A Writer’s Diary Entries From Mid-November, 2001
Monday, November 12, 2001
4 PM. The TV stations are still running, ad nauseam, pictures of this morning’s plane crash into burning buildings around Beach 129th Street in Rockaway.
Of course, I know that part of Belle Harbor like the back of my own hand, and I could recite to anyone the friends and acquaintances who lived on nearby blocks.
Ivan’s girlfriend Vicky lived on Beach 129th and Newport, very close to the original site of the crash – although parts of the American Airlines flight to Santo Domingo were found in Jamaica Bay and scattered over several blocks.
I was lying down upstairs, feeling both tired and depressed, when I heard Teresa take a phone call from Mom.
Thinking it was about the Nova job, I came downstairs, but Mom had called to express her horror at the plane crash in an area we knew so well.
My first apartment was at 129 Beach 118th Street, only a few blocks away, and of course I recognized familiar neighborhood spots like St. Francis de Sales Church and its playground.
It appears that the plane, which crashed on takeoff, probably wasn’t the victim of a terrorist attack. But after 9/11, people everywhere, and especially New Yorkers, are understandably nervous.
My anxiety level has been high today, although I first felt nervous when I awoke this morning. Last night I didn’t sleep well despite taking an extra 0.25 mg. Klonopin (I didn’t want to use Ambien), and it was only 36° when I awakened.
I did get to sleep in the bedroom upstairs, but Pam took the down quilt here for the sofa bed in the den, so I felt cold all night.
Well, after tomorrow, the temperatures should moderate. I’ve been lucky that there’s been no rain in the week that I’ve been in New York.
Pam and I chatted about her master’s thesis and her class in the Bronx and the change from living here to being a tenant of Teresa’s parents in Williamsburg.
Teresa and Paul soon came home from Fire Island, though Paul fell asleep very quickly and didn’t join Teresa and Pam for their steak dinner. But I brought my rice-and-bean burrito and veggies over to the table to eat with them.
Then we watched TV in the living room.
Watching QVC’s Diamonique program with its jewelry for sale and HGTV’s Before and After makeovers of rooms doesn’t thrill me as much as it does Teresa and Pam, whose prime pastime sometimes seems to be either spending money or talking about spending money.
I guess they are the patriots we now need to prop up the ailing consumer economy.
At 9 PM, a special honoring fifty years of I Love Lucy appeared on CBS, and I watched it with Teresa and Pam until I felt tired enough to go to bed.
However, I couldn’t fall asleep, and when I finally did, I had antsy dreams. I’m a little concerned that the anxiety of last year will come back with a vengeance, and I’m trying to keep it at bay.
I associate anxiety and depression with fall and winter, and I’m experiencing cold November weather here.
I spoke to Ronna. By now she’s the only one in her house with a cold, so I said I’d probably come on Thursday. I rented a car at Enterprise from Wednesday until next Monday, so I’ll have my own wheels for a while.
I still expect to get either a cold or a stomach virus or some illness before I leave.
At least I wasn’t going anywhere today when they closed the airports, bridges and tunnels when there seemed to be a possible terrorist attack.
Everyone on Flight 587 was killed, along with several people on the ground, who have been reported missing.
Four homes in Belle Harbor were destroyed and sixteen were damaged, which is remarkable. The fires are out now, but there’s no power in the immediate neighborhood.
Pam, Teresa and I went to the supermarket and to a couple of stores in downtown Glen Cove, but Pam – who was off today for Veterans Day – left in the early afternoon.
Soon after she went home, Connie and Thomas came over. (He drove with his learner’s permit.) They went online looking for a used car for Peter’s parents, whose car died last week.
Teresa went out just now to get her nails done, and I finished skimming today’s Times and put up a wash.
I told Josh I’d probably have lunch with him tomorrow.
I’m writing this while half-listening to All Things Considered on NPR. Bush is now making a statement about the crash.
Tuesday, November 13, 2001
8 PM. It’s supposed to warm up a little soon. While I’m getting used to the colder weather, I’ll never really be comfortable when the outside temperature is under 65° or so.
No word from Nova yet, and I see on the university’s website that they’ve frozen hiring pending the results of state budget cuts.
Last evening Leon and Sandy came over for a few hours, and it was nice to see them, as they’re both friendly and cheerful. I hung out with everyone, trying to avoid the role of aloof moocher, until I went to check my email.
Mikey sent a note that began, “I guess you’ve seen all the news about Rockaway.” He said that if it’s indeed an accident, he wonders why it didn’t happen before since it was an accident waiting to happen.
(Richard Kostelanetz had the opposite reaction, wondering why the pilot couldn’t crash into Jamaica Bay or the ocean.)
Mikey said it hasn’t been a good year for them: Missy was diagnosed with breast cancer in the spring, and she’s currently undergoing chemotherapy.
I wrote Mikey back and also called his new work number – the old one had a message saying it was “non-working as of 9/11” – and left a message telling Mikey I was on Long Island, but I haven’t heard back from him.
Last night I slept really well, from about 10:30 PM till nearly 6 AM. But again this morning, I had another rush of anxiety when I lay down after getting dressed this morning: I think about all that’s facing me in Arizona and how I don’t know what I’m going to do with my life.
I took the 10:37 AM into the city, leaving a little while after Celeste and John got here to spend the day with Teresa.
On the Oyster Bay Line to Jamaica, I listened to a relaxation and meditation tape, which made me feel a little better.
I met Josh a little after noon at the Franklin Street subway kiosk, and again we ate at the French/Malaysian restaurant right on the corner.
Josh said he’s totally out of the loop of current writers of fiction; he hadn’t even heard of Michael Chabon, who I first read while I was in law school.
Josh reads authors who are dead and living ones that he’s enjoyed for years, like Philip Roth.
“If I’d been more in touch with contemporary literature,” Josh said, “I might have enjoyed having that share of the KGB more than I did.” He never really went to any readings in the bar.
Last night he had dinner with Todd, whom he told that his stories aren’t getting read because magazine editors are reacting to the anthrax scare by throwing away unsolicited manuscripts.
Todd is 60 now, and I guess I have to admire him for still trying. Josh said that occasionally Todd does manage to get published somewhere.
I know it must be hard for people like Josh, who have discarded their ambition to be a writer. I may be like them soon. Who knows?
I told Josh no one would want my “novel and stories” about college. Red Hen Press would probably publish it if I subsidized the book, but I’m not going to be able to finance any other publications.
Still, I once said that my ambition was to publish books in different decades, and I’ve got until 2019 if I consider the 2000 publication of The Silicon Valley Diet to be in this decade.
Josh once again paid, of course. We shook hands and I patted him on the shoulder as we parted.
I got on a downtown 1 train, which now goes into Brooklyn, while the 3 train terminates at 14th Street. Getting off at Clark Street, I took the elevator to the lobby of the St. George and walked over to the Promenade.
Someone had attached a photo of the old view with the Twin Towers to the railing, and there were lots of dried bouquets that must have been put there soon after the tragedy.
I strolled the length of the Promenade, looking at the new view without the WTC. While it’s less impressive, if you didn’t know about the horror of 9/11, you wouldn’t think the Lower Manhattan skyscape was missing anything.
Walking through the Heights, I passed 150 Remsen, at the corner of Clinton Street, where Rochelle Wouk and I had therapy sessions nearly thirty years ago. It’s still a psychologist’s office.
I made a right at Court Street and took the subway at Borough Hall to Atlantic Avenue, where I got the 2:09 PM LIRR train to Far Rockaway.
Changing at Jamaica, I transferred to the Oyster Bay Line at Mineola and got back to the empty house after 3:30 PM. (Well, it was empty except for Hattie pacing in circles outside.)
The Taliban have fled Kabul as the Northern Alliance, aided by U.S. bombing, entered the Afghan capital. There were some atrocities, but mostly the media have focused on pictures of men getting their beards shaved off, people watching videos and listening to music, and women walking around unaccompanied by men.
It looks like the Taliban government may have collapsed. But what will replace it?
Wednesday, November 14, 2001
5 PM. I just drove back from Huntington via Northern Boulevard in my Chevy Cavalier, rented from Enterprise this morning.
I’d gone to the Cinema Arts Center, the art house, where I saw the 2:30 PM showing of Waking Life, Richard Linklater’s instant cult classic of an animated film, featuring dreams within dreams, college-dorm bullshit/profound monologues, and incredible visuals.
It was the kind of movie that almost makes me want to smoke pot again. Vincent had told me about it, and I’m sure he would love to see it.
It’s been over a week since I wrote Vincent, and he hasn’t written back, so I’m pretty sure I offended him. I thought of writing him anyway, but I’ll leave him alone and wait till I get back to Arizona. (I almost wrote “back home.”)
Even if Vincent hates me by now, that can’t take away the good stuff he brought into my life.
*
5:30 PM. Whew. I just helped Paul bring Teresa’s aunt’s old sewing machine from the garage into the basement. It was too heavy for him to do it on his own.
Last evening Mikey called, and after chatting with Teresa, he told me about his experiences on 9/11.
Coming out of the PATH train at the World Trade Center, he was told by a cop to leave the building immediately and go outside, where he felt and heard but didn’t see the second plane hitting the tower.
Before that, all he knew was that there was a fire. “I know everyone says it was like a movie,” Mikey said, “but that’s exactly how I felt as I ran with everyone else in the mass confusion.”
When he got to his office – he still works for the attorney general – they told them to go home immediately, so he went to Penn Station and was on the train back to Jersey when the towers collapsed: “If I had looked, I probably could have seen it.”
Mikey said that Missy’s breast cancer was diagnosed in March, and after the mastectomy, she had six months of chemo. She’ll have reconstructive surgery next month.
Teddy is 6½ and in first grade: “He’s a delight, if I do say so myself. He’s good in math like his mother and pretty smart all around.”
Mikey and I agreed to have lunch on Monday, my last day in New York.
After awakening at 5 AM today, I again felt this incredible anxiety in the pit of my stomach. I think – especially after seeing Waking Life – that this is a moment of existential dread that occurs because I’m out of dreams.
I knew the feeling would dissipate as the morning wore on, and it did. I guess I’ll just have to endure it.
Hey, I just caught myself thinking of Vincent again. Okay, that’s all right, I’m practicing awareness of the present moment – the only time we really live in.
I know I sound like one of the cartoon people in Waking Life. And now I’m thinking about Vincent again.
– Thought-stopping, I just called Ronna and told her I’d drive to Jenkintown tomorrow. Even if I get sick after my visit, the trip will be worth it because everything happens for the best.
It’s like what happened to me this last year: If I didn’t have my nervous breakdown and if I wasn’t unemployed starting in May, I wouldn’t have experienced so much good stuff – like staying at Dairy Hollow and Eureka Springs and meeting Vincent; spending two weeks in Chicago at Ragdale; being with Libby and her family in L.A.; coming to Long Island/New York City in the spring and summer, and visiting Jenkintown, too ; spending a week in South Florida with Aunt Sydelle and Frank and being a finalist for the job at NSU Law.
Heck, even sleeping on the floor of my family’s family room in Apache Junction was an experience.
I love all of that because it’s been real. That sounds spacy and pretentious – again, like Richard Linklater’s movie – but it’s what I feel.
Wherever I am next Thursday and however I feel, the higher-self part of me knows I have a lot to be thankful for on Thanksgiving 2001.
Right now it’s 59° out. I can hear Paul crooning, “You’re 16, you’re beautiful, and you’re mine.” The washing machine is running. And Teresa just muttered, “It probably went down the drain.”
Awareness and dreams, yeah.
Thursday, November 15, 2001
9:30 PM. I’m in Ronna and Matthew’s house in Jenkintown. Ronna just came up to my room to send the girls, who had been playing on the computer and watching TV, downstairs to Matthew.
I feel kind of exhausted, although I don’t expect to sleep much. It’s much warmer in this house than it is in Locust Valley. Of course, today’s high in Philadelphia was 70°, with another unseasonably warm day due tomorrow before it gets cold again.
Last night I had my own dinner and then joined Paul and Teresa for some pasta and broccoli.
Paul went upstairs after Jeopardy ended at 7:30 PM, and Teresa got on the phone with Pam soon after that, so I went to my room, where I read the special 150th anniversary section of the New York Times and watched Dawson’s Creek before going downstairs again to chat with Teresa for a little bit.
Taking an Ambien at 10:30 PM, I fell asleep quickly, awakening at 4 AM.
Teresa was on the warpath this morning after Hattie made a mess in the basement. She talked about putting the dog to sleep even though she’s the one who always says they can’t.
Teresa then muttered, “I’m tortured by the dogs, tortured by his kids,” and threatened to leave Paul, “but I can’t move in with Pam because Pam lives at my mother’s house!”
I hadn’t realized that Teresa was so unhappy in her marriage, but probably it was just Teresa being Teresa and letting off frustration.
Very often she takes an extreme position, even one that’s the opposite of something she’s previously said, just to provoke guilt or an argument. I don’t really see her and Paul splitting up.
I left Locust Valley at 9 AM in an unexpected rain shower. It cleared up by the time I made a pit stop at Toys R Us on Flatbush Avenue about 90 minutes later.
It was another half hour before I got to Jersey, but then I made good time, stopping only for water and Diet Coke. (I had brought a sandwich and yam with me.)
Picking up a ticket at the Pennsylvania Turnpike toll booth, I might have scratched up the card door – but I am insured, so hopefully nothing terrible will happen.
Driving down Old York Road, I stopped at the Wendy’s in Willow Grove for a baked potato, and then I went to Shorday’s in Abington to get some vegetables and grapefruit juice before I arrived here at 1:30 PM.
Abigail was clearly thrilled to see me, and we played together in the backyard for quite a while. She’s very talkative.
Chelsea, too, seemed excited to see me when we picked her up at school. Before we had to take her to Hebrew school in Elkins Park, she was showing off on the monkey bars for me.
It was about 3:45 PM when we got back. Ronna told me that Matthew turned down the job in Stony Brook, mostly because she didn’t want to move to Long Island, a place she dislikes for reasons unknown to me.
Matthew was on the 5 PM news of the local ABC affiliate yesterday, commenting on a recent meningitis outbreak in the suburbs. He didn’t come home till 8 PM tonight.
Ronna says that Matthew wants to leave MCP Hahnemann because the administration is sucky, but he’ll stay on for the next academic year and won’t go anywhere until he gets a better position in a place they can both agree upon.
Up here in my room on the top floor, I played on the computer with the girls and watched their shows on the Cartoon Network.
Vincent didn’t write, and by now I’m sure he’s upset with me, probably for that comment I made about envying the stability he has with a home in Memphis and in his relationship with his boyfriend.
I feel like I wasn’t supposed to mention that part of his life. I’ll write him next week after I listen to the mixtape he made for me.
Actually, I hope the reason Vincent hasn’t written is that he’s angry with me and not that he’s depressed or otherwise unwell.
I always assumed that eventually I would do something like whatever Dale Peck and Dennis Cooper did to make Vincent think less of me.
I have to admit it did bother me how he seemed to dismiss them: as a “pompous asshole” in Dale’s case and a “major pedophile” in Dennis’s. He clearly had been close with each of them.
In an email, Mark Bernstein wrote that sometimes jobs he’d had lined up in academia fell victim to budget cuts, the way my Nova Law job may have.
“That’s because academic jobs are such bullshit,” Mark said.
Friday, November 16, 2001
Noon. Last night I slept pretty soundly, albeit for only about six hours. Once I got up at 5 AM, I felt that pit-of-the-stomach anxiety that now seems to be a function of awakening.
Using thought-stopping, I was able to control the feeling and try to concentrate on the present.
I’m nervous about my flight back to Phoenix on Tuesday; I don’t know why I made it for 6:15 AM. That means I’m going to have to leave Teresa’s house at about 4:15 AM, so I don’t expect to sleep that night.
If I make my connections at DFW, I can be at Sky Harbor before noon.
I tried to change my flight, but nothing is available that day, and of course the next day, the day before Thanksgiving, may be the biggest travel day of the year – even after 9/11 and Monday’s plane crash.
This morning Ronna went to school with Abigail, who is today’s “Shabbat star,” which meant that Ronna had to bring some food in and read the kids a book. They should be back anytime now.
I exercised to Body Electric on WYBE/35 at 7 AM. Two hours later, I went out to Barnes & Noble and read nearly all of today’s New York Times while drinking raspberry-quince iced tea that gave me the chills despite the record high temperatures outside.
*
4:30 PM. I just came back from driving Diane, the Guyanese cleaning woman, home.
Although Chelsea came home early from school saying she felt like she was going to throw up, being sick hasn’t stopped her from eating corn chips on my bed or torturing Abigail with taunts, teasing, and even hitting her.
Sometimes Chelsea seems deliberately spiteful and mean, and I don’t know how Ronna puts up with her.
Ronna thinks Abigail is actually the one who’s not feeling well today and that she was crying not just because of Chelsea’s taunts but because of the recurrence of her ear infection.
One regret I’ve never experienced is over not having children of my own, and the certainty of that is reinforced whenever I spend time with my friends’ little children. Even when they’re well-behaved, I wouldn’t want to deal with all their illnesses and problems.
Of course, I’ve always had enough trouble taking care of myself, but I find it hard to understand anyone’s desire to raise kids – and that includes my own parents, who were probably too young and naïve to know what they were in for when they got me as their first child.
Even when kids are adults, like Paul’s kids, they sometimes seem to be nothing but problems.
At this point, I feel ready to go back to Apache Junction even though I know I’m going to have to deal with a panoply of problems there. But in Arizona, I feel comfortable enough to start to build a life for myself little by little.
Sunday, November 18, 2001
8 PM. Back in Locust Valley, I have a raging sore throat and feel I’ve got the start of a cold that I got at Ronna’s house from the kids.
Last night I played chess with the girls – surprisingly, even Chelsea took losing with equanimity – and read the Barbie in the Nutcracker book I got them while they played with their own Barbies.
I slept pretty well, though I got up around 3:30 AM and wasn’t able to fall back asleep except for just a little while.
My usual morning anxiety compelled me to leave before 10 AM, thanking Ronna and Matthew and hugging Chelsea and Abigail.
The drive back was not as nervous-making as I expected, and I didn’t have the slightest trace of full-blown anxiety even as I missed the exit for Outerbridge Crossing and had to take the Jersey Turnpike to the Goethals Bridge.
I stopped at several rest areas on the Jersey Turnpike and then again at the Toys R Us on Flatbush Avenue.
Making a short detour, I drove by East 56th Street between Avenue O and Fillmore Avenue, and yes, the house I grew up in was still there.
Getting back on the Belt Parkway, I took it into the Southern State, into the Meadowbrook, and into the Northern State, and then home via Glen Cove Road, Cedar Swamp Road, and Forest Avenue. In Glen Cove, I stopped at Wendy’s and Farmers Bazaar.
Teresa and Paul have been working on the bathroom downstairs, stripping the wallpaper.
Teresa was also working on the basement, moving the treadmill from this room to there and rearranging the bureau and one of the night tables.
Bickering continuously, they left at 4 PM, and I had stuff to do while they were gone.
I made out some credit card bill payments and mailed them. I did laundry while I exercised lightly to a Body Electric tape. I skimmed most of the Sunday Times and called Mid-Island Taxi and ordered a cab for 4:15 AM on Tuesday.
After phoning Ronna to say I’d arrived home safely, I fretted about getting a cold.
Monday, November 19, 2001
4:30 PM. I got the job at Nova. When I checked my email at about 2:30 PM, there was a note from Pat Jason asking me to call her “to discuss the specifics of your joining us at Nova.”
I left a message, and she called me right back. The job is mine on the condition that I take the bar exam within six months – but she said that taking the July exam is okay.
The pay is $48K, the high end of the scale. “You’ve made my day,” Pat said. “You have terrific references and wonderful friends.”
Anyway, Teresa and Celeste and John were here at the time, and of course I got really excited. “You finally caught a break,” Teresa said.
I called Dad, who he said he’d come to Florida with me to help me get settled and buy a car. Dad couldn’t believe how much money I’ll be making.
Pat wants me to call her next Monday and tell her when I can start. I’ve got so much to do.
I’m sure I won’t sleep tonight, especially since I have to be up at 3 AM to catch my flight. I’ve been mainlining zinc lozenges because my throat is very sore, and I’m starting to feel congested. Yet so far my cold symptoms seem mild. I plan to crash in Apache Junction over the next week.
Anyway, I don’t know where to begin.
I guess this gets me back to my rightful job. I should have never left Nova or South Florida, but as Teresa said, I learned a very valuable but expensive lesson in Arizona. I don’t plan to leave South Florida for the rest of my life.
I did sleep okay last night, and when I woke up at 2 AM, I took an Ambien, which put me out for another three hours.
So I’ll be Director of Academic Resources at Nova Southeastern University’s law school. I phoned Ronna about it, and Sat Darshan, who said she’ll miss me. But I’ll wait to tell everyone else till later.
Vincent wrote me yesterday. He’s been in San Francisco, and he wasn’t offended by anything I said.
He told me he doesn’t like to tell the people about his relationship with Bill, especially because people think it’s odd that it doesn’t involve sex.
I didn’t expect to hear that, but it makes sense to me. Vincent has been going through his own hell this week because he “did something very stupid sexually” in San Francisco and won’t rest till he gets tested.
Vincent really does like me and says he knows I’m having a hard time being “homeless.”
Well, I won’t be homeless anymore. I emailed Cameron Cove to see about moving back in there, but I know Davie and am sure I can find another place near the university.
This morning I took Hattie to the dog groomer (Teresa’s car has only two doors), read a little of the paper at Starbucks, and returned the rental car. Then I hung out till John and Celeste came over.
Susan wrote me. (Did I say that already?) I think I’d like to see her for a therapy session before I leave Phoenix. I’ll need to see Dr. B as well.
There’s so much I have to do, and of course that will keep me up all night. It’s already preventing me from writing this diary entry.
Everything ended up working out.
This morning I got a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach when I thought about going back to Arizona and having to adjust to doing God-knows-what.
I’ll need to buy suits and dress shirts and pants for work at the law school. And I’ll have to get rid of my bed or buy a new one. How am I going to move everything?
Actually, I don’t have all that much, and Dad and I can take some packages on the plane with us. It’s going to be strange the next month or so.
Pat said they want me to start work at the beginning of the next semester but that I could begin earlier. I can’t see starting before three weeks from today, and four would be better.
I’m going to have to get used to working full-time, and I’m sure I’ll be quite anxious for a while, but I’ll be okay if I pace myself.
Vincent said I need to be patient with myself, and so did Susan.
On one level, I think, “What the fuck did I get myself into? God knows how I’m going to do this job.” But Teresa said it would be strange if I didn’t feel that way.
I’m going to be back in Florida, back at a law school, working with students. This is going to be, as I told Pat, “exciting.”
I’m so thrilled, I don’t know what to do with myself. As Neil Rogers would say, I don’t know whether to scream or eat a banana.
I’m still nervous about tomorrow, but I’ll take getting from Locust Valley to Apache Junction – and everything else – one stop at a time.
What a long, strange trip it’s been. I’m going back to the place where I most want to be in winter. As God is my witness, I’m never going to be cold again.