Thursday, 06.12:

Getting late. I finally came into the bedroom, brought books and sewing in case I can’t sleep, left the dishes for tomorrow. The kitchen is a mess.

David called this evening, I told him about my “detour” along 610 today. Euridice still hasn’t eaten; David said to try tuna fish in the morning.

Reading one of the books NWB mailed: Facing It by Paul Reed, about, of course, AIDS.

12:30 a.m.—finished the book. Overwhelmed by fear, thinking of David: can he really be all right? Deep down I’m afraid that it’s only a matter of time until things begin to fall apart, infections appear. Crying, sobbing, pounding my fists into my forehead. No. No. And not even considering that I’m not being as careful as I should be, as if my simple denial could keep us both safe.

Alone tonight. How I hate being here alone: all the old fears come back. Plus David away: I tried to tell him on the phone tonight how I hate to be without him, how it scares me. How reaching out to touch him during the night helps me, defines who I am.

No one here, no one to call. Before I moved here I was allowing my fears to surface, I was talking about it with friends, not letting it build. Now: no one. And David seems to need to deny it, not bring it up. This I allow because I want him to deal with things (test-positive, and the candidiasis) the best way he can. But how do I deal? Where are my friends tonight? And I don’t even have David’s number at the hotel in New Orleans, can’t call him.

Called the switchboard, wanting to get referred to an AIDS hotline, needing to voice some of my fear and anxiety before David returns. Got a fucking recording.

I’m okay, I’m okay. The crying has passed. I read about it all and I force myself to be detached. It affects me but it isn’t mine. David is positive, but that doesn’t mean he’ll develop AIDS. It’s not happening today, and we live each day grateful that we’re here, that it isn’t happening. What would I do? Could I stay here if something should happen to him? These are things we should discuss. I can’t bring them up.

God, that book depressed me. Scared me. But I needed to read it; I need to see it. It is happening.

But not to us. Not today.

I miss him tonight.

Monday, 06.16:

Trying to write this morning before David comes home for lunch. We are supposed to go look at carpet again today for the new house.

Went through all my journals last week searching for leftover poems; rewrote and typed them out; put them all in the light blue notebook. Now I have one notebook for all my poems and stories (horrible though some may be). Also started tracking down my articles and essays to file in a black folder. All this would be easier, I’m sure, on David’s computer; I want him to teach me but I feel stupid.

David was very tired yesterday; he went off with Jim Finamore to church (Jim has invited us for months) and brunch. I worked in the back yard, clearing vines and weeds and debris from the rear fence corner. When David returned he took a nap. He was very tired and kept asking me if I thought it was warm—I realized he was very hot, his face and skin quite warm. We went out for pizza later; he was still tired. Last night after we had gone to bed he turned to me and said I told you my candida was coming back? (He had, yesterday or the day before.) Well it’s not as bad as I thought. It looked better after I brushed my teeth.

I asked was this enough to warrant going back to the doctor and getting more pills he’d forget to take? And he said no.

Not as bad as he thought. But still there.

Cool out, Ron. (Sure, no problem. What: me worry?)

We leave for Cincinnati this Saturday. I’m looking forward to seeing people again, working in Mom’s garden, seeing David and Brad in Lexington on the 27th. I don’t feel like writing any more right now.

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