simply wanted to know her preferences as far as personality, and type were concerned.) Miss Loneliness wasn't sure; and the main reason why she wasn't sure, was that she didn't know, as yet what she wanted. And, not knowing what she wants, Miss Loneliness is sure to make a hasty choice some night. . . the wrong choice. Maybe I'm mistaken, but I've always felt that being mismated. is a lot worse than being lonely. And the over-eagerness that this loneliness creates, is sure to lead to hasty and regretable decisions. Then, I asked Miss L. what she was doing, outside of standing there, caressing a drink, to attract the desired person into her life. Miss L. stared at me, with a blank expression. She never thought about doing anything, (outside of coming into the gay bar). By the suspicious gleam in her eye, I could tell by this time, that Miss L. considered me a candidate for the barred-windowed room!

I probed deeper, ignoring the suspicious gleam. I asked Miss L. what she did for a living. She typed. (That was nice; but difficult to meet a "partner" in the average office although it has been done!) What else did she do? I waited, while her brain delved down, trying to pick up a clue. Then, I thought I'd better help her. Did she paint? Draw? Grow cactus? Cook? Sew? Oh yes; she knew now! She could sew! She made her own clothes. (She proudly took off her jacket to show me the really stylish blouse that she had made.) Fine. A good beginning, I told her. If you have any special accomplishment, do it, I told Miss L. If you can sew, then sew. Sew and keep sewing. Even when you are bored to death with it! But, as I told Miss L.. it isn't likely that you will be bored with your hobby; if you are, find another. Or, better still, have two hobbies. But have something to do; something that interests you. Something that takes you out of yourself. Join a club; be with people, I told Miss L. Invite some girls over to sew on a quilt, or curtains for the clubhouse . . . or anything. Don't sew alone. In fact, don't do anything alone. (The only people who are entitled to be alone ar the "clams"; who couldn't be lonely if the. rest of the world disappeared into the sea!)

Instead of haunting gay bars every night, I told her, go home and sew; instead of standing alone, waiting, longing for the impossible, go home and do something interesting. The gay spots can always be frequented weekends . . . and they're more lively then, too! All loneliness, I told Miss L., is a form of self-deception. It is as transient as the morning mist, dissolving before the rays of the rising sun. It is just not the terrible thing we imagine it to be. It is composed of an erroneous sense of being alone . . . (ever hear of being “lonely in a crowd?") and of indulgent absorption with ourselves and our own problems. It is the by-product of narrow, selfish thinking, and distorted viewpoints, concerning ourselves, and our lives. It is, basically, a liar and a cheat! And it is entirely of our own creating! But, nevertheless, every day it seeks out its victims, and sends them scurring into hasty judgments, or tortured hours of useless waiting for the "one," for the miracle. As we create our own loneliness, so we could just as well, with half the effort, create our own miracles.

Little Miss L. gave me one last, suspicious stare, and then, walked away. When I left the gay bar, she was standing, staring into her fresh drink, and so far, the tall blonde had not put in an appearance.

Well, write soon baby. And hurry home. I have a peculiar feeling, and if I didn't know better, I'd think it was loneliness!

Love, Jay.

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