I don't trust in the goodwill of the universe enough yet to write very much when I'm happy, so this is probably the ideal time to mention that for the past several months I have been, unexpectedly, and to my frequent disbelief, very happy. I can write about it because I've probably ruined it, and am in a limbo of uncertainty about whether this is the case, and am so anxious with dread at the outcome that the block on expression that I tend to keep safely tamped in place (because what it keeps contained is rarely anything good) is pushed out by sheer force. It's nothing special or unusual, just the regular stupidity of someone who thought too much the wrong thoughts, and persuaded herself that the damage done by walling herself up would be less than that inflicted by leaving herself open. It seemed right at the time, and maybe in another relationship it would have been right enough, but I have the sense from the silence that the offense is one that he considers cardinal, or that- if I wasn't wrong and he was looking for the way out- I opened the door for him myself. If that's the case, the letter I wrote yesterday in the hope that he would thaw a little towards me one way or the other will be about as effective as locking myself in and lobbing the key after him. But I really don't know what else to do.