So last night we had our tech for the Williams plays (that I'm trying to get Amanda and Jeff to drive down for--easier said than done because even though they're in New Jersey they're waaaaaay at the other end from Manhattan), which went very well.

It was our first chance to see the other shows in the evening. There are four altogether, and the worst one is first. It's called The Dark Room, and it's a bit dull, a bit trite. But the others are much better--second is us (The Unsatisfactory Supper), and we are just swell, third is a very sweet piece called The Case of the Crushed Petunias in which ol' Tennessee certainly lays on the symbolism with a trowel, but Bobby Gritz gets to be just as charming as he's gonna be, and fourth is definitely the best, I Can't Imagine Tomorrow, which is another one of those stunning plays about sad people who can't connect.

I'm pleased with the evening.

Afterwards a few of us went to the bar and hung out and talked.

At one point Kevin asked me (apropos of what, I can't tell you--he may have read it in here) exactly how long it has been since I have had sex, and was pretty astonished at the answer. (and no, I'm not telling you people again. You've all had plenty of fun already.) I explained, though, that it wasn't the sex, I couldn't care less about the sex when it comes right down to it, it's the fact that I haven't actually connected with another person in any kind of deep way in so long that I'm afraid that I have forgotten how.

Kevin said that all I had to do was to decide to be open to it, and it would happen. This is perhaps a trifle simplistic, but I do know what he means. My defenses are higher and wider than anyone could possibly imagine--if someone did ask me out, I'd probably think that I was being made fun of and tell them to fuck off.

So here goes:

Dear Universe--I, Kimberly Mary Joan Zuckert hereby announce that I am open to the possibility of connecting with other human beings. I'm not asking for sex. I'm not even asking for love. I'm asking for someone to like me enough to hold my hand walking down the street. That's all.

The only problem with that is, no matter if I'm open or tight shut, I still look like myself, and that's where the trouble lies...Fuck self-pity. And fuck you if you feel sorry for me. I don't need you, I don't need anyone.

Whoops! I forgot. I'm supposed to be open. Let me try again...

I am ready to let someone love me.

One year ago today:
"I have almost two hands"

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Last Updated Sat 9 May 17:56:09 1998