If I had to work at it, then we weren’t great friends, and actually, we probably weren’t. I never hung out with __ on weekends like I hung with D.G., to whom it was easier to talk. … So, yeah, it’s funny to sit here and complain that this person or that person isn’t my friend. I have to remind myself that __ & __ (and others, but those two are people I sometimes think of going to talk to) don’t really want to see me. I mean, they might regard me as unwelcome a person, as burdensome on their consciousnesses, as some particular people have at times—not all the time—seemed to me.
(I’m almost afraid to put names there—don’t want to hurt people’s feelings if these got published one day. Well, if I’m still alive, I’ll edit it out …)
[From journal of Sat., 7 Dec. 2019, Journal 314, page 94]
MonkeyMoonMachine 