March 5th 1976
Something unusual happened today. Doctor Kaufman asked me if I'd like to accompany him to a performance at Artaud Theatre. I'm not sure how I should feel about that. It's not a date, and there certainly wasn't anything romantic about our interaction.
But if it isn't a date, why does it feel like one?
Perhaps he feels sorry for me? Is it an act of pity? I never considered him the compassionate sort. I'm also not sure if I want his sympathy.
I'm scared, and I'm confused.
I want to believe that he's doing this to get closer to me, that perhaps he feels the same way. But what if he did? Surely it isn't proper for a grown man to behave in such a manner?
But if I'm being honest, I'd find it flattering.
When I bumped into him earlier, my skin tingled. When he came close, I tensed up. He noticed me blushing, and I cursed myself. He probably just thinks I'm a foolish child with some silly infatuation. Maybe he's right.
Tomorrow the play debuts. I'm excited, yet also apprehensive. He hasn't told me what to expect. He hasn't said anything. Surely he won't turn up on my doorstep? Am I supposed to meet him at the theatre? Will he phone? I've no idea.
Nothing that man does makes any sense. I'm constantly being yanked back and forth like a dog on a leash. Sometimes he's nice to me, but he can also be cruel and insensitive. What is it about him that makes me fluster?
He's the greatest puzzle I've ever encountered, and only time will tell if I can solve him.