Evening. A full moon rising over the sharply outlined valley. Everything cool, green and very clear. I should have gone out for a long walk this afternoon but I had to write letters and then I have acquired a tape recorder and had to fool with it a little to make sure I know how to work it. It is a very fine machine and I am abashed by it. I take back some of the things I have said about technology.
I have made this day a sort of perplexed celebration--said Mass for M. and her fiancé and honestly hope they will get back in love again; in fact, by now, they probably are. And that they will be happy in marriage someday soon...and so on. I am sure there is no real problem. At least, I tell myself so. M. may want to hold on to me sentimentally in some way, but I am convinced that the real love is more or less over between us, though we shall always be fond of each other I am sure.
So in a way it is a liberation day--and I have made up my mind to be what I am supposed to be. (Finally!)
Actually it is a most happy evening--could not be more perfect. I have some bourbon (Tommie O'Callaghan brought some) and am playing an ancient Django Reinhardt record that brings back the thirties. (Regression?) Perhaps in a little while I shall go out and stroll around under the trees. And try to tell myself that I am not really sad at all.
April 22, 1967, VI.22-23