An 18-Year-Old’s Diary Entries From August, 1969

by Richard Grayson

Friday, August 1, 1969

I got to sleep at about 3. I went to the airport with Grandpa, a harrowing experience. The plane was so late — it was supposed to come in at 10, they didn’t get down till after 11:30 a.m. Connie Fishman took a sleepifng Jeffrey and a tired me home at about 12. Today I stayed in the back and watched soap operas with Grandma and Grandpa. I’m sticking to my diet. I got a letter from David today and a circular from Richard Lippa concerning a teen M magazine. I applied to the editor, Miriam Klaiman of Hollywood, Florida to work on some column of criticism. I’ve been working on The Fountain. I’ve added 2 new characters — Meryl, a Music and Art senior and Courtney, a Negro kid of 16 (He’s a friend of Chris’). I never had a cup of tea today — the first day I’ve missed in a long while.

Saturday, August 2, 1969

I was tired today. Mom and Dad loved London. They told us all about Carnaby St., Brighton, Piccadilly Circus, Soho, dinner with the Garfinkles, etc. Phil Geth brought 2 TVs over this morning — one for us, one for Aunt Sydelle. He talked our ears off. Mom brought me and M and J vests, a beautiful shirt with a matching handkerchief and tie, sherry and port jelly, an underground paper (It), and lots of memories. Jonny and I took pictures today. We got all dressed up. The move tonight was Then Came Bronson. I liked it. It’s about a guy roaming the country on a cycle. They’re making a series out of it next fall. Sid’s brother-in-law told Uncle Monty that Fran is 5 months pregnant. Why do I feel so disappointed in her? I thought I was very liberal. I should be — my sex life isn’t most people’s cup of tea.

Sunday, August 3, 1969

I got up very late today — 10:30. It was too late to go to church. I went to Kings Highway to get the Village Voice. It seems there was a real big gay power demonstration in Sheridan Square. When I returned, Matt, Arlyne and Jeff had come. The baby can now walk a little. Brad called me and asked me if I wanted to have lunch with him. We ate at the Fillmore Queen (no remarks, please!). We drove around for a while. We played an interesting game: put “under the sheets” after the title of any song. It really works. I like Brad. Do I love him? I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway. We discussed politics (he’s still a Kennedy fan), music (he has a Simon & Garfunkel obsession), everything but sex. Why am I so inhibited? Aunt Arlyne had a birthday party here.

Monday, August 4, 1969

Today was a nasty day. I’ve just come back from Kings Highway. I got dressed in my new grey-striped bellbottoms and my yellow body shirt. Dad discussed going to the country with Larry Jacobs. This excites me, as I’d have someone my own age (Kevin) along. Kevin is a very nice looking kid (except for his nose) and I’m afraid my intentions toward him are less than honorable. I read James Baldwin’s Go Tell it on the Mountain. Moving. I wish I could write a story like that. Rain again tonight. I’ve also been reading The Deer Park, the play by Norman Mailer. I would just love the chance to play Marion Faye, the bisexual pimp. He’s so unlike me that I think it could really be a challenge.

Tuesday, August 5, 1969

I’ve been on the telephone all night. I called Brad. We rapped about machines and school and vices and religion. He says he’s going to New Orleans this Sunday. He’ll be gone for 2 weeks. This kind of depressed me. But then Gary called. I invited him over Sunday. He broke up with his girl. He coughs so much — says he’s been sick lately. Sally and Marvin came over for coffee. We all took this test I found in Ladies’ Home Journal, and it found everyone’s sign. I didn’t do much today. I read The Gay World by Martin Hoffman. I feel real good. Tonight it rained again.

Wednesday, August 6, 1969

I got up my nerve and went to Manhattan today. I left about 10:30 on the BMT. I took my camera. The only time I really got nervous was going over the bridge. I went to the place. Saw Dad, Grandpa Nat, Joel, Juan and the nutty bookkeeper. Dad took me out to lunch. It was very hot — the air conditioning in the train wasn’t working. I went into Barnes & Noble. I found Gary there. He was, to say the least, surprised to see me. I was with him till 2:00 and went to Klein’s with him. Dad drove me as far as Kings Hwy (he had to see Mr. Stag). I was very disappointed with the Senate vote on ABM — I expected it, though. The military/industrial complex is so strong. Oh yes, I got a picture of a hippie. Cousin Allen wrote us. I wrote him a letter, then tore it up. Mady sent me a letter and I wrote one to her. I’m a bit proud of myself.

Thursday, August 7, 1969

I never got to sleep last night. I tried everything — hot bath, pills, TV, radio, reading. Nothing worked. I even tried masturbation. Hence, I’m exhausted. I went to Kings Highway to buy the Voice. I saw Steve Kahn. I must call him. Brad called me and asked me out to an early dinner. I was exhausted but I didn’t want to miss the chance for company. We went to the Mill Basin Deli. Our waiter, St. Louis Blugerman Shakespen was a real nut — a taxi-driver, producer, director, author, playwright, poet, comedian, philosopher. We had a lot of fun with him. He gave us his card. Brad and I drove around and talked about sex. He says he’s been with a different guy every night for the past 2 weeks. He says he’s not promiscuous. He wants me to act out my fantasies with him. He says that’s the best way. I said I’d think on it and see him on his return.

Friday, August 8, 1969

I slept fairly well, T.G. I went to Kings Highway into Sam Ash to see if I could find Phil. He wasn’t working there today. I rode busses for a while. Some colored kids were hanging on the side of the bus. I sat on the campus grass this afternoon writing the preceding pages of the diary as if I had written them then. I like the idea of a diary — getting my thoughts down. Last night Brad said I was more screwed up about sex than anybody he’s ever met. This frightens me. The only thing I can think about is sex — every nice-looking boy I meet I want to go to bed with (Brad says you don’t go to bed, really). I fooled around with the guys from the Free Theatre. They’re really great. We marched thru the campus singing (I held the flag) and played sensitivity games and such. Heard Nixon’s speech on welfare. Nothing much.

Saturday, August 9, 1969

I got a letter from Eugene this morning. He sounds like he’s enjoying himself more now with the show coming up and all. Giselle brought her 5-year-old daughter Jeanette over today. She is the cutest little girl you’ve ever seen. I took her to see The Free Theater. Stacy, the Negro guy, thought she was my sister. It was funny getting stares just for walking with a person of a different color. She really enjoyed the show, and so did I. Songs like “Light My Fire,” “Yellow Submarine,” “Yankee Doodle Dandy,” “Get Back” etc. It was a blast. I took my camera and took pictures of Jeanette, Stacy, Chris, Ernie and the rest. I hope to see the Free Theatre folks again. I’ve been reading John Rechy’s City of Night. Depressing. I went out tonight — searching, as usual, for what I’m not sure. I think I’ve had a brainstorm — a reunion of the Sultans. I’ll have to get in touch with Eugene about it.

Sunday, August 10, 1969

I got up about 8:30. I lolled in bed for an hour — thinking about love and sex and my future and the things Brad has said. I’ve come to no conclusions. I am frightened, but somehow I think I’ll make it. I don’t expect it to be easy. Gary came over about 1:30. We had a nice, leisurely day. We talked about his breakup with his girl, our crazy relatives, about the news in general (The Sharon Tate murder is really bizarre). I like him in a friendly sort of way. He seems so much more mature, more poised than I ever thought he was. I wonder why I’ve underrated him — perhaps it was just my nearsightedness or maybe he’s grown up. I wish I could achieve that plateau. I am so immature. My throat is sore from talking so much. Mom and Dad and the kids went to Aunt Sydelle’s and then to Oceanside. Jonny acted so cute today with Gary. It’s nice having a brother, 8, who can talk movies, sports and politics.

Monday, August 11, 1969

I finished City of Night. It’s a beautiful book. I found the ending scene with Jeremy very touching. Why can’t dogs go to heaven? I got the pictures back today — a few of them didn’t come out. I don’t know why photography interests me — maybe it’s that one moment — frozen in time forever. I saw Goodbye Columbus— I thought it was very good. The wedding scenes were so true to life. I think the message of the film was to decide for yourself what is right and what is not. But what if you’re like Brenda Patimkin or me, and aren’t sure? I’ve got to make up mind — I don’t like being stuck. I saw Carole Zucker on the Mill Basin bus today. I wanted to talk to her, but I didn’t have the nerve. I’m trying to stay off the sleeping pills and just use the tranquilizers. I know now that I’m not going backwards at least. Excelsior!

Tuesday, August 12, 1969

Last night Mom and I had a long talk. She says she’ll be happy as long as I’m happy — whatever I’m doing. Even if I don’t go to college, get a job, or get married. She said, “Maybe you don’t like girls.” I said, “Maybe.” She said again, “As long as you’re happy.” I feel relieved. Bert Weiss, Aunt Arlyne’s father died of a stroke during the night. It came as a shock as he was such a youthful man. The last time I saw him was in June, and he looked fine. We went to Oceanside. Arlyne was there and she was taking it well. Mom and I stayed with Jeffrey. Marty and Dad went to Green Acres, then Arlyne and Mom left to meet Lawrence, Ellen and Marty at Bert’s vault. He apparently left a great deal of money. Ellen still hasn’t been reached yet, as she’s on a bus tour in Canada. Marty was up the whole night. Mr. Weiss had a stroke, then another one in the ambulance, and died. I got a letter from Barbara today. She’ll be in New York some time next week. I hope I’ll see her.

Wednesday, August 13, 1969

Bert Weiss’s funeral was today. So was Jack Lurio’s, who died of a stroke last night. I went to Mr. Weiss’s funeral, but not to the cemetery. I sat near my grandfathers, Aunt Tillie and Uncle Morris, and Sol, Mr. Weiss’s partner. The ceremony was brief but simple. First the members of the family — Helen, Bert’s brothers, Ellen, Lawrence, Arlyne, Marty — walked in, then came the coffin, and then the rabbi’s eulogy. I was surprised at the shortness of the ceremony. It was very solemn and dignified, but somehow I expected something more dramatic. It was so hard to believe that what one day had been a living person should now lie still inside a coffin for eternity. I want to be cremated, but somebody will undoubtedly disregard my wishes. Today I watched all the ceremonies honoring the Apollo 11 astronauts. The crowds really came out for them.

Thursday, August 14, 1969

Today was an uneventful day. I was sitting outside at the pool, reading Alberto Moravia’s Two Adolescents. There was nothing in the Voice of interest. I scour the ads hoping to see The Ad, the one that will change my life. I wish I were a magician and knew how to disappear at will. I’ve gotten into the habit of standing on street corners at night — I just had to get out. I’m anxiously awaiting something, what I’m not sure — Brad’s return, the bar mitzvah, the starting of college. I’ve decided I’ll take only 12½ credits — I have 3 from summer school. I want to get adjusted to it first. I wonder where I’ll be 20 years from now. Dead? I doubt it. Fairies only commit suicide or die tragically in plays. Successful? Perhaps — anything can happen. I have a good something-or-other in me. Average? I doubt it — sounds too pedestrian. Here is a list of things I’d like to be: playwright, novelist, critic, reporter, Senator, lawyer, taxi driver, bookshop owner, pimp, hustler and Pope.

Friday, August 15, 1969

Another pedestrian day. I went for a ride on the new air-conditioned D train to DeKalb Avenue and back. I did virtually nothing — couldn’t work on the play, bought Alka Seltzer and watched soap operas. I had some vague stomach pains this PM. We’ve had beautiful weather all week. Oh yes, I shrunk my dungarees. I think I’d better get something straight. I’m a quiet revolutionary — maybe a neurotic revolutionary would be better. Politically I stand with Mayor Lindsay, Sen. McGovern and Shirley Chisholm. I worked for Lindsay in the primary, and hope to work for him again in the election. Marchi wouldn’t be so bad, but Proc is vicious, racist and demagogue (although he might get the trains running on time). I went out to Sheepshead Bay Road tonight. On the Mill Basin bus coming home (and before that, at the bus stop) I was talking to this girl who was going to El Caribe. She works in an addict rehabilitation service. I liked her — we talked about people and vibrations. She thought I played an instrument.

Saturday, August 16, 1969

Seymour Oliphant took Marc to Bruce’s house in New Jersey for a few days. It’s nice to get away for a while from members of the family. I’ve heard that people noticed my presence at the funeral, and that people thought I was good-looking. When I look into the mirror, I see ugliness. I have a double chin, a fat nose, and rotten hair. Sometimes I think I look awful, yet at other times I feel sexy and attractive. Dad, the boys and Marty went to Hofstra to see Ron Jay’s team, the Long Island Bulls, play. Because of the thunderstorm they left after the first half. Dad, Jon and I went to the Village this afternoon. I really like that scene — things are so free, so young. I must go back there by myself. It’s just fascinating to watch the people there. I got a peace symbol medallion. I only had $1. Next time I have to bring more money. Marc is in New Jersey, the rest of the family’s paying a shiva call on the Weitzes, and so I’m home along, singing. Beautiful night.

Sunday, August 17, 1969

Today I saw “The Boys in the Band” at the Theatre Four on West 55th Street. I loved it. It was a magnificent study of people. “If we could just hate ourselves less,” says Michael. Don Briscoe of Dark Shadows played Donald and David O’Brien of the Doctors played Alan. The guys who played Larry, Hank, Emory, Bernard and especially Harold, were excellent. The production was well thought-out. All stage clichés about homosexuals were thrown out the window. There were so many witty lines, yet at once it is a sad and honest play. The dialogue was natural and brilliant. The play painted a sad picture of the gay life, but it was hopeful. I think it can be done. I’m glad I’m gay in a time like this, when things are more liberal. Going home was a little rough, anxiety-wise, but I made it. I’m all keyed up — probably won’t sleep — but who cares? I’m functioning.

Monday, August 18, 1969

As expected, I didn’t get much sleep last night, but surprisingly, I’m not tired. I thought a lot about the play. I really feel like the character Donald, whose parents groomed him to be a failure, and can’t understand why he prefers boys to girls and books to both, and has anxiety attacks while driving on the Long Island Expressway. I was so mad when I heard that Nixon appointed that idiot Clement Haynesworth to the Supreme Court. I’m not saying he should have appointed a Jew, but a judicial activist, a moderate, if not a liberal. I’m disgusted with that imbecile in the White House. I called Sen. Javits’ office to complain. Today I didn’t do much — went shopping, watched TV, the usual garbage. Linda called — she went up to Woodstock and came back Saturday. She thought I was high on something. We had a good, long friendly talk. I also had a nice long talk with Sally, and with Evie.

Tuesday, August 19, 1969

Today I “lost” my wallet somewhere. I know I had it this morning. I went to Foster Avenue, then to the Junction, and in Barron’s I noticed it was missing. I came home very depressed, and then Giselle found it in Mother’s bedroom. Thank god! Dad brought Marc home from New Jersey tonight. Tonight I went to a meeting of the Flatlands Urban Task Force. Everyone has a gripe. First a well-groomed woman and young man spoke about YIELD, their drug addiction prevention agency. They want it kept non-political. The meeting was chaired by Commissioner Brevoort, who took a lot of complaints. Rats and wild dogs seem to be a great problem in Canarsie and Paerdaget. Everyone is scared shitless that a low-income project will come into the neighborhood. S. Gary Schiller was there, natch. The man from the American Legion wants a traffic light put up. I wonder how the city gets anything done.

Wednesday, August 20, 1969

Today was a lovely day weatherwise — cool and sunny. I went to Greenwich Village this morning. I walked around, bought a few things (incense, the Voice) and sat in Washington Square. There are so many hip people there — young and old — alcoholics, hippies, blacks, homosexuals, teenyboppers and tourists. A Negro girl asked me if I’d buy a watch from her for ten dollars. I said I didn’t have ten dollars. I was so relaxed. I wasn’t nervous at all. Then I went downtown to Fulton Street to drop in and say hello to Grandpa. I came home for lunch. I went to Caesar’s Palace in the Male Shop for a haircut. Marc bought a sport jacket. I had a chicken delight dinner which made me slightly nauseous. Tonight I took a long stroll. What beautiful weather. I got a few new shirts at the Male Shop, and you know me, I’m anxious to show them off right away.

Thursday, August 21, 1969

Another beautiful day. Jonny and Mom went to New York this morning to get a suit for Edward’s bar mitzvah. I went to Manhattan, to the place, where I stayed around for a while. Then I went to the Village, where I walked around for a while. I didn’t even have to take a tranquilizer — I’m getting used to Manhattan. I got some books today, among them Ruth Montgomery’s book on reincarnation, Here and Hereafter. Don’t laugh, but I think I believe in reincarnation. I wonder who I was in past lives? I got back some pictures today (they came out pretty good, except I have to learn not to put my finger over the lens). I also got a letter from Mady. During the evening the family looked at my photo album. It’s funny — now I am looking better. I now want to see people and people to see me. I wonder if it’s because of psychotherapy, or maybe, as Brad would have me believe, in spite of it.

Friday, August 22, 1969

Today was what Nat King Cole called the “lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer.” I bought a pair of shoes today (brown dress shoes), went to Woolworth’s, ate a frankfurter for lunch, played Monopoly with Marc and Burt; nothing much. I looked at a horoscope book for Gemini, and it said today was a bad day. I looked back at some dates and everything was all wrong. It got me depressed. I read my horoscope in the newspaper every day. There’s something to astrology, but I’m not sure what it is. It’s the third beautiful day in a row. This can’t last much longer. I felt a strange, listless depression late this afternoon. I feel a bit lonely — I wish Brad or Eugene or Barbara were here with me. I hope I’m not going to regress. I wish I was less of a hypochondriac. Tonight I went to Church Avenue and bought a a few books. Then I called Gary and had a half-hour chat.

Saturday, August 23, 1969

A warm, lazy day. I went to Prospect Park this afternoon. It was the first time I was ever in the Lefferts Homestead — very dull stuff. The zoo was even more boring, once I got accustomed to the smell. I developed a headache and came back. A wasted day. I lost another game of Monopoly, no good mail, nothing exciting going on. I wish some big producer would spot me on Flatbush Avenue, and say, “You’re the face I’ve been looking for for my new flick.” Instant stardom. My sexual fantasies of late have even become boring. Even masochism gets tiresome. I’ve been reading Another Country. Baldwin has a flair for characterization that I should cultivate. And the only way to do that is to meet people. Tonight we went for a drive through the Five Towns (no one was home at Aunt Sydelle’s). I feel strangely — not manic, not depressed — subdued yet anxious. Tonight may be tough.

Sunday, August 24, 1969

The night was not so terrible after all. I had a dream that Tony, the guy down the block, was having an asthma attack on Ave. T. Naturally, I saved the day. I spoke to Grandma Sylvia this morning — everything seems fine. Marty and Arlyne and the kids came over, along with Grandma Ethel and Grandpa Herb. Wendy looks very good but fat. I got a call from Brad this afternoon. He called me a half-hour after he’d arrived. He volunteered for first aid during the hurricane (Camille) in Mississippi. He’s leaving for Boston Tuesday for a friend’s beach house. He wants me to make some wild, wacky plans for next week. I think I’ve fallen in love with him; at least as much as I can fall in love with anybody. I also called Eugene, who is back from camp – he had a good time – maybe we’ll get together sometime toward the middle of the week. Gary called too. From Another Country: “The trouble with a secret life is that it’s very frequently a secret from the person who lives it and not at all for the people he encounters.”

Monday, August 25, 1969

I woke up headachy, tired and feeling generally rotten. Today, I thought, is going (definitely) to be an off-day. I was right. I feel bored, tired, achy. I guess I want to feel this way — could it be love? And why do I want to run away from it? I want to forget all about Brad. I want to go back into my shell. I cannot face the realities of a personal relationship. We went to Green Acres this afternoon — a new Pants Set will open there shortly. Then we went to Cedarhurst. I talked for a long time with Allen and especially Merry. My cousin and his stepsister are very special people. Allen has grown and matured, both physically and intellectually. I never really liked him before tonight. And Merry is very attentive (I tried to explain my actions over the past year) and I think she understood me. We are related, as I said, and I think we should get to know each other. She said I was quiet before. I may never get to know her, I said. But I hope I do. And we left it at that.

Tuesday, August 26, 1969

A rather bad, sleepless night. Another off-day in the making? Not quite. It rained on and off all day today. I only left the house to get some Pepto Bismol, photos and Q-T Suntan Lotion. Dad’s car is still in service so he had to borrow Mom’s Pontiac. I didn’t do much today — watched TV, shot the bull with Marc, watched the storm with a terrified Jonny. I had a long talk with Marc tonight, mostly about friendship. Friends change as one grows older. I have found difficulty in achieving real relationships. My friends are as follows: Brad, Gary, Eugene, Linda, Joy, Phil, and a few others. I find faults with all of them. I got a letter from Mansarde today. She’s very understanding. I’d like to meet her someday. Eugene called tonight. I think I’ll see him on Saturday It was raining at night, so I stayed in and watched NYPD and Dick Cavett.

Wednesday, August 27, 1969

Wayne Morse made a stunning speech last night on Dick Cavett against the war. The audience cheered him so. People are so fed up with the war. I am so angry. Boys are dying as I write this. Dying for nothing. It doesn’t matter if they’re white or black, Christian or Jew, Northern or Southern, straight or gay, even young or old. We’ve got to get at the truth, and the truth will set us free. Today I went downtown this morning and came back quickly. I went back downtown after lunch. I got a road test appointment for next Tuesday at the Dept. of Motor Vehicles. Then I went into the Slack Bar to see Grandpa. Joe, Dominick and Bobby were there and we talked about stores and “Goodbye, Columbus” and other junk. I came home on a crowded but air conditioned D train. I had 2 franks for supper. I went to the library and re-read Good Times/Bad Times — it will remain one of my favorite novels. I talked with Evie for awhile. Mom, Dad and the boys went away tonight — possibly to La Perville to make arrangements for the 50th anniversary party. I’ll try to turn in early. Gary called tonight — he got pants from Grandpa Nat at the place.

Thursday, August 28, 1969

I’d really like to thank God for the change that’s come about in me — it took so long. But I am on the road to recovery. I shall never forget how low and miserable I was in those long short, empty, frightening days of last winter. People have noticed the change. Even better than that, I have noticed the change. As Gigs said in her letter, “I am so glad Richard is beginning to find himself.” I am a very lucky person, and I hope I will never forget it. I got up at 4:30 today. It’s nice to see an early morning sunrise again. I took a driving lesson this afternoon — I did all right, I think. Then Marvin, Sally, Rhonda, Mom, Jon and I went to the store on 86th St. Rhonda and Mom got some clothes. Jonny and I walked around. I wrote to Mansarde and to Mady. Pete Hamill’s column in the Post really got to me today. I’ve been reading Norman Mailer’s account of the moonshot in Life – he writes so well. Maybe the secret is, like Mailer and Hamill, just stay put in Brooklyn. At night, I was too pooped to go out. I played pingpong (excuse me, table tennis) next door and then watched The Prisoner and the movie, “The Nanny.”

Friday, August 29, 1969

I slept pretty well. I was in Washington Square today. These black guys were betting as to whether the people next to me were boys or girls. (They were boys, even though they were wearing eye makeup.) Some long-haired types played guitars and sang. There were the usual number of tourists and hippies-for-a-day. Kids were running through the fountain. A kid borrowed 20 cents from me. I think I got some decent photos. I came home about 2, had a tuna fish sandwich. We got a letter that was sent here by mistake — it belonged to the people on 1607 E. 55th St. I got a letter from David. He thinks Bruce (from my play) is a latent homosexual. Better latent than never, as Brad says. He may come into New York in a couple of weeks. I’m not getting my hopes up, as Barbara didn’t get here. I do hope he comes. He seems like a fascinating boy. I had a headache tonight, so I stayed in while the folks went out. My head is pounding. I’m scared.

Saturday, August 30, 1969

I slept very well again, and the headache is gone. I had a dream about a cow on the Cadillac. Ronnie came over this morning (he came in from Maryland with Fran and Matt yesterday) and stayed the whole day. He’s going to sleep here tonight. Burt came in for the day, too. Eugene came over about 12:30. I was throwing around a football with Jonathan when he arrived. We sat around and talked for awhile. I told him I’ve gone to bed with both girls and boys. I think I can be a better friend now that my problems are clearing up. Eugene says I’ve changed, too. We were in the pool this afternoon. It was a hazy day and the water was cool. I took some pictures. Eugene complimented me by saying I’m more mature than he is. I don’t think I am. Mom says I look good in a bathing suit. I wonder if she thinks so just because I’m her son. We drove around Canarsie and Seaview tonight. I feel very relaxed. I’m burning some coconut incense. A very good day.

Sunday, August 31, 1969

Today was an unexciting end to an exciting month. I am sad to see it go. This month, August 1969, will go down in my memory as the happiest time of my life. I slept well again last night. It was a crowded breakfast table, since we have a house guest. I spoke to Fran on the telephone this morning. She wanted to tell Ronnie that Matt would pick him up at five. Today was hot and humid. I worked a little on a story about people from group therapy meeting during the summer. I am looking forward to seeing the group again, as I am anxious (the good kind of anxious) to go to college. I watched a few good movies today: Saint JoanGrapes of Wrath and Titanic, which always makes me cry. I read Rosemary’s Baby, which was a real thriller. I feel uneasy tonight. I’m afraid Jonny’s not well. I’m afraid that all the good things that happened to me in this fabulous month will disappear, and my former life of unhappiness will return. I’m frightened. So very frightened.