eating her pot roast tomorrow – fine with me.
Fatima came down early but Lori refused to go up,
Pointing to her watch! Much excitement & hissing.
7:45 PM – Mon. 24 Apr 78
Good scene in my novel – Miss Pruitt vs. Viv. Now I need a boathouse picnic. Every time you get to the mountaintop there’s just more mountain. Then you’re supposed to “prune” at the end – if you have any energy left. Trying to read A Literature of Their Own but Showalter too hard on poor old Woolf. Women have always owned literature, it’s the publishers, editors and critics we apparently can’t have. 60,000 words on my latest tells me it’s time to celebrate. No novel could EVER be this hard again.
I demand a party.
Strange letter from Devon – he is involved with some “Jewish woman” and it isn’t going well. She seems “inaccessibly foreign” –
and he is “losing faith” in his “ability to pick a friend.” Is this a plea for help?
He specifically asked where I would be this summer. Said he loved me.
Took his glamour pic out of the bin where it has lain and put it up, then went out with Avril and bought a hopeful bikini. She and Shoulders are so mired in excuses, lies and expectations no relationship seems possible.
Sunbathing season starts tomorrow.
1PM Thu May 4 -78
Comparing lovers. “It’s Devon in the stretch with
Jervaze fatally winded and Bruce fallen by the wayside”. Needs poetry.
Finished Gift last week. Letting it “perk”. It already feels “swallowed up” by the past. Avril read it, disappointed by the ending. Wants murder at the very least. But is that real life? I think I agree with her that it should be. People should kill themselves when you are done with them. Sadly, in reality they’re all whimper and no bang. How to fix?
When I’m not engaged on some important work my “real life” ceases. Car to its “first service” Mon – involved ferrying each other around and jockeying with one car. Why don’t Mom & Dad appreciate this? It’s like they want us to be ashamed of needing other people to survive. Mom staying in NYC with the new baby but then coming here Sat. to inspect our dissolute lives. Uh oh. I won’t have any trouble getting time off but I hate to. Certainly can’t work when she is here. Living two weeks off one paycheck canbe done. But I will feel obligated to battle Mom for financial freedom.
Finished Glendinning’s Bowen. A life rich and strange but hardly enviable. I’m being pestered by old “college friend” but I am officially “not home”. She sneaks around the house, sniffing.
Sat. 6 May 78 – 1:30 PM
Cleaned & waxed kitchen and bathroom floors, sitting with newly creamed hands and cup of coffee sunbathing in recliner. Muse time.
Emerge blinking like a ground hog into a new and spring-like world. A year ago, I was a rat in a cage. It’s critical never to let the “merchants of neurosis” trick me into limiting myself.
Tues. 9 May Plush Palace – 9:15 PM
Mom spent the last two nights at my place – sleeping in my bed since guest room has no bed. Me on sofa – doesn’t matter since I can’t sleep anyway when she’s around. Up at 7 to make breakfast get Mom to airport for 10 o’clock plane thank God. Avril came over with blueberry muffins and gazpacho to discuss the visit.
Everything Mom said felt like an attack. (She did give me $100 but I spent – and lost – more than that on her visit.) Avril says living on an island has been worse for Mom because she’s never confronted with a life
that would contradict her narrow-minded theories, so it’s all: “Why can’t people get smart and live exactly the way I do?” She tries to make her personal tastes “emotional law” – and if you don’t agree with her – or God forbid, want to explore something different you’re “the sick one”. Rough stuff.
We took her to our favorite Ellicott City restaurant – she wanted Avril to “explain” Mason and me to “explain” my clothes. She said my clothes trigger “weirdos” following us – it was completely in her imagination! She cries. No one decent man will “have” me, she wails! I say,
What if I don’t want to be “had”?
I’d ask her about her life but she isn’thonest – she doesn’t know Dad has already told us that her ideology is untrue. She insists when you find Mr. Right everything’s peachy, but Dad says she was uncomfortable and unwilling about sex at first – didn’t care for it. They had to “work hard”. I say we have more experience of actual pain
than Mom ever had – Avril says she “refuses to learn.” Creepy. Turns what pain she does have back on others somehow.
Can’t wait to resume my privacy and my routine,
reading book about Forster (The Cave & The Mountain) in my own bed.
I think realizing your mother’s limitations is part of maturity, and I’ve been slow because I’m unwilling to adopt Genevieve’s methods – “Don’t give her anything – just tell her what she wants to hear.”
I thought better of her than that but I’ve struck out so far. Since their definition of success
is so narrow, I don’t see how I can ever satisfy them.
Plush Palace – 11:20 AM Sun 24 Sept – wrote a fourteen page letter to Avril tonight. There’s a very pretty blond here who looks just like Ryder – they could be mistaken for each other – but it’s not him.
9:40 PM – walls dry so I could hang paintings. What a difference. Reading Redinger’s bio of George Eliot, The Emergent Self. Like it very much. Turns out I love driving to work – 5Pm is rush hour on the Beltway – everyone’s coming home but I’m going out for the night! Makes me feel weirdly close to all those people. And apparently they feel close to me – though they could just be reacting to my bumper sticker (Colette was a Nudie Dancer). They don’t seem to get the literary reference.
Mon 3 Oct1977
I hear only from my sister Merrill who declares my book a “brilliant satire”. She wants to know why I work? Shouldn’t I tour with book? Sigh. Give me the money and leave me alone I say.
Spent the AM phoning around trying to find my book in all the stores. Only found it one place. Dropped note to publisher.
Out for Courvoisier with Erika who lectured me on my book. I ended up defending the Victorians saying everyone now thinks “honesty and openness” are going to save them but we don’t know enough about ourselves for real honesty and our lives are still based on “smothered panic” as far as I can see. (See Janet Case’s strictures to V. Woolf.) Well off to my double life. When I pull into the Plush Palace parking lot I have such a good feeling. Everything coming together. Down the old runway.
Bought the most wonderful gold stripper shoes that tie with ribbons and have clear Lucite six-inch heels. I finally have enough costumes to feel really professional – every set should be good. Randy always compliments me. I am slowly phasing my hair from red to blonde – seems to help with the tips. I can live on fruit and cream of wheat – only buy groceries with tip money. Little man down front muttering “fuck me-fuck me-fuck me” over and over but not loud enough to be evicted. Randy said I am the best dancer in Washington area.
Sat 8 Oct 1977
Giving a dinner party. Bought 8 old-fashioned glasses for 50 cents apiece, five floor pillows, peacock chairs and a glass dining table. Now I’m looking for a silk eiderdown (for my bed) in some violent color. Bought beautiful rose-lilac fabric for curtains. Randy gave me another raise without my even asking for one. I love my body again! After the long estrangement caused by Ryder…he deliberately tried to undermine my faith in my body. He would prefer bad sex with a slave as long as he can be boss. Wait – isn’t that the marriage he just got out of? Guess we all repeat ourselves.
7:30 PM Tues 11 Oct 77
I’m too fucking fragile. All my problems come from pretending I’m not. I look forward to old age when presumably throbbing metabolism, soaring hormones and plunging brain waves will have smoothed out. How to describe this scrambled day? I’ve been vibrating like a cilia ever since I got up this morning. Made dentist, gyno appts, shots for dogs, dog licenses, took angel puppies on an hour’s walk. Divorce lawyer on the 26th: “John Love”: seems appropriate. Clear the decks for writing.
My area of Beltsville very rural. Poetry in all directions. Reading Mildred Savage’s A Great Fall and getting lots of ideas. Vacuum cleaner to repair shop they say they can fix for under $15. I hate errands, a disgusting dribble of irreplaceable time. Rewarded myself by getting Sleeping Murder at the library. Already know Dr Kennedy is the murderer.
2PM Wed 12 Oct 77 – Plush Palace
Some men seem to interpret the fact that I’m a dancer as some sort of personal challenge to them. You can feel the spike of hostility. “You’re making me think about sex again!” Is it fear of rejection? Any aura of professionalism bothers them also. I always curtsy especially low to the hostile tables – they can never figure out whether I am mocking them or not AND THEY THINK I PROBABLY AM! I save them a lot of money by getting them thrown out early. One guy asked me how long it would take to get in bed with me. His erection was so obvious I almost asked, “And what is your little friend drinking?” but instead I said, “5 years.” He showed up next night, saying, “Day one of the five year plan!” I like those guys much better.
Final R conclusion: What a JERK! Jerk’s absolutely the right word – in instinctual reflex – no brain activity involved. Will I ever find a gorgeous man (blond, please) whose soul is connected to his brain?
9:20 PM Thurs 13 Oct 77
Shopping Loehmann’s yesterday with Maeve. 3 sweaters, silk jumpsuit with jacket & scarf, lime-colored silk jersey blouse, socks, boots, shoes, gloves – $140 cash. Nice. Saw a wonderful fake fur coat I’d like to come back for. It has a priceless air of Ken Russell camp. Buy it with my Folger money – Shakespeare would understand.
Maeve bought nothing. Couldn’t find one thing she liked, reading labels with the expression of Queen Victoria viewing a slum. And the free-for all dressing rooms full of naked people just astonished her. (Stuff I see every day.)
She wants to know exactly why Wealthier People rejected this clothing at its first price? They must know something we don’t. (Wondrous rhinestone earrings to dance in, too. M. expressed pious horror.) People like this amaze me. Why is your own taste of so little importance? Then went out to dinner at a Middle Eastern restaurant – my choice – heavenly lamb shish kebab and a belly dancer! I loved it but Maeve had to rush out before dessert. But as it seems I can never be with ANYONE – even lovers – longer than 3 hrs it was just as well.
Folger morning started badly, hair looked mangy, face requires immediate skin graft. Dog hair even on NEW clothing (How is this possible?) Running an hour behind schedule (compulsively early me). May Miller gave me worst intro I ever hope to have, misquoted my poems and said I was a grad of the U of Minn. I thought I would sob with emotion 52 times during reading. My “woodcunt” poem did not go down well (even though it is definitely my most Shakespearean).
Damn. Then I could have strangled Erika Gelbfisz (at the after party) who is so scornful and cynical about everything you can’t even have an ordinary conversation with her. I felt like throwing my wine in her face saying, “Suppose you actually succeed in making us all feel rotten, what then? Fighting in the streets?”
Nothing’s worth anything in her opinion, so why is she alive exactly? This is what gets my hostility going but because I am at a party I DON’T WANT TO GET INTO IT. So I just growl and stew. I don’t care for Cocktail Party Standing Around – my right boot was trying to extinguish my left toe, a toe already threatened with extermination from dancing. This is real Italian leather so SHOULD ultimately fit my feet – I can see each boot slowly outlining my toes – if I don’t come down with gangrene first. Will try Wet Washcloth Stuffing tonight. (Still, I looked ravishing, my dear, in a blue gaucho three-piece suit and my red, red, high-heeled boots.) Poet Usher Glayne seemed impressed with me – but he’s an old man.
To bed with my main squeeze, Agatha Christie. Thank God for that woman. She has pulled me single handedly through the last three months.
I was just drifting off when Marc Kramer called. We talked ½ hr. He bought a sailboat and a BMW and wanted to be sure to let me know. I like the sailboat and the car but the desire to “impress” me diminishes him in my eyes. Sad to say. He’s presently at risk of being filed under “has no conversation”. Well, he did talk about work. They wanted to fire him from The Washington Project, then admitted he had been right all along. He’d love to have dinner sometime, “see how I live”. Uh oh. Can I keep this relationship out of the sexual? I don’t want to go to bed, even experimentally with someone Lacking the Necessary Spark. Could they make up for it by enthusiasm or step-by-step instructions? I hesitate. Is it ever possible to just date? It was AWFUL with Keith. Marc, however, has a gift of humor. And my parents like him. “No expectations?” I finally say. And he promises.
At Shoulder’s house. Not a bad drive down – (washing the dogs right before the ferry (I had to – they stank) put some time pressure on me – but I made the ferry anyway. Shoulders looks different – has a moustache. Talks about needing a roommate – does he mean me? He doesn’t know where yet and I don’t want to live with him. His constant string of ignorant pickups would eventually get me down.
He doesn’t mention Ryder and I don’t look up his TV show.
Promising stuff in the classifieds – a garden apt in Landover, a townhouse in Dale City, sharing a house in Kensington. Took the dogs on the old walk – they remembered the route. Huge construction at my old house.
L’Escargot closed.
5 PM Sept 9
Kensington House hopeless. You have to join some
kind of food co-op that’s like a cult religion and there’s a huge emphasis on kitchen and cooking duties. They all eat together. Seems like the worst of college and boarding school to me. I’m now sitting in a real estate office which is really a garage waiting for a guy who’s already an hour late. He’ll be here in 10 mins they say, then he’s going away for 2 weeks so I hope he will want to close the deal tonight, It’s described as an old apartment, high ceilings, fireplace. $210 a month. So I’m just praying the neighborhood’s not too bad.
7:00 PM
Bleak. Too bleak. Tried to imagine myself doing my
exercises on that floor, standing in that kitchen waiting for water to boil, etc. Couldn’t manage. Feeling very stressed. Do I even want to live in this city? It’s just that I know I can easily make a living if the
book doesn’t take off. Went to the library and loaded up on Agatha Christies to help handle the strain. It works. Maybe I need to get a shag haircut and spend the winter in Spain. Now why don’t I do that, other than the obvious reason I can’t afford it and have already missed my dogs as much as I ever want to. Another guy says he has half of a house I might want. With a fenced in yard.
8:15 AM Wed 14 September – Powder Mill Road
Drinking coffee in my own kitchen from the mug that
was my present to myself last morning on the island. The guy is
selling this house as a rental property and was amazingly cavalier –
needed a tenant – didn’t look up my refs or demand cosigner.
Absolutely cool when I described myself as a ”writer” so “dancer”
remains beneath the radar. (Dad would say that proves I know
dancing’s “bad”! I refuse to be unsafe just to convince my own father I’m respect-worthy.)
Yesterday very full day. Got up at 8 and moved
the dogs to their fenced in yard. Fetched the truck, loaded and
unloaded with Shoulders’ help – bookcases, boxes, mattress,
desk, sofa – had truck back by 3. A thousand robins on the weed-grown lawn. I wonder how long I will be looking at this peaceful green view.
8:30 AM Thurs Sept 151977
Up early spending the last of my money on necessaries – hardware, lampshades, contact paper.
Fri 16 September1977
My books arrived at Larry’s! I spent the morning sending them out. Then drove to the Landover Mall, bought two g-strings and pasties and off to the Plush Palace. Steve was there – (Randy the bouncer just hired) thrilled to see me.
Wanted to know where I’d been but I turned that easily away. Vacay! Who wouldn’t! Told me to come to work Saturday night and they’d give me my schedule. So that’s settled. I don’t like trying to live without money. Took the landlord my paint color selection – he buys the paint and I do the work. Probably will take me the next week. Every now and then am attacked by that claustrophobic feeling of restlessness and purposelessness but I am able to keep it at philosophical bay. Working at my poem index made me feel strong and soothed.
Called Chloe to see if I can get on the radio – she was excited to hear from me, but unfortunately gave Erika the Pest my number. Erika called – I was nervous that she wanted me to rewrite her manuscripts, but she just invited me to breakfast. After that she has another appointment so she can’t swallow up my day. Letter from Avril saying she is coming end of Oct.
10:15 PM Sat 17 Sept 77 – The Plush Palace, Alexandria Virginia
Ego lift. Nothing’s changed. I’m still the best dancer in the place. Four dancers on and I know two of them. The gossip, the Costume exchange, the curling irons, the dope in the dressing room – it’s all coming back to me. They’ve introduced some weird rules, like customers get to play the music, but it’s still a fun and relaxed place to be. Steve the floor manager says I can have all the work I want so I might be able to put money away.
Sun 18 Sept 77
Opal comes to over to say “hi” but really to complain about her incipient divorce. Not the best company. Not the best climate for me either – I found myself sobbing over Ryder (fortunately was alone by then). Why does it seem a lost paradise? So I can still get into that sort of mood.
Nice phone call with Mom and dad, not too pressured. They are coming to a boatyard in Annapolis to look at a boat – will see me then. One of the best things about this house is the month-to month lease. Feel I can leave any time but if I behave well they won’t kick me out. Gorgeous location but forty-five minute highway commute to The Plush Palace. Still wish I couldlive in Virginia.
Wed AM 20 Sept77Sent out a ton of poems. Replied to a woman who wants pieces for an anthology. Got a beautiful love-letter from Devon! His usual length – both sides of one page. Talked about how much fun we had in August, dressing up and going out and “afterwards…!” Made me smile. I said to hell with money and called Avril because I wanted to share – Mason is not there during the day. She is in a bad place. Providential I called. He has taken to staying out at night without explanation – she is frantic. Thank God she is coming here. I told Randy since I’m your best dancer, how about a raise. He gave me one! Only flaw to this house – they need to fix hot water. I had to heat water to wash my hair. Bought 2 more costumes bringing my total up to six – the bare minimum I’d say
2:30 PM Dunkin Donuts, Eelsboro, Maine Fri. 26 Aug 77
Here I am again verging on home: have I changed? I like myself better,
I think I can say that. Thurs night was a big success. Devon came in with an IMMENSE bottle of white wine – he either needs it for himself or he’s trying to turn me into an alcoholic (with my full cooperation.) The clam and noodle thing I invented was quite good but he wasn’t ready to eat till nine and we didn’t get to bed till midnight where he revealed a sexually savage side to his nature that has been previously unseen. So maybe he was nerving himself. (I loved it). We finished the housecleaning and were off to the airport by 11.
Fairly silent in the car, though he was tender. When I
mentioned he might come down to DC he said he didn’t think there was much of a possibility – so now I’m worrying that I’ve been pushed ontoBad Girl Island while he pines for Pure Young Innocent English girl with who he would NEVER do those enjoyably awful things. (She’s 21!!!! He knew her 24 hrs!!!) I shouldn’t be silly. I really can’t ever “lose” him. I think he loves me and everything else is just scar tissue. Devastating airport goodbye – he asked me to “write soon”. I’m probably lucky he loves me as much as he does. I was looking damn good if I do so say so myself in backless red halter top and tight, tight jeans. I do want him to remember me as beautiful.
11:30 AM Sat 27 Aug 77
Gobsmacked! Mom & Dad are on Ryder’s side!!! They
HATE him! In other words, they will defend anybody rather than me. They say of course R “behaves badly” if I am having an “affair” (don’t you love the archaic term?)
with Devon! I say he doesn’t even know about Devon, plus we weren’t exclusive BY HIS CHOICE plus we were BROKEN UP. But everything still seems to be my fault. Incredibly, they think I am not SUFFERING ENOUGH. Here are people who have lectured me all my life to find any excuse for other people’s bad behavior – life has surely injured them somehow. They didn’t have Advantages! According to them I am the only human being alive who doesn’t get an excuse – I should just “be different”.
How, asks mom, can I meet “suitable young men” while dancing?
Suitable young men! (They like Marc Kramer who’s a complete horndog and a political troglodyte. But at least he can afford me!) Am I living in a Trollope novel? I am so annoyed I don’t want to accept their hospitality but I really don’t want to rent a room in the House of the Damned aka
Burnside Inn. which doesn’t take dogs – who wept to see me again like children – then immediately got over it.
Dad’s a very restless retiree I must say but don’t ask me what to advise. I’m too ignorant. My advice to everyone is “write”;
Naturalists say, “Be alone in nature” and religious people say “Find God.”
Reading Vol I. V. Woolf’s diary (so different from A Writer’s Diary)
Hitting the gin. Mom thinks I’m taking “bad” advice from messed up writers – “modeling” myself on failures and suicides – (Dad calls them “degenerates”) – because it’s “cool”. That’s why I need the gin. I need the gin the first minute I wake up. Must try not to be such a limp limpet. Told Mom if R calls at night not to come get me.
Sun 9:30 AM 28 Aug 77
Mom washing windows. God – I think I am supposed to offer help but I Refuse. I need to get the hell out of here. Mom says I can’t add my laundry to hers 9she sends it out)but have to go to the laundromat in town.
So the Battle is On. I’ll just go around smelling bad so there. Mom and Dad are sailing down the Inland Waterway but not till Oct. Have a horrible feeling I’m not out of the woods on this Ryder thing. Maybe I can get established in Washington without him knowing. If I go back to him I will despise myself. Keep Devon in secret as my lucky talisman.
9;45 PM
Drunk, fat and exhausted. Parents had cocktail party
inviting Island Poet. (Published in The New Yorker.) Tried to give her the rundown on my summer but it sounds a complete waste – “Wrote half of a no-good book, got my other book rejected”. Of course my summer doesn’t sound like anything with the sex & love left out!!! Am I trapped at the end of a cul de sac? No; there is something there. I just can’t
find it yet.
Dad said he’s sure my life provides a lot of stories, but
maybe what I need is a PhD in Eng Lit! Mom’s reaction to that is rigid disapproval. (He’ll never make that mistake again.) To explore the boundaries of one’s soul is Selfish. One Lives to Serve (or to Claim one is Serving. So, if you’re too stupid to know you’re selfish its win-win for the small-minded!)
Tried to read The Clocks but its Agatha Christie’s
worst. Absolutely meaningless. Poor Virginia Woolf going through a very bad, painful period. Obviously sick, recording only weather & food.
Now theorists act like she was “mental” not liking to look at herself but
Vita Sackville-West felt the same way. Couldn’t look in a mirror, wouldn’t buy evening dresses or go to parties! (And she was on the sexual prowl, unlike poor VW.) I think their era was actually worse about beauty than we are – they gave it a “magic” “classical” quality so it was very much restricted. We see more beauty – and in weird places.
Otherwise how explain Leslie Caron? Jeanne Moreau? Charlotte Rampling?
Hardly classic beauties but wonderfully, rightfully worshipped as goddesses. I see hope for all of us.
8:00 AM Mon 29 Aug 77
It’s real Agatha Christie weather – fog so dense you
can’t see the water. Nevertheless the ferry’s running – Mom took
Dad down. I’m feeling successful, sober and sane. I’m doing exactly what I want and will find my own way. I’m determined to be happy and not develop some kind of “rejection phobia.” Not knock out the props of
my own happiness. Accept the fact that my pride has been hardest hit.
PHANTOMS
The ghost awaits his chance
Inside us all
Revenge de-bodies –
Anticipates the dark
Impatience ill-concealedto
Grasp our foot
Beneath the turning of the stair
Reveal a face as blank as
Nightmare whose
Icy, seaweed coils entwine mistrust
Around our throats
Suppress our breath
While we dead live.
4:20 PM Letter from the Folger Shakespeare Library
inviting me to read Oct 13! Mom was impressed. 20 mins pays
$50! I’ve hit the big time! Wish I’d known this when Island Poet
asking me why I don’t just kill myself and get it over with. M & D
very flush with money right now. Got their $$ back
from NY State bankruptcy but Dad always in a panic that we’ll figure out how rich he is.)
9:00 PM Called Shoulders. He said dogs will be all right for a couple of days but he’s being evicted at the end of Sept! Too bad!
Such a nice house. (And in Chevy Chase!) So I’m spared kennel
fees for 2 days at least. Ryder must be back at work (if he still has a job).
Reading old NY Times Book Reviews in front of a roaring fire.
Dishwashing break – I said I’d do them. Pick up Agatha Christie afterwards –
– the preferred reading for “shock cases”. (She was a shock case herself.
Absent in the Spring is very fine).
Island 10 PM Monday night, 5 Sept 77
In bed in the Barnacle drinking coffee, eating bread
with honey. Delicious solitude. Can’t go to the Main House because Genevieve’s friends from Boston are there – they no sooner arrived for this Fantasy vacation than they decided they need a divorce. Fortunately, they are quiet about it. The one thing they can’t deal with is their dog –
tomorrow I have to drive him to the ferry. Oh well. I’ve been enraptured by this delicious solitude – beachcombing is very healing. I guess I am just a solitary sort – don’t really care for people at all, I fear. Last night a bad dream about Ryder – treating me cruelly and me, paralyzed. In the daytime – in my conscious mode – I remember everything good about him, his lips mouth and fingers – his constant air of playfulness.
The way we fit perfectly together like interlocking puzzle pieces
– nice that he was short – my mirror opposite, only male. My lost twin.
But nature abhors a balance, apparently.
Must remind myself how he had to try to turn it to his
advantage, throwing the whole system off and spinning my world into
frozen space. Now he doesn’t know where I am (although he might suspect.) No phone in this building thank God.
Tomorrow goodbye Maine – back to DC to house-hunt.
M & D have been good about not dragging me to things – enjoyed the Smythes sculpture show – parties not so much. Parties seem like
“consensus building events” where I’m fated to be perennially on the outs. Ford Madox Ford made some kind of statement about how
people have to achieve a level of “ordinariness” to be “successful” –
I can’t remember the exact quote. Plus I lack the patience to look it up.
Ryder felt I despised him intellectually, which of course, I did.
I don’t think of myself as stratified, but heis and when you’re with a stratified person, you become so. Sometimes I am in mourning for the part of me that died. I wish I could get my letters back – but they were only love-letters. Must seem now like the ravings of an insane person.
Well, there’s no reason to see him again. I think the casual relationship is beyond me. I hope in the future I’ll be careful of men going mach one across the sexual barrier. I’ve got to stop looking at sex as a vitamin requiring periodic intravenous doses.
Be careful what you want in case you get it. Devon and I are suddenly in the midst of a very satisfying love affair. He called 5:30 yesterday – wish it had been earlier because I was in a psychic tailspin.
Immediately tidied the place up, anointed my body, put on my black silk jumpsuit exploding with roses (last worn on date with R.) He came in wearing tight jeans and a linen safari jacket – we had a very silly time over wine. Christ he can look beautiful when he wants to. Out to a restaurant – I ordered a “flaming volcano” and they had it! More silliness.
D. said, “Going out with you is an experience.” He couldn’t compliment me enough on my general gorgeousness (heh heh heh.)
We saw The Deep which was just what we both wanted – titillating glossy glop. D. kept initiating PDA’s (which he never used to –
Wow has this guy grown up! He used to act like the Amherst PDA Police were everywhere! He suggested we go to bed!
No loitering on couch! Sexually he has all the time in the world –
he’s all out for my pleasure – his orgasm of no importance. He’s particularly good with my ass and I LOVE that. (He treats every sphincter like
another pair of lips – I’m in a threesome with myself!) I always felt like he was “holding back” – not any more.
Tendernesses and confidences growing. Nice to be loved!
He goes on and on about the beauty & sensuality of my body; my sexuality
“like a storm!” (Like dancing.)
Sun 12:30 PM Deck 7 Aug 77
Sitting over coffee, grits (to which Mrs. McManus has now addicted me) and Dorothy Eden. (The Sleeping Bride – very good!)
Praying like mad for writing money.
Lucky things worked out the way they did – keeps me from obsessing
over R.
Bike ride! It’s a form of prayer.
6Pm Hammering away – great scene – getting the good stuff –
– typewriter ribbon gave out! Come on! At 6 PM!! It’s like having your horse shot out from under you. I was going to spend the evening writing.
Goddamit.
Starting to worry about R coming back from the Finger Lakes – he
knows where I am – would he show up here? Aack! No! Impossible.
He can’t be alone. Wouldn’t drive that distance without a captive ear.
Reading Jane Aiken’s study of Jane Austen. Don’t feel a moment’s anxiety about D. Miss dancing terribly.
Mon 8 Aug 77
3 PM On deck loving the rising wind, reading The Scalpel
of Scotland Yard (Spilsbury). A perfect day. Trapped here for a few hours till the man shows up to fix trash masher – but at least I got my “naked exercises” out of the way. Today’s a scorcher – using air-conditioning for the first time. Cheated on my diet – ate a whole can of tuna.
Packed in water, fortunately. Body screaming for peaches and
almonds. Gutted the Pevensey library. They are running out of
books for me.
12:45 PM Tues Aug 9 – 77
Coming out of my coma to write agent a note.
After 3 months of not being “pushy” surely SOMETHING should
be happening. I decide I am suffering from a disease that should
be called “Dickensitis” marked by severe self consciousness and
complicated by “Plath syndrome” (brutal social induction flashbacks).
Freezes me in my path.
Loving Solzhenitsyn’s article on Shakespeare & Tolstoy.
But do I love Devon? Before all of this I would have said yes, very
casually but sometimes the better you get to know someone the less
you can love them. He was at pains to explain his theology – but it doesn’t seem to involve God – it’s all interpersonal relations – which I
have to say I think is just weird! He wants to be “of service” to people and he’s aware – but suspicious about – the “mysticism” athletes get into.
I hate to say this but it reminds me of my mother. Any “be wary of people who have an inner life and try your best to get rid of yours” philosophy
is a major turnoff for me. When we talk about “self-perfection” and “self-cultivation” we are talking about VERY different things.
I casually told him the more I get to know him the lessI know him – and he was very pleased! (Relieved.) He didn’t say why –
but I know he doesn’t want to be “easy”. I didn’t tell him he’s still held fast in Sleeping Beauty’s overgrown castle, in my opinion. Don’t think
I can get him out of there. I always try to plan my strategy if he tried
taking the relationship up a notch. But he can’t suggest we live together while he’s a divinity student. Think I can relax about it and just enjoy his magnificent body.
Take, eat. Old wounds between us are entirely healed.
If D is stuck in SB’s castle, where is R? He is unborn, a baby
dreaming in the womb. “When I grow up I’m going to have lots
LOTS of girlfriends but they will all be PERFECTLY RESPECTABLE
and SEXUALLY DYNAMIC but only when I say so!”
I regret most working so hard to make him “certain” of
me, to make sure he knew exactly what I was thinking and feeling.
I put my cards not only face-up on the table, I handed them to the guy!
Not many people would be mature enough to handle that. Never
discuss what I am feeling with D – haven’t mentioned R after our
preliminary intros “what have you been up to”. I’m not sure he even knows how I make money in Washington.
8:45 AM Wed 10 Aug 77
Like the alcoholics say, one day at a time! Exercises,
diet, sunbathe, bike ride, swim, etc. Doing a good job at that – horrible
job at writing – because I don’t hear from agent. Confidence completely collapsed. Sitting on the deck feeding Ms. McManus’ Caesar salad
croutons to a squirrel. He really likes them. Reading Berckmann’s A Thing That Happens To You. Finished Thalberg’s bio – ho hum.
No swimming – maybe bike ride in the rain (just a misting).
3:30 PM 11 Aug 77 – Thurs
Depressing letter from Chloe – she wants my help
with her MSS. I agree with Henry James – all I can do is My Thing
My Way. But I have to seem really approachable if I want radio
work. Conundrum. Catatonia. Devon called. Do I want to get laid?
I think so! Reading about grave robbers produces a poem;
RESURRECTIONIST
Unearth me, lover
I’m a jewel now
Melted
In that crevice you once loved so
Well; it’s an ingot now,
a socket
For our mingled liquid
Essence
Suck it up with
Dust-lathered lips
Strip
The flesh as you once did
The clothes; I’m burning
Cinder-hot –
Let me astound you with
My time-perfected skill
Sat. 13 Aug 77
7 good pages writing, then bad letter from Ryder asking is our “living together” a ”condition” of “my return”? Where the hell did he get that? He just wants something to react against. He can’t imagine a relationship that isn’t controlled by implied threats. He believes in
working and suffering so much then – let him work and suffer. What would annoy him most? If I don’t respond! Ha ha! Let the panic begin!
Need to become more private – simply to protect myself. For all I know he’s relishing the torture he goes through.
Devon and I had a glorious date – splendid dinner (steak!)
then made love all over the floor. He played with my body until he got it roaring and pulsating like an express train. The way he handled me,
gripped me, held me, crushed me even – made me ask about his other girlfriends. He said no, he never gets as much “touch” as he wants. I said,
“Except with me”. He said, “Except with you.” Over dinner he said
matter-of-factly that we are so alike loving me has always felt “narcissistic” to him. I bet! Happy, happy, happy… Picked up The Edwardians –
I can’t get into it. Keep seeing Devon’s body plying me, bending me…I know somewhere out there lies perfect happiness, waiting to astonish me.
Devon and I went for a long walk today, had a great
talk. He told me all about his passionate relationship with
English girl – asking “Do you really want to know?” I did – I managed to
be very hands off. Said he’d written her “lyrical love-letters” and
she is saving money to come to US at Christmas.
Bit of a downer to find other people have split
minds like me. I told him a little about Ryder and even more about my husband. I had to hope he wouldn’t see it “retaliation” for what he’d told me. (R would have.) Fantasies can be ugly if they prevent you from experiencing reality.
We hugged – he left – I know he thinks I’m too
“intense”. I was stupid enough to read him my peach poem. On
the other hand, if a guy can’t handle my poetry where am I? R only likes poems he knows are about him.
Wrote a whiny letter to Avril (who usually can handle
whiny letters). Good today – bike, swimming, plus my walk with D. Long letter to Mom and Dad.
Reading Stella Gibbons’ Cold Comfort Farm –
can’t stay grumpy – laughing too hard. Settling into my spaceship –
my own body – first day of the rest of my life. Listening to wonderfully crazy modern opera on the radio.
Sun 24 July 77
4PM
Wrote 4 pages of A Demon Roused. Horribly
dissatisfied. Patricia Highsmith on the suspense novel no damn
help at all. Everything I’ve ever written pure dunder written by a
dunderhead. Restrained myself from calling Ryder to yell at him.
Face facts. Left DC June 4. This coming
month has to be gotten through. Feel I my “breakdown” I suffered last spring was a crisis of identity. Attacked by the writing thing
(no money, no approval, no relationships) attacked by the relationship thing (R too critical, wanting to “change” me.) Starving myself. Long mad midnight walks rampaging thru Chevy Chase with dogs. The ENDLESS Devon situation only explicable when seen in this light.
(He’s TOO good looking – too much fantasy.)
Now about my book. New beginning ALL wrong and
I couldn’t figure out why. The characters seem alive.
First Person Difficult. My husband always said
omniscient narrator no longer possible, making
me want to do it. However, I have to admit you
need to be somebody – an extra character and that’s a
bigger pain in the neck.
2) Scene Problematic. I’ve GOT to get these people out of England.
It’s artificial. How about if I don’t say where it is? Will the specificity cops come after me?
3) Format (Suspense novel) rough because I have to be
the one who knows what’s going on and I want to write my first draft in a narcoleptic state. Means I have to be happy making a huge ness with a million
false starts and then write the thing ALL OVER when I know what’s going on.
But I feel time running out on me. Goddam it.
I should be happy to explore. Why all this pressure? Two novels unaccepted, why write a fourth? Am I deliberately trying to drive myself to the
brink of insanity? Also I HATE Sunday because the pool is packed, no stores are open, and there’s no mail.
Devon and his roommates Blair & Brian drop by and I
struggle to appear sane. Hard for me.
6PM
Called R. to yell at him. He wasn’t there – thank GOD.
Maybe I just want to punish him. He certainly deserves it.
1:30 PM Mon 25 July 77
Dark night of the soul finally over. Very athletic today –
feel deliciously tired. Decide I should go back to Washington no
matter what. My choices are my choices. My happiness can’t be dependent on how people treat me. I plan to use my time to become powerful – to be the person I’m supposed to be. In the drugstore line I was reading up on the showbiz personalities – nobody interesting before 30 and I have a few years yet.
Forget about weight – just follow & learn to love
“virtuous routine”. (I’m a size seven – that’s pretty good.) Today it
POURED rain – night baseball Devon wanted to attend out of the
question. He suggested we switch to a movie when he called this am.
Still feel stilted with him unfortunately.
Assault on library. Planning to ransack the place.
Leafed through Helen Hayes (poor woman); enjoying Thurber’s
My World and Welcome To It .
Tues. 26 July 77 9:40 AM
Sitting on stonewall in full sunlight in my black bikini
waiting for pool to open. Swim and sunbathe till ll:30 when mail comes.
After 7 pm I can return – that way I miss the crowds.
Exercise, coffee, 3 glasses water. The Regime.
I’m down to $4. Embarrassing to be taken out last night
by Devon & his roommates. (We saw Star Wars. Childish, but they were into it.) Sent letter to Mom & D asking for stock certificates. They
won’t like it.
Dinner should have been nice but barbecue very messy.
Wore my tightest jeans and my pink French “Trés chic” t-shirt. Devon surprised me by talking on and on about how beautiful I am. Started to get stoked – in fact I was horny as hell. I would have taken the three seminary students on if I could have avoided the interpersonal madness that would result. They all have beautifully athletic bodies. But I’m starting to get a feeling that if I just sit in my deer blind a bit longer Devon will come to me.
Every now and then I get a bad “Ryder – flashback”, like some synaptic slipup. What will I think of this years from now? Mirror images ache, then fade.
Cold Comfort Farmexactly 100 pages too long (but I
think most books are). Take a long hot Jean Nate bubble bath and read The Thornbirds.
2:30 PM Wed July 27 – 77
Masturbation is the better part of valor. Don’t make
decisions ruled by sex. Bike ride combined with cold shower doesn’t work.
Must husband my wattage (joke). Too bad sex is
such a fast way to get to know someone.
First draft of Demon so far bony and spare. Neatly
boxed “components” = “write your own novel”. Trying to exterminate “dead” patches. Wish I had done this with The Mass at St. Secaire –
but in those days I was in the “throw in everything you think of and
take it out later” school. I like constructing this awkward armature better. Lean and mean superior to flagellate and winnow.
Will I ever let Ryder see my new body, my new confidence?
He will hang on for dear life and I don’t want that. I want to go back to dancing but Ryder prefers I have neither security NOR money.) Think I’ll look for a sublet – easier to impress a private owner than a credit union.
I prefer living alone. Painstaking cultivation of intense privacy in the midst of a crowd has always been my forte.
Mom and Dad called – acting all worried. Apologizing
for giving Ryder my number. I put on a good show of being completely ”over” him but I can see they don’t want me moving back to Washington and prefer Mrs. Duvall’s ski chalet option. (My cynical side tells me it’s just cheaper.) I act like I have connections to the literary life in DC and they don’t know any better.
Thornbirds is teaching me the great unpleasantness of
what publishers define as “a good read”. Contrary to my previous belief unfortunately the Victorian period has not ended. Forced to skip the war, potted history and scenery descriptions just to keep going.
7:30 PMFinished Thornbirds. Neither Dane’s death nor Justine’s love affair rang true for me. Uh oh. Danger signs. My taste thoroughly out of kilter with the market.
Couldn’t swim – 3,000 spectators at some sort of race
in the pool. So went to library – checked out twelve books – bio, history murder mysteries. Alec Waugh, Somerset Maugham, Vyvyan Holland, –
Hugh Walpole. Evelyn Waugh, of course. At this very moment R is
doing his very last show of 7:30 Live. Will they have a party or wake?
Probably go out drinking at the Shalimar, try to pick up dancers he can hector and assault. Time for me to go walking and see how the other (99%) live.
HOT PROWL
Don’t wake up.
I surveil by night
Your chiseled torso
Slacken with exhaustion.
Touching things that once
You touched,
Listing to your apnea –
I turn away before you turn.
Making peace with all my choices.
It’s worth everything;
Winning in divorce a
Hard-won superpower:
Invisibility
2:45 PM Thurs 28 July 77
Loving myself today. I am very tan. Hair strawberry
blond and my stretchmarks look like silk moiré. Any sense of inadequacy must be pounced upon and shored up – work like a beaver at his dam.
No worries, few fears. Daddy sent $ which I deposit in my acct. Since I can’t cash a check anywhere I eat what’s here; pickled beets and plain grits. Gallons of water to even it all out. Shake the old body out after 26 years.
Decide two people create love – I refuse to do it alone.
Reading Ford Madox Ford and grooving on his Violet versus Elsie
problems. Schadenfreude. Years later poor Elsie says, “I should have ignored everybody and divorced him.” Alas, Ford is a self-centered fool.
Not a simpatico character. However the period is a favorite with me. Mail hideously dull. Nothing from Harcourt. Will my “Westerns” editor have thenerve to turn down an author they’ve got 105,000 copies of? Yes. They’re all a bunch of weenies, frankly. Bike ride.
8:45 PM Finished article for the McManus mag about
Shadowe – “Island in Common” – 750 words – sent it off with letter.
Mission accomplished. Thinking of substituting a night ride for my walk.
Triggers fewer yearnings.
Ford’s moved to the US and I’m at the end of my tether with him. Tried
reading Jane Novak’s Razor Edge of Balance on V. Woolf – but she’s no threat –
– Lingo Academico virtually impenetrable.
Loved reading Fowles on the Fr Lt’s Woman – even though he has a “tin ear” about the Victorians – their “failure” to depict “a man and woman in bed together” ! (How about My Secret Life!!!) He’s the real thing all right even though he launched 1st draft without any research. (It shows.)
I’m going to stop freaking out about how little I know London.
Full of joy & life & strength & immortality & pep. Now thinking fondly of DC. Resist the impulse to call myself a turkey for even MENTIONING living together to R. (I said in my phone message I had to have a house for dogs.)
I can see him crying over his beer at the strip club. Insisting his wussdom is independence. I feel and look mighty thin – but refuse the temptation to weigh
myself. Size seven is good enough. Took my walk looking indulgently at couples with children thinking, “This too is within my reach.”
Mail full of dull rejections NO interest or acceptances. But the UNITY MITFORD I’d ordered came which I’m reading now. Must write about sisters someday. It’s a trip.
11:12 AM Sat 30 Jul 77
Going out tonight with Devon to see Annie Hall, that laff riot he hasn’t seen. This is one of the things I love about life – it’s so unpredictable! Give these guys space to stew they will eventually DO something. We had a nice phone conversation. I can tell he has “traumatized” himself by thinking he “lured” me fruitlessly here. I tell him hardly, I’m writing 8 p. a day (of course it will all have to be thrown out) getting a tan and reading piles of books. (All true.) Too cold & overcast today for pool though and now its raining.
Starting to get a feeling D and I will end up in bed.
It’s inevitable. How I crave that tight young flesh…Bet you $5. Will
wear my faded cerise linen jumpsuit, high heels and Nefertiti necklace.
Stoking!
4:15 PM Sun 31 July 77 Deck
Devon found Annie Hall so painful it took awhile for him to speak. I was surprised but patient. I couldn’t have dreamed up a movie more likely to focus all our reservations. The scene where Annie tells Alvy she misses him made me think of poor Ryder – the separate fragile uniqueness of each human soul – and I could tell Devon was “feeling” his memories too.
We sneaked a pizza (a whole pizza) into the theatre
so we could come right back here for wine and coffee and more wine –
took three hours to get to the point of making love.
In a fairly daring move D opened the buttons of my jumpsuit and stroked my stomach pulling down first one shoulder and then another to play with my breasts. Lovely feeling our bodies surge together. He’s good with his hands and has the most sensitive nipples of any man I’ve been with. At last I suggested we go to bed – the couch was really too uncomfortable. D went down on me – his body is the most gorgeous since the history of time – mountains, valleys, crevasses
– it’s like rock climbing making love to this man. He insisted on coming outside me which startled me somewhat, but after asking about my “protection” (IUD) fortunately abandoned this technique the second time.
He looks at me in a funny way like he wants to say
something but he doesn’t say it. I tried to tell him I’ve learned so much from our 5 year friendship – he seemed unable to take it in. He obviously fears the future and his memory is so bad – after the terrors of his childhood he thinks the whole past is all bad news. It’s like he’s afraid to remember ANYTHING. That would be the worst thing for a writer.
You dare not fear the past. Rhythms can’t evolve from longing alone.
We woke up, grapenuts & coffee, went swimming, sat on deck, watched tennis on TV. Every time I changed clothes he said “the sight of you naked turns me on” and we made love again.
Tomorrow is the first of August – whole new beginning.
Try to see myself at 33, with a lawn and a bra and a trash compactor.
Freedom is key. No mail. Reading Geo Woodcock’s critical study of Orwell.
6:45 PM Dark as night and pouring rain. Obsessing
about D’s body – can’t get it out of my mind and our 22 hours together.
Welcome obsessions; R’s slate cleared. Did I use him? Is he “Brand X?”
Thinking of all the things I wish I’d said to Devon. He’s so intellectual yet so impermeable. Strange delicate kisses – as impossible to get inside his mouth as his mind. Loud thunder, lightning.
Checked my acct – $54!! Don’t know where it came from
but I will spend it. Sent poems to Chloe Aparo, borrow bike from
Shoulders. Ryder wants to go horseback riding, we went to see
The Tenant instead. (Cheaper). R managed to discuss it intelligently.
Trying to research the occult for Secaire. Reading bad suspense
novel – Geoffrey Turtons Devil’s Churchyard. I liked all his other
books. Dump it for Aleister Crowley’s Diary of a Drug Fiend. $10
to live on for 2 weeks. Mom & Dad sent emergency check.
6:25 PM – Sun 3 Oct 76
Fabulous dinner party last night. Steak tartare, crab
and cheese casserole, lots of wine. R and I fall asleep in each
other’s arms. We have more sex “broken up” than when we were
dating. Got offered $3.50 an hour for 4 hr a day legal secretary!!!
Out of their minds. Trying to sell my wedding dress for $150 –
got one porno call.
Tues 5 Oct 76
4pm appt with Environmental Defense Fund. Howard
Nemerov such a relief after Auden.
Thurs 11:30 PM 7 Oct 76
Typical Tyler St evening. Lying in bed (alone) powdered
and polished from bath. Maeve and Avril out on dates. R is working,
I’m reading Quest for Theseus. Got too depressed reading
Shirley Jackson. Her life solutions: food and cigarettes – plenty
of both. Lost EDF job – as soon as they turned me down I
decide I want it! To WTTG to apply for “production asst” job –
200 people spilling into street! Didn’t bother. How write about
love if it’s impossible?
I owe Maeve money – she doesn’t like it and I don’t
like it. Tension almost unbearable waiting for my check.
R offered jobs in Pittsburgh & Detroit. (He says he
doesn’t ever want to leave though it’s the only way to make more $$.)
12:55 PM Wed 13 1976 These are the times that try
women’s souls. Desperately accepted switchboard job at Broadcasters Agency because it looks easy and I can think my own thoughts.
Replacing a girl going on maternity leave so I’m not stuck if I don’t
like it. Agent sent check told me not to cash it for a week!!! Thinking
they’re all scam artists. Reading Diane Johnson’s brilliant Lesser
Lives. Avril depressed over Mason. Maeve depressed over George.
I am buying diet pills because of sedentary job.
Switchboard – Broadcast Agency 9:15 AM – Fr. 18 Feb 77
New notebooks such a thrill. Always a fresh start:
I could almost become anyone. Worked 3 full days this week –
more $$ in the coffers. Avril coming in to Broadcasters Agency
to apply for Zelma’s old job – $8500/yr for 7 hr day. Hope she
gets it. Brought in The Voyage Out today – I WILL finish it –
bring it to its knees. Perfect example of everything usually wrong
with first novels. Don’t like her novels as much as letters and diaries.
Talk about peering through a glass darkly. Oh well. Still drinking
coffee and picking the fuzz out of my eyes. Period’s arrived with its
usual exquisite timing. Once I’ve finished Secaire (needs a final burst)
can rewrite Find Courtney. Sort of a love story there.
10:30AM Sun 20 Feb 77
R and I went on ski weekend to Massanutten.
Didn’t work. Never felt so far from him, and he realized it.
Opal & Garrett over for dinner last night – their relationship is
boring when I’m alone and don’t have R doing all the work for me.
Drank too much out of sheer boredom and because I was
depressed over R, then I get depressed over being depressed
and drink more. Clearly he’s worthless and I must be too if I can
get depressed over him. No good work on novel. Filing, cleaning,
paying bills takes up all my time and my room still looks like a filthy hole.
Hermiting seems only option (cheaper, too). Must learn to roll
with the punches.
Fantasizing about Devon because 24th is his birthday. Bad sign.
1:00PM 21 Feb 77
Dizzy from dieting. Not dancing very bad for my body.
Current weight 122. (Opal says I have the perfect body. Glad
someone appreciates it.) Ryder suggested jogging – bad mistake.
Instantly attacked by colds & flu. Instead of eating go to library on
my lunch hr to take out books. Went to see The Sentinel somewhere
in the burbs with Avril and Mason, who drove like a crazy person
(“I’m not afraid of death!”) Never again. Ghastly flick. Mason moving in
– his money is good. Another secret to be kept from landlord. A guy
at work (Keith Dalrymple) is courting me. He looks all right, though
he has receding hairline. Kind of old. Asked to read my novel. I gave
him my poems instead. He needs to hit the ground running.
Tues. 22 Feb 77
Mason trying to talk A into moving to Calif with him. Uh oh.
Maeve also wants to move out because I’m critical of her
“dating” her married boss (they have sex in the supply closet).
She believes his tiredest lines. “Drop him – he’s outrageous
and destructive,” I say. I’m one to talk. Will use her room for
my study. Try to live without roommates. Sent Devon a long
grey silk scarf for his birthday.
3:40 PM Wed 23 Feb 77
Keith Dalrymple amazingly told me he loves my
poems. Wow. Having good literary taste definitely works with me!
Having a drink with him tonight. Had to struggle to keep myself
from hurling cash at a gorgeous $50 suit in going-out-of-business
dress shop on Dupont Circle. Slogging through Mrs Dalloway –
it’s her best book. But all this blind struggle not my thing. Require
some consciousness. I guess we were reptiles in those days just turning amphibious.
Thurs. 24 Feb 77
Can’t seem to write poetry anymore. Cocktail bar buffet
with Keith (Avril calls him a “dim bulb”. We are very critical of each
other’s honeys.) He’s a Woolf novel – smooth glossy surface,
violence and trauma beneath. He is intelligent – quoted Frost –
38 yrs old – divorced (was married 15 years!!!) I sat swilling
Scotch and giving him the hairy eyeball – do I have the strength
for this? He blanched when I ordered escargots chablisienne.
Wouldn’t even kiss him. I demand exceptionality and refuse to settle for less. Whatever else you can say about Ryder, he’s definitely one of a kind. I am in a unique position compared to other women writers. Given the chance to rise above sexual
strictures. Bought an exquisite pair of very high-heeled boots. I tower over Ryder – in more ways than one. Heheheh.
The Firefly lights our dark with his luciferous magic. In some species it’s only the male, but in others both genders use this cool heat to signal to each other and we are all beneficiaries of their romantic opera.
And it’s a complete drama with every plot twist you can think of; some fireflies impersonate desire only to attract and then kill the hopeful lover. Other fireflies deliberately use a poor impersonation to warn away competing lovers and decimate the field.
If attacked, fireflies use “reflex bleeding” to literally poison predators with their blood. This last fact generates warnings never to feed fireflies to your hungry pet reptile! What are we to make of this mix of beauty, falsity and carnivorous intent? Fireflies may be beautiful impostors, but they are never to be envied. They exist only to mate, lay eggs and die. Some fireflies live lives without nourishment. They never even get the chance to dine.
We are all attracted by fantasy. We each have or think we have – a list of “musts” and “deal-breakers.” Danger waits when we meet someone who actually matches all our specifications! Probably they are lying. Maybe you are, too. Possibly you didn’t even realize it until this moment.
Maybe you want one thing on the page and another In Real Life. Maybe you want one thing in the dark and another in the light. Maybe you don’t know yourself very well! Lust hardens, love softens; how solve that essential inner/outer conflict? We need to melt – together – into a glorious plasticity that allows us to undertake the “experiment” of entering the life, desires, viewpoint of another.
But this is only “safe” when goodwill and honorable attentions are present. If someone’s looking for a hostage, a slave, a mimic or even worse – prey – they will falsely claim anything to entice us. How can we tell the difference?
Sometimes their presentation is TOO “good”. A “pediatric oncologist” who “volunteers at an animal shelter?” Really? Is the attraction a “problem-free” relationship without any of that scary sandpaper of conflict that molds our rough edges to fit together more harmoniously? Or is this attraction just “high-status” and “bragging rights”?
As your grandmother warned, any salesman trying to hustle you into an instant decision is up to no good. Predators try to convince the young that by taking time to choose and trust we are ruining the experience! Don’t buy it! You’re getting smarter, and stronger by the minute! You’re within your rights –you owe it to yourself – to demand that deeds match words, and that intentions line up with performance.
Allow yourself time to discover, evolve and revel. Live!
BED & BREAKFAST
“That wing of course is closed” said Magda whose venomous green eyeshadow matched her voice; “I’d have that lanced if I were you” thinks Reni Who never says exactly what she thinks. “Wrong word: wing” Thinks Andreas “to use about a house tethered toad-like to the lawn”. But Andreas never says what he thinks either. It’s too late now. At dinner, they quarrel about Ezra Pound; Pretending to agree. Squeaky bedsprings bastardize this sad romance; Hopeless beds mandate sex is standing up. ( This butler may be deaf and dumb, But knew the best way out: He was in for the tip of a lifetime.) At breakfast the debate about Plath Turns violent; the biggest danger Of murdering yourself with a kitchen appliance is: They’re everywhere. Refreshing holiday, says Reni. We should do it more often says Andreas. Truth never spoken once. Mission accomplished.
Alysse Aallyn 