Sunday, August 5, 1984

We had breakfast at a Mexican restaurant, then drove around before I was dropped off at his home. I changed my nail polish, repaired a cracked and chipped acrylic nail, took a bath, read the Sunday paper, watched TV and relaxed.

I've watched more TV in the last two days than I've watched in the last year at my home, and I'm getting sick of watching TV. I'm looking forward to canning some vegetables from my garden. I will also look for work again and try to get on with whatever life I can achieve back in Illinois. I'm anxious to go home. I've been in a rut, but a lack of finances will put me in that same rut again. This trip has enabled me to get a few dollars ahead and I'll be able to spend some money to look for work. I feel somewhat renewed, although I realize the same old problems will plague me when I get home.

My ex-beau came home drunk. Except for caring about me and my welfare, which has totally selfish origins, I think I bore the hell out of him. He liked an image which, coincidentally, breathed. The image, or the person conjured in his mind, never existed. He never learned to value the person, who created the image, he liked. He views me as a stranger, not as the same person I have always been. He seems to be the main character straight out of one of F. Scott Fitgerald's stories.

I called home to arrange my ride back from the local airport to my home. Greg told me my male dog has lost a lot of weight. My ex-beau has jumped my case every time I called home to talk to my dogs, so, I haven't called home for days, and my male dog hasn't eaten for days either. I'm concerned about my dogs.