Sunday, December 22, 1985
4 PM. I’ve just come back from Ronna’s, where I spent most of the day.
We were in bed mostly, and it was great. It’s wonderful how it never seems to cease, the feelings Ronna and I have for one another.
I worry, of course: here I go again, leaving her in the lurch. If I make her feel bad, then today wasn’t worth it.
Of course now it seems like this afternoon was worth anything. To be held, and kissed and hugged and sucked and licked, and to do all of these things to Ronna – it was heaven.
Poor kid, she has to work tonight at a Hebrew Arts School benefit conference and reception, and the details were on her mind.
I’d thought about us making love, but it wasn’t till we were sitting across from each other at the Argo Diner having brunch that I looked across and began to feel incredible passion. She looked so damn beautiful, I couldn’t believe it; I melted and got tremendously excited at the same time.
Does that mean we love each other, or do married couples who hate each other also have fantastic sex because they know each other so well?
I’m gay, so wouldn’t I prefer to be with a guy? (It’s hard to imagine sex being better. Sex with Sean was as good as, but not better, than sex with Ronna.)
Anyway, with me, a little goes a long way, and I feel I could live another six months off the memories of today. Maybe I shouldn’t question the good feelings.
Partly I do it because I’m afraid, afraid that I don’t really deserve to feel good, and that I’ll have to pay for this in some way. That’s ridiculously superstitious 
Speaking of feeling bad about oneself, as I was reading the paper at 11 PM last night, I heard Teresa put her key in the door.
Sniffling, she explained that Michael had told her he wanted to be alone. “He’s a crazy person,” she said.
At 8 PM, he began telling her that he felt stifled, that he wanted to see other people, that he needed his space. Teresa doesn’t want her “space”; she wants the security of a 24-hour-a-day relationship, and the evening’s discussion – “not an argument . . . that would be easier” – upset her very much.
“I thought he was acting strange all week because he was sick,” she told me. She and I talked until after midnight.
She felt Michael ruined her Christmas and she isn’t sure where this leaves her California trip or the sharing of the Fire Island house this summer, and she feels fate is repeating itself.
Probably she made demands Michael wasn’t willing to accede to. Teresa admitted he doesn’t need a relationship, not after two divorces (one very recent).
She’s not here right now, and she could be at Michael’s for all I know, but I’m sure this whole relationship will end up badly, in true Teresa fashion.
Whatever problems Ronna and I may have, we never made each other crazy like that. I’m very wary of new relationships and I proceed very cautiously, and you know something? I’ve never been sorry, not in the long run.
Tuesday, December 24, 1985
My flight here was routine: no turbulence, a so-so movie, more boring than anything. Oh, my heart raced a little at takeoff, and as we ascended. I occasionally grabbed my seat’s armrests, but I never felt the kind of anxiety and panic that I used to feel every day in school 20 years ago.
Last evening I watched TV with Grandma when she got back from playing cards: Citizen Kane, actually, which still holds up well. Up early after a restless night (my stomach burned), I wanted to see if I could find ginger root capsules, which I’d forgotten to bring.
Walking along Rockaway Beach Boulevard, I saw a dog dart out into the street just as a car was rushing toward it. I knew there would be an accident but time 
Amazingly, the dog survived – long enough, anyway, to limp back home as the driver followed it to see how it was.
I had no luck getting ginger capsules at the local health food or drug stores.
When I got back to Grandma’s, I was sweaty, for the day was too warm for my down jacket. It was about 45° and cloudless, the nicest day it’s been for weeks in New York.
After kissing Grandma, who was still in bed with a headache, I got a car service to take me to Kennedy.
Waiting to board at the terminal, I passed the time watching some cute guys, most of whom, I realized, were probably 15 to 18 years younger than I.
On Friday night, Justin told me I “take a young photograph” and that I looked about 25 in those head shots I took last month. On Sunday, Josh told me that he’d run into Alice, who’d “aged quickly”: Josh added that Alice looked ten years older than I do.
My short haircut, I think, helps me look like a younger person – but of course I’m actually almost halfway through the Biblical “threescore and ten.”
Mom and Marc were still at the flea market, Dad said, and they were having a pretty good day. We drove home under cloudy skies, but it was about 70°.
Here at the house, I found two weeks of mail: unbelievable when you see it all at once like that. I dove in gamely, first paying the 13 credit card bills I got. Landmark raised my MasterCard and Visa limits by $300 each, and BancOhio sent my replacement 
Later I took a drive to get some cash out; I’ll deposit the money at the credit union on Thursday.
I got invitations to speak at local candidates’ meetings in January and February – and these are easy engagements to keep. I’ll have to see how these go before I commit myself to running seriously.
The first primary – the only one I’d be in – is on September 2, with filing the first two weeks of July. (I’m not sure if I have to go to Tallahassee by myself or if I can mail in my qualifying papers and check.)
I also got a card from the McAllisters, whose timing is bad: Wade wrote that I should visit them in Philadelphia, something I could have done all last summer and fall. Ellen having another kid next summer.
Six years ago on Christmas Eve, I came to Broward County for the first time and first stayed in this house.
Three years ago on Christmas Eve, Sean came over to my Sunrise condo – and that was the last time I saw him.
I’m disoriented and tired. This has been an odd year, and not just literally.
I’m beginning to wonder what 1986 will bring.
Wednesday, December 25, 1985
Last night I slept on a mattress on the living room floor. I slept well and had a spectacular dream in which I was seduced by a sexy teenage girl.
Today was partly sunny, with a high of about 70°, but sharply colder temperatures are due in tonight.
My parents seem well, though they talk mostly about the flea market business.
Mom calculated that they took in $100,000 this year, but when Dad said only about $35,000 of that was profit, I remarked that they could all do better by taking civil service jobs. Mom’s face fell, and I felt bad; then I said, “Oh, but you don’t pay any taxes – that’s like making $55,000.” Which is probably true.
I realize I have to treat them almost the way I treat Grandma, and so I explain as little as possible and only in terms they understand.
Of course, it’s not only my parents who don’t understand what I’m doing: nobody does. Sometimes even I don’t. Yet I believe I’m heading in a positive direction, possibly toward something big.
I can’t very well tell people I’m training to become an intellectual/social 
I shouldn’t keep fantasizing about the National Endowment for the Arts literature fellowship because my chances of getting one are about nil. However, I should try to treat myself as if I were worthy of an NEA grant – because I am.
As for the courses I take being relevant, almost everything I learn is eventually relevant.
Having the edge of education, I can make money if I need to. My parents and brothers don’t really have that luxury. I’ve compiled a good work record, publications record, academic record and 
Remember: a decade ago my parents chastised me for leaving my job at Alexander’s.
A few weeks ago, I walked into that store when I was in Kings Plaza, and it looked just the same: the bins of slacks I used to straighten out were as manhandled as ever.
If I’d listened to my parents, I’d probably still be at Alexander’s . . . Well, that’s an exaggeration, but I’d be in an Alexander’s-type job.
This afternoon I read American Demographics (a feast for my brain), and I drove around a lot. I-75 is now complete from Arvida Parkway near the burgeoning 
I still love to see the horses and cows in their pastures by the road, but increasingly, all available land is being taken up by condos, office parks, and shopping centers. At least they can’t pave over the huge South Florida sky.
Passing Sean’s mother’s house, I saw only her car in the driveway, so I knew Sean wasn’t visiting. A sign with the familiar phone number indicated Sean’s mother has put the house up for sale. And life goes on.
Tomorrow I’ll see if I can again get into Nova University student housing for the spring semester. That would give me flexibility because it’s not a commitment to a long-term lease.
Far from being disoriented, I feel comfortable here in Florida.
But I also want to continue to feel at ease in New York – and other places, too.
California, probably, is my future if I’m going to settle down. The West is the most progressive part of the U.S., most open to new ideas. And the California climate has neither New York’s harsh winters nor Florida’s cruel summers.
Of course, then there’s always Washington, D.C.
Maybe this winter I can work out my plans for the future. The last couple of years’ shuttling between New York and Florida has been fun, but how long can I go on shuttling?
Thursday, December 26, 1985
7 PM. Today I put down a $50 deposit on an efficiency apartment in Lauderhill.
It’s a complex called SandalGrove, off NW 19th Street and U.S. 441, near the 
Having just seen my TRW “rap sheet,” I know I’ll probably be approved, but I did lie about my employment and renting history; I didn’t want to say I won’t be working now, and I gave Teresa as my present landlord.
SandalGrove has an Olympic-sized pool, health club and 24-hour security.
The apartment is $340 plus $35 for furniture. They’ll give me only a single bed, so I’ll need to buy a futon for guests. The room is pretty small, but it’s clean and new, and I don’t need all that much space, just privacy. I’ll sign a year lease.
After I left SandalGrove, I felt a bit overwhelmed about what I’d done; it will take me time to get used to it.
What strikes me is the year’s lease: I’m not 
Still, I can always leave before the lease is up and forfeit my $345 security deposit. Really, $375 a month isn’t very much: it’s only $42 more than I paid at Justin’s, and $20 less than I paid to rent my Sunrise condo. Incidentally, my new place is in that same zip code, 33313.
Well, I’ll wait till tomorrow to see if the apartment is really mine, and then I’ll give them the $610 money order to move in on January 10.
This morning I took my $1700 in cash advances and deposited it in my credit union account.
At Nova, I learned that they had no student housing for January, and at Broward Community College, I got some FIU and FAU materials. I still don’t know what courses to take.
So I’ll probably make it easier on myself and take my classes here at BCC, where I’m comfortable.
Perhaps an easy schedule will make things more conducive to writing. I very 
I know I have enough money to last me till the end of April. (Forget about the NEA money, and I’m not counting on unemployment, either.) After that, I may be in hot water.
I’ve accepted the invitation to the education commissioner candidate forum at the American Association of University Women’s brunch at the Miami Airport Hilton on Saturday, January 18. That’s where I intend to unveil my plan for a state income tax.
Look, I’ll get involved and see what happens.
Five years ago, when I left Rockaway to live here in Florida, the radios were playing “Starting Over” by John Lennon, who’d just been killed.
Now I’m starting over again. I keep starting over. Yet my life seems to have a sense of continuity.
While I’m scared, the risks I’m taking are calculated, and I’m prepared for failure.
What’s the worst that can happen because of my decisions? I haven’t much to lose except money, and what’s money?
Perhaps I’ll gain more in ’86 than I did in ’85.
Monday, December 30, 1985
I supposed I can now rest easy, knowing I’ve got a place to live.
Last night I felt a bit bored and lonely, and it was great to be able to speak to Ronna. She said she’d been thinking a lot about me, as I have about her.
Still, I worry that she invests too much in our relationship because it’s easier than seeking out a stable, straight guy who could offer her marriage and kids. I’m a pig where Ronna is concerned, but I do care for her a lot.
So then I think: Maybe Ronna and I could make it work . . .
And then I realize that I am gay, or mostly gay, and I’ll never stop looking at or thinking about other guys – and it wouldn’t be fair to Ronna not to give her my total attention and support.
And we could never agree on anything: I don’t want kids, I’m so much neater than she is, she’s more stable than I am.
Anyway, she had a second interview with the New-York Historical Society, but she plans to turn down the job if it’s offered to her, despite the good salary and the chance to enter a new field. 
She still desperately wants out of her job at the Hebrew Arts School, though, so she plans to keep searching actively.
Restless last night, I kept turning channels on the cable TV: a huckster selling his system of buying houses with no money down; Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life; and on C-SPAN, Claude Pepper’s congressional hearing on phony college degrees. (He sent one “university” a check for a few thousand dollars and they immediately awarded him a Ph.D., making him Dr. Pepper.)
Finally I dozed off and I slept late.
The mail brought some bills and a list of state candidates I’d requested of the Elections Division. Apart from Rep. Larry Hawkins and Sen. Betty Crocker, I’m 
I finally wrote to Tom and Wade as well as to Crad, who’s been very depressed. Another reviewer skewered Cathy (although she praised the two humorous books), and he had a “nerve-wracking experience” with a group of “gifted” high schoolers whom he found obnoxious and ignorant.
He just expected too much of 
Seeing how good Crad was with Tom’s creative writing students at NOCCA, I bet he also scored some points with those kids in Toronto.
Dad asked me to go with him to the track this afternoon, and having nothing else to do, I agreed.
After we had pizza for lunch at Gaetano’s, Dad drover us to Gulfstream, where we hung out with a nice couple from Chicago.
The man was Cuban and claimed he’d been an alcoholic and compulsive gambler. Well, today he ended up winning about $500 while Dad lost a dollar, and I came out $2 ahead.
Although I got some sun at the track, I’m such a bad gambler I shouldn’t really place any bets.
When I called Teresa, she was on her way to meet her sister and brother-in-law and Michael to go to a Robert Klein show.
The Berkshire house deal collapsed, but Teresa won’t tell her sister and brother-in-law until after Connie quits work next week. They were counting on the 
Otherwise, it sounded as though Teresa and Michael were pretty much together again.
Mom made us some great tofu franks and beans for dinner.
Tuesday, December 31, 1985
9 PM. I plan to spend a quiet New Year’s Eve, reading the rest of a book I bought today, Neil Postman’s Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in an Age of Show Business.
Even when I read disparaging reviews of the book, I knew it would excite me, 
His thesis depends on McLuhan’s “the medium is the message” taken one step further: that the form of the printed word led to a prevailing mode of discourse — namely exposition, with its logical, linear progressions.
Telegraphy and photography undermined the Age of Typography, beginning an Era of No Context (my term), leading to today’s TV-dominated global village, in which image and perception are all-important.
Now we’re in an Age of Show Business that subsumes politics, economics, literature, everything – an age incompatible with exposition and ideas.
Of course I’ve observed some of this on my own; some of it I’ve used in my 
On this last day of 1985, I woke up early, went to the bank to get a $610 money order, and gave that in at SandalGrove, where I signed the lease on apartment E105 at 1811 NW 42nd Terrace.
I’ve got my new phone number (735-2213) and started up electric service for the apartment.
SandalGrove looks like a friendly place. The rental office staff were all pleasant, and from what I can tell the development looks like a good mix of younger 
I’ve never lived in a place where I could make friends with neighbors, but maybe I can there.
Today was another gorgeous day with blue skies and a high of 75°. This afternoon I sat out by the pool for an hour and then exercised for 90 minutes.
I’m pretty tanned now, and I feel good about myself. For once, I even thought I looked more handsome than harried this morning.
Last evening I talked to Josh (and later Chloe, after Josh put me on his speakerphone); it’s good to keep in touch with him.
Now that I’m going to live in Florida for a while, I’ve got to spend more time and energy keeping up my friendships in New York.
Though I’ll be down here till at least May, New York is still a very important part of my life. In fact, I’m looking forward to going back on Friday.
Patrick’s life clearly revolves around his job at Broward Community College. I suppose I could have had that life too, but I’m glad I chose to go another route.
What route is that? I’m not sure, but maybe I’ll know after I get to where I’m going.
On second thought, I’ll probably never “get anywhere” but the fun is in traveling.
As I wrote Crad, I’ve been in the process of re-forming goals for myself. 
As aimless as I seem to be, I won’t be surprised if I end up as an influential person – as influential as one can be in this disjointed time. I feel I’m in a position to do something unique.
This sounds very vague, and of course my main problem is that I haven’t been able to focus my energies. Still, every weakness is also a strength.
Watch me in 1986. I’ll try to take more risks, to believe in myself, and to work harder.
Well, here I go, (literally) closing the book on another year.