Hauling out old journal entries. Here's one from 1979. One of the loves of my life and I had just moved to Seattle:
"Instead of the money we had yesterday, we have woven place mats and white plastic cups and red plastic bowls and a blue ceramic ashtray and they are sitting on the floor in the afternoon sun on a burnt orange rug in company with a red and white box of Marlboros, a red lighter and an empty carton of Yoplait raspberry yogurt, Yogourt avec des framboises. The floor is strewn with papers and books and playing cards and an empty can of Coors. It is not raining. We are not lying in the cover of bare autumn bushes with our faces in wet leaves, cold and sick and dying. With the rent paid, as it is as of now, we will not be there (in the cold, wet leaves) until November. I'll worry in November."