I’m back to reading old notebooks and came across this entry from a time I am alone, more or less, and in love with a man who is not available and whom I run into from time to time. I like this passage because it’s cold and nervous, and it’s like lifting the corner of a napkin that has fallen over a time of life larger than my own life. What can women get away with if left to their own devices?
February 19, 1995
J drove down. I suppose I knew I would have sex with him. For a few minutes at the start, I felt bad about what I was doing. We had dinner at Spring Street Natural. He wanted to come back to my place, and I said okay. We made love for 6 hours. I liked it very much except I had no feeling for him. He was slow, sensual, generous, open. He left at 4 and I took a bath. I ate the cake that T had brought me. I took 1 and ½ pills and slept 2 hours. When I got out of bed, I was sad and went to the gym. A few hours later the phone rang. It was J. He wanted to know if I wanted to see him and the friend he was staying with. I said no. I wished him well and told him to keep in touch, but really I’d prefer he didn’t because I’d only sleep with him again. Is it better than nothing? I don’t know.