Monday, January 22, 1990
9 PM. It’s been a long day, and in a way I’m glad Teresa didn’t visit, for I’m too busy and too tired to be a good host.
She called from Long Island last night and said the trip to Orlando was a terrible experience because the kids were behaving terribly.
They liked the plane ride and the van to the hotel, but they were cranky and scared of most of the rides and attractions at Disney World.
Teresa’s nephew kept hitting her and saying, “I hate you,” and her niece wasn’t behaving much better.
On Friday they went to Evelyn’s on the Gulf Coast, and Teresa decided to return home yesterday, and cater a party on Thursday for a client. She needs the money and will try to visit me next month.
Teresa had planned to ask me when she saw me, but we decided it over the phone: I’ll take her apartment starting June 1 and pay all the expenses.
Because her costs are so high, she’ll probably give up the Oyster Bay Cove house and live in Fire Island full-time come May. Her furniture will go into storage until the fall, when she’ll decide what to do next.
I’m happy to be returning to the Upper West Side for the summer.
Teresa told me that while she was visiting in California, Deirdre’s baby kept having seizures, and the boy is definitely neurologically damaged.
Because the parents are both physicians, it’s even harder for them to cope. It’s not anything fatal, but the child will never function normally.
I spoke to Justin and Larry last night. Justin has been working five days a week, which forces him to do all his Theater, Inc. business and his own writing in the 
Larry is trying to get a job with a design firm for which he’s been doing some work, and he’s also designing ties. They sounded pretty happy.
Up at 7:30 AM today, I left for BCC at 10 AM, having breakfasted, read the Wall Street Journal (the stock market again fell sharply today on fears of stagnation), and exercised mildly.
At BCC, I spoke to Betty, who’ll try to arrange for Kit to teach my English 101 classes next week while I’m in New Orleans.
I’ll be docked pay, of course, which isn’t fair; at least CUNY allowed adjuncts three 
But I don’t work hard at BCC, and it’s nice not having to go there every day. I think I do a better job with just two classes.
They went well today – in English 101, I wrote an essay about social security taxes on the board, and the class got to observe my process of brainstorming, drafting, and revision.
The creative writing students liked the Nora Ephron and John Waters essays. But I’ve got to do something about Reyna, whose behavior is getting intolerable.
Her lack of impulse control and her unacceptable and inappropriate behavior is getting disruptive, and I couldn’t hide my annoyance today.
Doris said I should go to Susie Malter, the dean of students, and tell her what’s been going on in class.
But on my way to the parking lot, I told Robert Buford about the situation, and he advised me not to do anything orally; he said I should put everything on paper for legal reasons.
Home at 2 PM, I had lunch and didn’t have much time before I left for Miami.
Accidents kept me from getting there earlier than 4:15 PM, but I still had time to spare.
Charles Drew Junior High School, like the elementary school next door, has a great reputation – Dan Quayle visited there last fall – but it’s in the heart of Liberty City and a lot of people dropped out of my workshop when they learned the site had been moved from Coral Gables.
It’s a very diverse group with different needs and with varied experience on computers. I have complete novices and computer teachers frustrated because the state computer literacy guidelines are so difficult.
Both these teachers and their kids instinctively know “computer literacy” is unimportant: they just want and need to know how to use the machines. But we’re stuck with an obsolete curriculum.
The computers are Tandy 1000SXs, and luckily I’d brought the Fundamentals SX disk, a tutorial for beginners. The Tandys can use StarTrack to emulate Apples, so that’s a plus.
I let everyone go by 6:45 PM; it’s scary to be in Liberty City at night.
Starving, I stopped off to get my mail and passed my parents on the road; they 
After eating my Nutri/System dinner, I paid the ten credit card bills from today’s mail. While I still have to read the Times and USA Today, at least I don’t have to go anywhere in the morning.
Tuesday, January 23, 1990
2 PM. I didn’t realize this job at Drew Junior High would make me feel so harried – but after all, I’m teaching 18 hours a week. Even if I let classes out early, the driving time to Liberty City and back adds to the time.
I didn’t sleep that great last night, and this morning I tried to make up for it by lying in bed with my eyes closed.
When I went out for lunch, I transferred money from my Chemical savings account to CalFed checking to cover the payments for the credit cards and the one to Book Crafters; Sherry Ringle called and said they were all ready to begin printing Narcissism and Me and says I should have the book before Easter.
I’m still worried about my car and my tooth. The car makes a squeaky, creaky noise, 
I suspect JM Pontiac did a half-assed job, but what else is new? I just don’t have time to pursue a suit against the city of Fort Lauderdale now, but this whole experience has been an encounter with incompetents from beginning to end.
As for my tooth, I can only blame myself; I’m sure the tooth will crack while I’m eating one of these days. It’s basically a shell with a massive silver filling. But if I could avoid tooth and car problems until after my trip to New Orleans, I’ll be happy.
I still haven’t prepared for tomorrow’s technical writing class, but if I can get through the next two days, Thursday and Friday will be calmer.
My credit union newsletter seems to be suggesting that many members are declaring bankruptcy.
Wednesday, January 24, 1990
Yesterday all went well at Drew Junior High, where I demonstrated Carmen Sandiego, BASIC and LOGO to the teachers in my workshop.
They’re a good group, but I also realized that I know more than I sometimes think I do.
Driving back up to Broward via I-95 and the Turnpike proved easy, and I wasn’t even hungry, so I lingered at my parents’, where I’d gone to pick up my mail.
After giving China her demanded belly-rub, I came home and had a Healthy Choice dinner, watched The Wonder Years and read the paper.
The trouble with my sleep habits is I still wake up early; up at 6 AM, I couldn’t return to dreamland, so I listened to Morning Edition on NPR, had breakfast, lay with my eyes closed, and at 9 AM, exercised.
Book Crafters called and said if they cut out my half-title page, they can get the book to 64 pages, an even number of signatures; otherwise, I’ll have seven blank pages.
Naturally I agreed. It looks as if I’ll see Narcissism and Me in print sooner than I’d expected, and that’s something to look forward to.
Reyna behaved herself in class today as I went over Joan Didion’s “On Keeping A Notebook” and we discussed notebooks, diaries and journals.
The two guys in the class who have brains, Matt and Glenn, haven’t shown up this week, but I got a new student, Michael, who transferred into the class on Peter 
On Wednesdays I check out New Times’ personal ads, but I haven’t seen one worth responding to for the past few weeks, and nobody whom I’d sent letters to has ever called anyway.
In English 101, I talked about narrative and we read Thurber’s “The Night the Bed Fell” and Langston Hughes’s “Salvation.”
BCC part-time work isn’t worth my while financially, but I like the social aspects of 
Patrick met his half-brother and half-sister for the first time Sunday night and said he’s got a book’s worth of material from that.
Patrick, like Barbra and others, has cautioned me to stop losing weight. I decided I have been a bit too obsessive about my diet, so I didn’t write down the calories of everything I ate today.
For a couple of hours this afternoon, I decided I was getting too thin, but tonight I looked at myself naked in the mirror and decided I’m fine.
I still haven’t gotten to today’s New York Times, but tomorrow, with only my last session in Miami Springs, I should have plenty of time. Well, time enough to catch up on the news, anyway.
Thursday, January 25, 1990
8 PM. I slept well but still have shoulder and arm soreness because I can lie down only on my left side without vertigo.
The S&L bailout is going to cost far more than anyone predicted, and big banks report big losses; the Bank of New England, beset by problem real estate loans, may actually fail the way those Texas banks did.
U.S. interest rates haven’t come down as expected, junk bonds are defaulting, and 
The guy who sent me the Fresh Start! newsletter could probably get more subscriptions from my fellow members of the Broward Schools Credit Union if the chairman’s newsletter column is any indication.
I finished the word processing workshop at Miami Springs High School this afternoon, and I feel good about it.
I copied lots of disks for one of the secretaries in the class. (She gave me a dollar 
All the students thanked me for helping them learn something that’s made them abandon their typewriters.
Doing TEC workshops is a pretty good deal for me because it gives me freedom, variety, satisfaction, and a chance to learn myself.
Four years ago, when I did my first workshop for TEC at Sunshine Elementary in Miramar, I was pretty green and kind of scared, but I’ve gotten enormous experience since then and I’m happy to continue for a while.
I’m not doing a great job at teaching technical writing, but for my first time with the course, it’s been okay, and I’ll improve the more I do it.
Finally I called up and found out I can sue the city of Fort Lauderdale in small claims court.
Before I do that, however, I’ll have to get all the information I need from the police department and the city; they want plaintiffs to hand in all evidence when they file suit. I’ll wait till I’m back from New Orleans.
I’m also happy I’ll be back in Teresa’s apartment starting in June. It will be good to be an Upper West Sider again, if only for a couple of months.
Really, things have gone very well, and I shouldn’t fret about my dizziness or car 
Every few days I think about Josh and wonder how he’s doing. It’s a little ache to know that he became psychotic, but I can’t do anything for him now. He never answered my letter.
Tuesday, January 30, 1990
9 PM. I just finished my Nutri/System dinner: their thick-crust cheese pizza, which I microwaved with onion slices and the Green Giant one-serving packet of broccoli, cauliflower and carrots.
Of course, I had liquid diarrhea most of the day, but I suspect it was from taking penicillin.
I’ve stopped the antibiotic for now; my tooth is sore when I bite down on it hard, but that just convinces me Dr. Auerbach was right when he diagnosed my pain as probably an injury and not a pulp problem.
Well, I do know that no matter how bad I feel tomorrow, I’m going to get on that American Airlines jet at Miami International Airport. I can’t let fear rule my life.
I got a letter from Crad in which he said he didn’t get a good report from his 
Changes in diet and lifestyle can reverse the damage, but Crad will have to give up virtually all alcohol (only one drink a week), cut down on fat (“no more Kentucky Fried Chicken or french fries or beans-and-egg breakfasts”) and walk for an hour a day.
Crad admits he’s been drinking to put himself to sleep every night as well as to relieve “nervousness,” even though I told him this was a bad idea.
When I stopped off at my parents’ an hour ago, I learned about Mom’s first visit to a gynecologist in a decade.
He couldn’t find an infection that might be causing her urinary frequency, but he’ll send her to a urologist if tests warrant.
Mom’s blood pressure was a high 140/100 (she’s always said she had low blood pressure), and the doctor insisted she have a mammogram and was shocked she’d never had one.
I hope everything is all right for Mom. Her experience and Crad’s have convinced 
Last night I spoke with Teresa, who’s still screwing up. I blame a lot of her problems on her hasty decision to move to Long Island.
(Yes, the plane crashed half a mile from her place and right near her landlord’s in Cove Neck – she and Brian, her Fire Island fire-chief friend, thought it was thunder and only later did they discover why so many sirens were racing past when the TV bulletin came on. Teresa said sick sightseers were combing the neighborhood for “souvenirs.”)
Her rent checks have bounced three times (naturally she blames the bank), and she says she doesn’t intend to pay rent for February until her landlords help pay for her renovation so she can get a roommate who’ll have a private shower and bath.
I’ve said for years that Teresa lives life so carelessly it frightens me. She has this sense of entitlement caused by a poor self-image; on her last four flights, she sneaked aboard first class.
When I talked about my diet and exercise and how I decided I’d buy a scale (which I 
And besides, she said, when she was thin back in ’87, she had married men chasing her.
(She admitted that Brian is also married. Despite his training as a fire chief, he wouldn’t go out to help the crash victims because he didn’t want anyone he knew to see him on the North Shore and tell his wife.)
Anyway, I wouldn’t trade the delight I feel when I look in the mirror for any fattening dessert.
Well, I sound like I’m putting down other people, but really, I need to look to myself and see if I – no, how I – practice the same self-deception that Teresa, Crad, Mom and others do.
Look at how I avoid intimate relationships, for one thing. And how I deal with tomorrow’s panic, for another.
After sleeping very well again last night, this morning I did aerobics and caught up on work.
Working today in a room with four Apple IIe’s, I demonstrated Print Shop and music software (including Music Construction Set), and the class tried out various games, disks and tutorials.
They’re a good group who ask intelligent questions, and I’m enjoying this workshop.
While I still have some packing to do, I’ll save it for the morning. Hope I sleep tonight.
Wednesday, January 31, 1990
Even though the weather is mild, I’m a bit chilly. I’m unaccustomed to drafty old houses.
The main thought I have after being here for several hours is: what different worlds people live in. Tom’s life, his concerns, the littlest details of mundane living, are so different from what I’ve grown used to.
The flight here was smooth and short; the flight attendants played games with us, asking passengers to guess who was the oldest of them or seeing which of us had 
On the taxi ride from the airport, I encountered familiar sights on I-10, the Airport Highway, Carrollton and St. Charles.
It was about 65° and sunny when I got here at 4 PM; Tom arrived at the house a few minutes after I did.
When I finished putting my stuff away, I went with him on his daily walk through 
Later, I’m afraid I made him drive me to an upscale uptown Winn-Dixie because the convenience store didn’t have any Healthy Choice frozen dinners.
I hate being a fanatic about my diet, but it’s important to me. When Tom first saw me, he said, “You’ve shrunk.”
As usual, much of Tom’s talk is about literature and books and authors I’ve sometimes not heard about, often heard about but have not read, or occasionally 
Of course my interests are now more political or economic, sociological or whatever, as opposed to literary. (I gave up trying to watch the State of the Union address on Tom’s scratchy old TV.)
It’s been years since I’ve felt a part of literary life – if ever I did. Yes, I write stories; or rather, I’ve written stories.
If the NOCCA students ask me, I’ll have to tell them that. I don’t know what Tom’s reaction will be.
Certainly I don’t have his knowledge of or respect for literature. George Angel, who’ll be here in three weeks, has high ideals 
Perhaps I’m going to be a disappointment to Tom, but I can’t force myself to get wrapped up in literature again. The world doesn’t need or want another fiction writer.
I’m just talking. Maybe I’m still pretty disoriented. I had bad stomach pains, but I think it was probably gas, and I feel better now.
One thing I’ve been realizing it gradually over the last five months: there’s a lot more for me to like in Florida than I’d previously acknowledged, and I’m comfortable living there so long as I can still spend part of my life in New York.