I have a certain jealous nature that just won’t be denied. Tonight it nearly broke loose, and, in its unorganized state, might have caused me no small amount of trouble.
This guy in Calif. – an old friend – gets too thick a letter to suit me. – Like her mother, I don’t see what they can find to talk about. I was in a fair humor until that came up. She asks me to mail four letters – and the fourth is to him. Surely he isn’t a nut! There’s bound to be some attraction. And I just sat there. Nothing interested me. My goodnight must have been unimpressive, to say the least. Added to this general feeling of depression was her illness and the peculiar frame of mind in which I have een left by Maugham’s Philip Carey – he loved desperately and deeply, but his women just didn’t click. – He was miserable.
I feel that I must come to some understanding. There must be some sort of explanation about this relationship as for now and as for the future. I could even threaten to hinge the future on a decision to do or not to do my will in matters such as this. This jealous feeling can not ruin my equanimity all my life. [1]
[1] Bernice added the following note dated 12-26-67: Johnny, my dear – The “guy in California” was a fellow I knew in high school, and we carried on a wonderful correspondence about ideas, places we’d been, etc. Incidentally, he asked me to marry him after I became engaged to your father, but I never told John that. We often wonder what would have happened if we’d taken the other road, but if I had – in this case – I wouldn’t have you! Love – DOM [Note: DOM = Dear Old Mom, my pet name for her.]
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