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Thursday, March 8, 2007

Sunday, February 1, 1981

Resistance. I make up little things to distract me. Read the
newspaper. Look for something to eat in the kitchen. Why am I
resisting calling people about the party next Saturday? I have an
interesting idea. Introduce some of the people I have known for many
years and say something about them. It could be quite amusing. But I
avoid making the calls that will bring people here. I begin to feel
the difficulty of communicating with people. Something. Its like many
times in the past. There is something I want to do, but have enormous
resistance to getting going. I anticipate how uncomfortable it will be
talking with some people, and that stops me from calling anyone. So
why not just call those that are easiest? I think ahead to how hard it
will be to have something to do with people at the party. One side of
me says to just stop calling people. Let those who I've called not
come, or get here and then go home. A crazy idea. Last night, just
before falling off to sleep, two voices were calling my name. They
were like elves with very strange voices. They kept calling my name. I
am also putting off doing certain work. REsisting lots of things that
would make things better for me. More money. Get a bigger place. But I
don't do the things needed to bring it about. Reading about the war in
El Salvador. Having science fiction like fantasies of having an alien
ally with enormous power capable of stopping all the fighting. I am
their earth representative. I threaten to make demon- strations of the
enormous power available, if they don't stop fighting. There I am in
the corridors of power negotiating with followers of the adversaries.
This is an old fantasy of mine. Stopping crime, wars, fights, trouble
anywhere with my all powerful friends from the stars. More fantasies
about Judy. She has promised to call me back twice this week and
didn't. Why not send her an its-all-over-between-us letter, and a copy
of my notes, and a message about how she can get future issues by
subscription. Something like that. It always comes out better in my
fantasies. Everything comes out better in my fantasies. But then in
those fantasies I do more to bring them about than I put into real
life. I am mostly fearless, always clever, ever able to do the next
best thing to cause something to happen in my favor. But then I never
have to worry about pesky other realities. Everybody does my orders
perfectly. I always know exactly what everyone should do. For example,
in my fantasy about Judy, she is quite taken with my letter, really
nothing more than an ingenious ploy to get her attention, and falls in
love with me. And wants to be with me more. And so it works out just
fine for me and her. But really she has all these other things pulling
at her and I'm not attractive enough to push them out of her life. So
I think of more clever ideas. This has happened in the past. Once
when she did not want to have anything to do with me, and was quite
disturbed about my wanting to sleep with her, I managed to reverse the
situation by sending her a poem something like this: Roses are red,
Violets are blue, Even if you won't, I still love you' And things have
improved since. She told me last week of having thought of sleeping
with me - mostly when I was in Europe. So maybe I should go away
again? I will call her right now and invite her to next week's party.

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