Manhattan

1981

Another day for hibernating. The past weeks there have been too many dates with new men, too few hours of sleep, too much Pomerol and Metaxa, too much strenuous sex. I’m getting too old for living this way while working full-time/overtime at the medical magazine.

My body is flashing red lights; my last period was 44 days ago. No, not pregnant.

[Amenorrhea hasn’t plagued me since I was a tormented adolescent. The relentless stress inflicted by my mother caused my period to stop for several years.]

Self-preservation must overrule the pleasure principle.

Must learn to be more patient and tolerant. Must be able to forgive others more easily. Must not take myself so seriously. Must not be so hypersensitive.

I am seriously defective; my hypersensitivity will overwhelm me and alienate me from learning experiences.

As T. H. White wrote in The Once and Future King:

“The best thing for being sad,” replied Merlin … “is to learn something. That’s the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then — to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. Look what a lot of things there are to learn.”