Sensuous

16 March — Tuesday

I almost bought a plant today.

Walking home past a florist I pass every day and I noticed the plants and flowers. Tubs of daffodils. Looked at them and thought that something like that would brighten the apartment.

Was going to get daffodils, a bunch of them, and then I thought it might be nice to have a plant, water it every day, watch the new growth appear. Just a fifty-cent philodendron, something like that. Nothing grand. I wouldn’t feel equal to one of those magnificent split-leaf jobs.

Then I caught myself. Remembered something I read, a case of a man who was unable to relate to people and his psychiatrist started him off small, had him grow a sweet potato vine, then had him get a pet turtle, the idea being that he could eventually work his way up to human friends.

Have to keep fighting that kind of impulse. I do not want anything in this apartment for which I will have to be responsible. Don’t want anything that needs taking care of. Enough trouble taking care of Arlene.

Krause the Mouse.

Why?

Not sure.

Too many ways to interpret it. Don’t think I want to bother, either.

Don’t want to bother writing about the day with Bill, either. Wonderful time, wonderful, and I felt wonderful afterward, felt wonderful all day yesterday, too, and would have written about it last night if I hadn’t had to work late for Karlman the Cocksucker but too tired to type so I just summarized it.

Don’t feel wonderful now. Depressed. Down. Don’t know why.