November 1994

I wait for the one who will come along and we will treat each other with respect from the very start.

I'll miss life. What will become of my joys and passions? Will they pass into memory and oblivion?

Taking classes. Working part time at Blind Faith Café in Evanston. Flirting with the boys in the kitchen. At Roscoe's I actually approached someone because he had this certain serenity in his beautiful blue eyes, and got his number. His name is Michael.

Dave and I went to dinner, but I'm not attracted to him. When he dropped me off I kissed him on the cheek.

Tim is a poet. We lay on pillows on the floor and talked intimately. "Do you have a lover?" he asked. 'No.' "That's by choice, I'm sure." Charming.

My date with Michael went well. He's quite spiritual and very much into yoga. He is a recovering alcoholic and addict. Morphine and alcohol were his drugs of choice. His brother committed suicide, as did his grandmother. He's thirty-one. Our talk was intimate, as I like conversations to be. I don't know. Sometimes I wonder why I date. I feel like someone in his early twenties. I feel like a young man.