September 1, 1985 -- Today I had dinner with George.  And still, the only way that I can fully sum up the night is with the words I almost left him with ... "Nigger, are you our of your mind?"  I seriously wonder how this date could have gone right.  Was i seriously misleading myself?  We are such opposites.  I never got the tie clip things.  I wouldn't pay to see old movies.  I can't stand walking.  And I HATE football!  And then he insults me.  Accusing me of being shallow and a bigot.  Asking me why I think people are food?  WHERE DOES HE GET OFF?  And then out of the blue I agree to "see New York" with him.  Seeing a city that I have lived in for seven years, with a man I can't have a normal converstaion with?  Now I am wondering if I am out of my mind?

October 20, 1985 -- The girls would never understand, especially Selma.  Hotdogs on the boardwalk at Rockaway Park.  Watching the Hudson run under the George Washington Bridge.  Eating a knish in Williamsburg.  Those aren't even dates.  Those are ways people spend a loney Saturday morning.  But as crazy as it sounds I have begun to enjoy them.  I have spent the week wondering what we would do the next Sturday.  I sit at work and hear the hummingbirds in the gardens at the Cloisters.  I come home from work and read King Lear, just to understand what makes him love it.  Again... Am I out of my mind?  Or am I really... really what?  Enjoying this?  Enjoying being out with him?  Seeing New York through his eyes?

November 20, 1985 -- I HAVE GONE OUT OF MY MIND!  First he tells me that he has been talking to his ex-girlfriend, Shawn, and that they are trying to work things out.  And then I go and sleep with the guy.  Am I setting myself up for disaster?  Who knows?  Things have been so nice for the past few weeks that I don't know what to think.  Our dates are not only fun, but so different from any that I have ever been on.  The sex is great.  But Shawn is always there.  He may not mention her, but she is always there, in the back of my mind, just knocking on the door waiting to see if he will mention her.  What is wrong with me?

February 1, 1985 -- Thrying to understand this football obsession of his is getting to be too much.  I started reading the sports page; I've watched the games on TV.  BUt I just don't get it..  It's like a bad train wreck, all these guys in a pile, smelling each other's behinds.  It will be the only thing that tears us apart.  That and the fact that I still only know the basics about him -- name, age, and job.  But I don't know about HIM.  I don't know why Mrs. Jackson had such an impact on him.  Sure, she raised him, but he never tells me how he felt when she died.  He never tells me why he hates being called a son-of-a-bitch.  HE get so mad when I say that ... but WHY?  There must be a reason.  Can't he just tell me?  Can't you tell me about YOU?
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