Sat. 15 October 1977
I must, I absolutely must sit down for a few moments and explain some of the things that have happened.
Last weekend T was in town. We spent a day together and my mind was really in another place. Why? Because I received a postcard from Tony. He was in town. I was so amazed. Seeing him was nice. I still love him an feel affection but it wasn’t lust. He may have felt that for me. When he was here I felt a stir but now that he’s gone, it’s out of mind. There’s a reason for it.
I saw him for the last time at the Eugene Hotel. I walked home and passed by a certain young man on the street. Now I have seen this beautiful slick walk by my new residence several times and Lukas or Rhone would call out: “Eva, he’s walking by again.” I never got a look at his face as he swiftly walked by – black leather jacket, black pants and shoes, black hair, white skin, a city person.
Well – here he was on the street and he said “Hi” and I couldn’t let him escape my presence. His name is Joe, 21, from the East Coast. He is really beautiful and I am dazed in his presence , even though I am not sure I have lust for him. But when do I, a-sex me? But he’s the best turn I’ve had in some time. There’s a note to this of course – he leaves tomorrow for SF – isn’t that sad? It’s hard to find American me who I like/ who like me.
(To be continued. I met Joe more than once. If you’re reading this, Joe, please find me. I have something to tell you.
All that black is something called “edgy” - marketed and pitched. But back in Eugene in the 1970’s, Joe was a stand-out. )
October 4, 1977
You know that when I am ill I just don’t feel like writing a thing. I’m feeling better now. This cocktailing thing goes nowhere. I like the hours though. But I don’t believe this job will get me back to Britain.
I’ve been dreaming a lot lately – dreams seem to take place in Yugoslavia and Greece. They are nice dreams, all about lust and happiness from material things.
Tuesday September 25 1977
I get tired job hunting. I know I’ll get tired, working. I will start at AsiaGardens tomorrow. So I am staying in Eugene. I shall write everybody after the first night of work. That will determine how I really feel about it. I hope I will like it and be satisfied there. It would be good to work there for just now too because it is money. I understand that the tips are not thrilling. A lot of walking. Black skirt, white shirt. Gee, all I need is my black tie and I shall have one of my favorite outfits, so military. So stern.
Now I must: move into the house, get the couch from Mao House, get my stuff from Ashland, plus coffee, tea and stereo.
And think about what I ant to do art-wise. Do I want to paint? But then what about The Chelsea girls? What about drawing clothes for a store?
Listening to Velvet Underground. Go to the library a lot.
It’s already raining a ton in Eugene.
Asia Gardens was my first cocktail waitress gig as I had just turned 21. I felt like I was a throwback anyway, in a time-warp, suitable in bleached hair. I told myself this whole thing was happening in the 50’s and it was a way to survive and amuse myself too.
September 24 1977 Continued
And thank God I am leaving Granddad. I love my Granddad and yes, I still respect him. But he is getting worse all the time. He is old. I feel bad about the whole thing. Before I moved here, I knew him in a distant sense. I knew he had old ideas but I was not confronted with them. He didn’t know my lifestyle either. I reckoned he saw me as his only granddaughter who went to a regular university. And she was doing well at it. She had been to Europe to work. He must have had some respect for me. Now I don’t really know what he thinks of me, save unmarketable in the job market. He can’t understand why I don’t type. But the reason I am not marketable in Southern Oregon is not simply that I don’t type (and I do actually – my term papers). It digs down to my personality, my view of the world, the way I look, what I’ve already done, my sanity. But it was incommunicable to Granddad and it separated us as more time went on. Maybe I was around him too much. I really don’t know if he feels that way. He is alone for the most part. I think he thinks I am overactive – and I am. Well so what if I still drink coffee, sleep in ‘til 930, in bed at 3. So what if I paint my face and wear all black clothes when I am on the streets at night. So what.
He may have been old then but my grandfather would live another 15 years. I am grateful for every second I had with him. Here we are in Ashland around 1982.