I Am Curious (Thirty)

March 1

This is a sex diary. Believe it or not, I didn’t quite realize it until today, when I skimmed through it and read some of the earlier entries. I think I should make a point of not doing this in the future. It’s important to write all of this down, and sometime it will be important to read it (prefatory to incinerating it, I should think) but in the meantime I don’t want to read it because it’s not finished yet and reading it might keep me from writing any more, or might even lead me to stick the thing in the fire. Which was an impulse I had this afternoon, as a matter of fact.

It’s funny. I have no trouble writing this stuff, but it’s like pulling teeth to read it. Agony. I’m naked on every page, and in more ways than one.

But it’s a sex diary. No question about it. And it’s not as though that’s all I think about, or all I do. Far from it. There are other aspects to my life which seem to take up far more of my time and interest, but when I sit down with this book and get ready to put pen to paper these other matters aren’t there and sex is all that concerns me.

I think — think? I damn well know — that I have sexual hangups which are presently coming out into the open. Which is what this whole separation business is I guess all about. So be it. The Sex Diary of Jan Giddings Kurland. Available wherever bad books are sold.

I’m going out with Arnold tonight, so I suppose I’ll have something to write tomorrow.