A Writer’s Diary Entries From Late June, 2001
by Richard Grayson
Friday, June 22, 2001
10 PM. I probably won’t sleep any better tonight than I did last night – but tonight it’s because I feel exhilarated. Scott Eyerly was right about feeling so much better once the reading was over – it seemed to go well.
I was tremendously grateful that Erica Bernstein showed up, despite cat problems. She not only bought a book afterwards, but told me I was a much better reader than John, whom she found pompous.
John wanted to have a drink afterwards – he’d brought some of his students from Northwestern – but I got out of it by saying I had to drive Erica home. (She lives off Division Street, only a five-minute drive away.)
Before I left Ragdale late this afternoon, I took an eighth of a milligram of Klonopin, and that seemed enough to keep me calm.
The Edens Expressway was at a standstill, so I got off in Wilmette and took Sheridan Road through Evanston, past Northwestern, and into Chicago, where I drove past Loyola and onto the Outer Expressway that I took the other day
I again used the Home Depot bathroom after the 90-minute drive. (I’m sure the route I took was quicker, and the traffic-on-the-radio guys recommended what I did.)
After parking off North Avenue, I walked around the neighborhood for a while, up North Avenue and onto Damen Street by the el, and around some other streets.
It was a mixture of retro-chic funky stores, galleries, and trendy eateries on the one hand and boarded-up windows and old crappy stores with homeless guys asking for change among the cool young people on the other.
Liz, the only person working at the bookstore tonight, was very nice to me. I decided that “Boys Club” seemed the perfect story for Quimby’s, surrounded as I was by punkish sex mags, zines, alternative press newspapers, and comix. (Okay, comics – which I bought five of with the $20 gift certificate Liz gave me after the reading.)
Before the reading, I picked up copies of a bunch of free alternative papers, nearly all of which listed the reading.
John looked and acted pretentious and full of himself, far different than the nice guy I was familiar with from his emails. Unfortunately, he read a way-too-long excerpt from what seemed like a dull novella.
Erica thought he was a friend of mine, but while I do like John as a person, in the car afterwards we agreed that he was acting as if everyone in the bookstore were students in his classroom.
But I felt good about my own performance tonight and happy to go second, the way I did at Midnight Special in Santa Monica. The crowd got much livelier as I was reading.
After I dropped Erica off with a hug, she said she can’t see me on Monday because her mother will be in to leave the car in Chicago for the summer while she and Mark are in Florence.
Erica probably is as good a poet as Mark says; she gave me her business card at Triumph Publishers, which does entertainment and sports books (she’s a big baseball fan).
It felt wonderful to be driving through the vibrant streets of Chicago on a Friday night, and I made great time getting back to Lake Forest. It was as if I could catch every light and break, and the return trip didn’t just feel like it was less than half the time of going there; it really was much faster.
Martin and Eileen were watching a movie on TV when I walked into Ragdale House and said, “Hi, Mom and Dad, I’m home!”
When they asked me how the reading went, I told them that I felt really good about myself tonight.
Saturday, June 23, 2001
8:30 PM. I’m one of the few residents – or maybe the only one – left at home tonight.
Virginia, Dave, and Beth are with friends, and most everyone else went on a picnic at the beach.
But I felt tired, and it’s still a bit cool out for me, though it did warm up a bit. I ate my own dinner early and have been online emailing people, and reading the Sunday New York Times.
I didn’t sleep much again last night, and I was wide awake at 4:30 AM. But then again, I didn’t take any Ambien, and my sleep was of better quality than the prior night.
I wrote Tom, who’d given me his busy schedule for July and an essay on why With a Friend Like Harry was failed Hitchcock; to Timmy, who seems younger than ever, telling me he prefers the Bushes to Clinton and Gore; to Mark, who wrote back just before leaving for Italy that, yes, Erica has always been a pleasure and that he can hardly believe she’ll be 27 next month; to Patrick, whom I haven’t heard from in a while; and to a few others.
Everyone I met today asked me about my reading. Gina refused to take back the $10 for my book that she slipped under my door late Wednesday night with a thank-you note.
Virginia told me that John seemed like a pompous ass when he spoke to her class at the Union Institute (where she’s getting a Ph.D. in creative writing) and that Doyle Burke (who never sent me a reference letter) is known as a power-hungry tyrant in the Maricopa Community Colleges system. Virginia said that Doyle has resisted all attempts to shake him loose as English Department chair at Mesa for the past two decades.
When I called Arizona, Mom said that I got turned down by several more colleges, including for another position at Broward. As I told Patrick, I think the gods want me out of the teaching racket.
Today I had breakfast at 6 AM and left Ragdale at 8:30 AM, going to Libertyville just to see what it was like. It seemed a little more gritty and working-class than the affluent Lake County towns by the coast. Nevertheless, downtown Libertyville still had a Starbucks, where I read today’s paper.
Before 11 AM, I returned my car to the Enterprise location in North Chicago, and Kenny, the same blond college kid from last week, drove me back to Ragdale.
I walked into town this afternoon and had another regular iced tea at Starbucks while I finished yesterday’s Times and read Daniel Clowes’s excellent graphic novel David Boring.
It was head and shoulders above the other three comics I had bought at Quimby’s, which were crude and stoopid – although they did have energy.
(TV Plotz, a Jewish-humor parody of TV Guide “for the fachadded,” was funny enough for me to send to Mom, along with pages from A Guide to Jewish Chicago and the listings of my reading from the alternative weeklies.)
At Jewel Osco, I bought what is probably the last groceries I’ll need here at Ragdale. I forgot to take my midday Triavil, so I guess I didn’t really feel the need because I felt completely relaxed today.
In a couple of days, when I have to fly to New York, I’ll probably be nervous again, but I now see that I’m not going to go back to the kind of crippling anxiety I felt from November through April.
There’ll be setbacks, but this summer – like the summer of 1969, when I began writing a diary – is a kind of rebirth for me.
Sunday, June 24, 2001
9 PM. I just cut my right index finger on the door of Ragdale House. I had gone to get some bananas from the Barnhouse kitchen, as I knew we had some left.
Gerry gave me a Band-Aid for the cut, but I don’t have any antibiotic cream, so I hope that it doesn’t get infected (and I hope I don’t get tetanus).
See, I’m still a worrywart. Maybe tonight isn’t the night I should reduce my Klonopin dosage to one-eighth of a milligram. Well, we’ll see how well I sleep. Last night I slept deeply for over eight hours.
Patrick emailed that he’s read statistics about how diabetics live eight years less than they would otherwise and how their minds deteriorate faster. Obviously, he’s concerned about his mortality.
Regarding my second rejection from a job at BCC and my other rejections, Patrick said most new hires in their department or in their thirties and suggested that perhaps those of us in our fifties are “obsolete.”
This led me to worry about how I’m going to get a job, and I began considering leaving off the dates of my degrees and starting my job experience with, say, CUNY adjunct work in the mid-1980s – at least for non-academic jobs.
Of course, I tend to obsess, but I’m not going to get into a downward spiral again; I’ve got to think positively. At the worst, I still have a place to live, if only in the great room in my parents’ house.
I’ve got to remember that being jobless is a temporary problem. It would be worse to repeat last year’s mistake of working as an adjunct.
The thing is, I don’t know what I can do, and I don’t really have friends who are in my situation.
I remember reading in one of Gail Sheehy’s books, The New Passages, about laid-off manufacturing workers my age and maybe a few downsized executives.
Ten years ago, after bankruptcy, I started law school – but 50 ain’t 50 40. (I guess starting to write “50 ain’t 50” means that I’m overreacting.)
Today I read that book on middle age, which turned out to be just a collection of Reader’s Digest articles. It was okay, but not so relevant to me, a single gay man who has no savings, no home, no partner, and no children.
Of course, the upside is that no one is dependent upon me, and if I default on my student loans and go bankrupt, I may be in miserable financial shape for the future, but no worse off than I am now.
I read a lot of the Sunday New York Times at Burger King this afternoon and the rest of the paper at Ragdale.
One thing I know is that my mental acuity has never been sharper than it is now. My ability to think critically is a lot greater than it was ten years ago, before I started law school.
As Ruth Simmons, the new president of Brown and the first black woman to head an Ivy League school, said on 60 Minutes tonight – I turned it on just before dinner – contrary to current beliefs, the purpose of an education is not to train for a career. Morley Safer had challenged her when she said everyone should go to college, telling her there weren’t enough good jobs for college graduates.
Nobody can ever take away my education, my knowledge, my experience, my publications, my accomplishments. I’ve made some bad life choices, but I haven’t taken drugs or drunk myself into a stupor, nor have I gambled – except that I’ve taken risks, primarily to become a writer and an artist.
And I’ve succeeded more than most who try. Teresa wrote that, like Paul, I downplay my talents and abilities.
Teresa also wrote that someone made an offer on the Underhill Avenue house that they can’t turn down, so they definitely will be moving. She’s not happy about it, especially because they wouldn’t have to move if they didn’t get screwed by their financial advisors.
Things with the Locust Valley houses keep changing so fast that I don’t know if this is for real or not.
Teresa did say that she’d be in Fire Island for most of July and asked me to come out to the beach; I probably will, at least for a couple of days.
I had figured she’d be spending her time in Locust Valley working on the Birch Hill Road house, as its tenants have vacated it. If only I’d gotten the job at Nassau Community College, I could now rent that house and live in Locust Valley.
But it’s clear to me that I’m not going to get the job at NCC – nor am I going to get any of the other jobs I’ve applied for. Maybe I am meant to stay in Arizona for a while. I’ll probably just go with the flow.
At least I’ll be with my family. Although they can drive me crazy, that will give me an incentive to get a job and be out on my own. If I can succeed in Arizona after last year, that would be a great accomplishment.
In the morning, I’ll find out if all the walking I’ve been doing has aggravated my foot problem; my lower back was hurting a little today.
At Ragdale, there’s a garden tour for the public and an indoor reception going on tomorrow, so if I wake up feeling okay, I might take the train into Chicago in the morning.
Nick had an open studio this evening. I was impressed with his 26 miniature paintings, each based on an artistic concept, for each letter of the alphabet: Aperture, Background… Kinesis, Landscape… Perspective, Quoting, etc. The paintings were rich in detail and color.
I heard that last night at the beach picnic, Gina read from her memoir and became very emotional. I also found out that they got parking tickets because they couldn’t get into the office to get permits to park at the beach.
Gina left Ragdale this afternoon, and I’ll miss her. Her departure reminds me that I need to call that limousine service she took to take me to O’Hare on Wednesday.
Eileen tried to organize readings of the residents who are writers today, but I opted out. Anyone who wants can read my books, just as Eileen and Gerry already have.
Monday, June 25, 2001
10 PM. We had our first of two readings this evening, and before dinner, at 5:30 PM, David Lantow had an open studio in the Meadow Studio, showing the organic-looking drawings he’s done while he’s been here. It was impressive.
As Scott, Beth, and I said later, it always seems that the visual artists end up with so much more that’s tangible than those residents who are writers or composers.
Maybe that’s because even their sketches seem so professional. They look like they’re worth saving, if not putting up on your wall.
After dinner, Gerry read some vignettes from her life as a nursing student, visiting nurse, and oncology nurse. The excerpts were moving and illuminated some of the problems of her profession.
Eileen read a wonderful story (or maybe it was the first chapter of a novel) with young adult characters who seemed so real – something I’ve never been able to do.
Afterwards, we all had an interesting discussion, akin to what an intelligent talk show would sound like.
The reading and my recent studio visits have given me even greater respect for my fellow residents, most of whom are probably much more talented and undoubtedly more hard-working than I. After all, I’ve done very little work here.
Yet I don’t feel disappointed in myself. Although I don’t know if I’ll ever seriously write fiction again, being among artists makes me see that I want to keep writing – or at least some part of me does.
I slept well last night, and after my usual morning routine, I left Ragdale just before 9 AM, when the first of several lawn tours of our gardens was beginning.
I didn’t want to spend two hours back and forth going to downtown Chicago, so I took Metra only three stops to Highland Park, where I again went to the Starbucks on the corner of Central and Green Bay to read the Times while sipping my Passion iced tea. Then I went over to Renaissance Square, next to the other Starbucks, to get carrot-orange juice at Jamba Juice and finish the newspaper.
There was a long article on people in their mid-to late twenties who are having “quarter-life crises.” One person said that midlife crises are caused by too much stability, and quarter-life crises by too little stability. It seems like it’s a particular problem for those who are no longer dot-com workers.
So maybe I’ve just been having my quarter-life crisis 25 years too late. No, not really – because in my back and foot and other bodily parts, I know I’m well past my prime.
I returned to Ragdale at 1 PM, when the last of the lawn tours was taking place. I called to reserve a shared limo for 8:45 AM on Wednesday, and I packed one suitcase and did a load of laundry.
I also began reading a musty volume of Galsworthy’s The White Monkey, dated “August 1926” by its owner; that was 75 years ago.
As the Chicago heat and humidity ratcheted up, I developed a bad sinus headache. It reminded me that Sat Darshan once said that Phoenix gets unbearable when the humidity is only 35%.
In the email I got at the public library before coming back to Ragdale, Sat Darshan said that Kiran’s surgery was postponed because her doctor was in the hospital as a patient.
She also reported that Nirankar and Trey popped up at her house on Saturday afternoon. While Sat Darshan remained tight-lipped and uncommunicative, Kiran was thrilled to see them and unhappy when they left.
Nirankar found an apartment in Glendale, which is far enough away, but Trey will be attending the magnet school nearby. Nirankar also mentioned that they may be moving to Ohio, where a friend has promised her a job.
Sat Darshan wrote that she cried all day Sunday about Nirankar’s return and hopes she and Trey will leave Phoenix again soon.
Ravinder went to Montreal to visit his sister and brother-in-law, Tandeep’s parents, who were able to get only a visa to Canada and not one to the U.S.
I can already feel how much I’m going to miss Ragdale, which has been a haven for me. But I’m going to New York and not the “real world” of my struggle to find a job in Arizona just yet.
Tuesday, June 26, 2001
10 PM. I’ve just come in from the Barnhouse after being there since 4:30 PM. First, I said goodbye to Sylvia in the office (this morning I paid my $120 bill) and got a big hug.
Then I, along with Nick and Anne, took Carole’s yoga class. My lower back has been a problem lately, so I made certain to be gentle, and the breathing, stretching, and relaxation exercises probably helped me a bit.
I am having some anxiety symptoms like flatulence, and I don’t expect to sleep that well tonight, but who knows? Either way, I will be all right tomorrow.
Using Lexis, I found the address of Nick’s high school classmate Karen Finley, with whom he recently lost contact. Apparently, Beth told him that she had me look up Tori Amos in Stuart, Florida, and other celebrities in Nexis’s Property records earlier.
Unfortunately, Eileen’s brother’s cancer grew worse, so she and Martin had to leave early today for Milwaukee. But Virginia is still here, and she read some of her poetry tonight – some good stuff, about her mother’s death and her daughter’s cutting herself and anorexia.
Bipolar disorder runs through that family. But I greatly admire Virginia, who began writing poetry only in 1995, after 13 years of taking care of her paralyzed mother.
When I compare my family life to some of the residents here, like Virginia, Nick, Beth, and others – people who were physically or sexually abused or whose parents were alcoholics or mental patients – I know I am very lucky indeed.
After the reading, we talked about poetry, parenting, being fat, hip-hop music, and a lot more. What I love about Ragdale the most is being part of a community – one of artistic, sensitive people.
Community is the exact thing I’ve lacked in Arizona. Maybe that was my fault for not getting involved with others, but I hope I can again find community, the way I did in junior high, in Brooklyn College’s LaGuardia Hall and MFA program, at UF Law School, and at some of the places where I’ve worked, like Broward and Nova.
It strikes me that I’ve always tried to replicate the community I had as a child, when there was a vast extended family all around me.
That was especially true in Rockaway during the summers, where I had my parents, both sets of grandparents, Aunt Tillie and Uncle Morris, Aunt Claire and Uncle Sidney, Aunt Arlyne’s family, Great-Grandma Bessie, and the extended families of my friends and the friends of my parents and grandparents.
I guess I feel the same way about Teresa’s extended family or those of my other close friends.
I woke up feeling only slightly anxious this morning, but then I began to pack, and I walked to Starbucks to read the paper, which I finished at Burger King over a Diet Coke after buying some stuff at Jewel Osco.
This afternoon, I read Galsworthy, packed some more, and began to feel anxiety creep over me. As I said, it’s natural for me. I talked to Mom and Dad, and they’ll mail me my unemployment check and other stuff to Teresa’s house.
I got rejected for the third job at Broward Community College and the one at Sheridan College.
I canceled my America West flight back to Phoenix, and I suppose I’ll end up using my return tickets, which will mean staying overnight in Chicago in three or four weeks – unless I just bag the whole thing and buy a ticket back from New York to Phoenix.
We will see. Life is uncertain. On the other hand, I’m certainly feeling better than I have in a long while. At Jewel Osco, my blood pressure was 115/65, my heart rate was 70, and in the mirror, I looked almost cute.
Kate Gale sent me a note apologizing for being “out of it” in Santa Monica. She didn’t seem “out of it” to me. Kate said that her time living in Phoenix and going to MCC and ASU was a very confusing, unhappy part of her life. I am glad that after we had something of a rocky start as author and publisher, Kate turned out to be exceptionally nice.
Well, I got everyone’s address (house or email) and phone, and I guess I’ll be writing the next diary entry from Long Island.
I’ll try not to worry.
Wednesday, June 27, 2001
10 PM in Locust Valley. I’m sort of in culture shock here at Paul and Teresa’s, with Jade and Pam and five dogs, including two of Diane’s. (Hattie now stays outside because she’s incontinent.)
I guess I’ll get used to it here, and of course, it’s only temporary, although I guess it’s my home for now.
Mom called the Ragdale House phone booth this morning. Jenny Wright, a secretary at the Arts and Humanities Department at Naugatuck Valley Community College in Waterbury, called (at 5 AM Phoenix time) to say I was a finalist for the full-time position I applied for. I’ll have to call her tomorrow; I phoned before I left Ragdale, but got only her voicemail.
Tonight, while I was out with Teresa, Paul took a message from Mom that Ben Mulvey called. Naturally, he was out by the time I reached him, so I’ll phone him again tomorrow as well.
If Ben is offering me adjunct work at Nova, I’ll turn it down even though I’d love to return to South Florida. But if he’s asking me to take a full-time temporary job, I’d take that in a minute.
Last night I slept okay from 11 PM to 4:30 AM. It was not enough, but I had one great erotic dream and one nightmare in which I needed a liver transplant or would die.
Ready to leave early, I hugged my housemates Patty, Virginia, and Gerry goodbye and got into the limo waiting outside.
The ride to the airport was creepy, as I was alone in the back seat with an older married gay guy who kept making sexual remarks, told me more than I wanted to hear about his sleazy sex life, gave me a Christian book that he inscribed “God bless you” (I threw it away once I got into the terminal) and then asked me to hug him.
Oy vey. But it did keep my mind occupied.
Both the flight to Pittsburgh and the one to La Guardia took off and landed on time, and they were uneventful and relatively short. The Pittsburgh terminal had a nice shopping mall feel, but then so did the US Airways terminal when I landed.
Teresa met me at the baggage claim, and we drove back home, mostly via Northern Boulevard, as Teresa gave me the scoop on Cat’s baby shower (of course, she’s not going), Jade’s efforts to get a good job and move out, and Teresa’s father “becoming Jewish” (he needed a circumcision for medical reasons).
We stopped at the house Teresa and Paul are supposedly buying. It’s in Locust Valley but is very close to Bayville and the beach. Except for not having a pool, it seems a lot like this house.
Teresa’s been going back and forth on it. Logically, they were offered $625,000 for this house, and the new house is cheap enough so that they could pay cash and live rent-free, the idea of which Paul loves.
When we got home, Pam was celebrating the end of the school year and not having to deal with her bad class again. She was drinking Grey Goose vodka and eating fresh strawberries, raspberries and cherries.
After a little while, Paul came home and joined Teresa and Pam’s merriment, and it once again felt fun to be here, though the atmosphere certainly is different from Ragdale.
At one point, Teresa drove over to the Birch Hill Road house, and I walked over to join her there, but the carpet guy who was scheduled to come never showed up.
The tenants left the house a horrible, smelly mess, and Paul had to take up the carpets, which stunk from their dog. Teresa had already cleaned the lot and painted a little, and the place still needs a lot of work, but it will eventually shape up so Teresa can rent it for $2,000, way more than the $1,200 her tenants paid for the last seven years.
She and I went to Farmers Bazaar on Forest Avenue for some grocery shopping. With the walkable Gristede’s on Birch Hill Road closed, I’m probably going to want to rent a car so I can get out of the heart of Locust Valley and do shopping and go places, but right now I have to sort things out first.
Along with Jade, I watched as Teresa and Pam went into the pool an hour ago, after Paul had gone to bed. Jade seems fine – but of course, I last saw her here only ten weeks ago.
This sofa bed isn’t so comfortable, but I did sleep here that week in April. I feel this house is really too crowded to support another person.
Thursday, June 28, 2001
2 PM. It’s a hot afternoon. I’m alone in the house with the three dogs, as Teresa just left for the beach with Pepper and Roxie, Diane’s dogs. Paul will probably be home in about three hours, and Pam had her last session of a summer course at Lehman College, so she won’t be back till tonight.
I feel as if I don’t have a place here anymore, though I guess that’s okay. Pam fits in the household much better than I ever could.
In Ragdale, I could have my usual routines of exercise and diet and New York Times-reading. I haven’t worked out in two days. I guess I could do something as soon as I’ve digested lunch, but I’m tired.
My clock radio broke in the suitcase – maybe that’s what happened to my computer on the last flight – and I slept more than I thought I had, but I was awake at midnight and around 5 AM.
I called Ben at Nova, but he’s out today, and so is Santa. He will be back tomorrow, but he probably just wants to offer me adjunct classes since, according to the schedule listed on the website, it looks as if everyone in the Nova Liberal Arts Division has their fall courses.
I made an appointment for an interview at the first open date at Naugatuck Valley Community College on Wednesday, July 11.
I also called Ronna, who said I could come visit them on Monday and stay a week or so. At Ronna and Matthew’s house, I’ll have more room even if Ronna’s mother is staying there.
I’m seeing Alice at noon on Sunday, and I’ll probably see Josh as well.
So I ended up renting a car for two weeks at Enterprise, which will cost a fortune – money I surely don’t have – but if I’m going to go broke, I might as well do it in style. Having wheels gets me my own space, a way to do my shopping, and the freedom to go anywhere I want.
I’ll return the car the day after the interview, and I’ll probably return to Arizona soon afterwards. I can reschedule my flights to Chicago and Phoenix on short notice.
Of course, I’ll have to stay over one night in Chicago unless I change to a new itinerary. I should have planned this summer better, and I might have been smarter to return to Phoenix, as I was originally scheduled to do yesterday.
I feel somewhat out of place here, with my peculiar ways not meshing with the lifestyles of Teresa, Paul, Pam, Jade, and the dogs. I also feel that I’m in Jade’s way in the downstairs bathroom.
Of course, I remember that I felt weird the first couple of days I was here last year, when the British relatives were also here. But Jade was in Europe then, so at least I had the basement to myself. Now I have no drawer space and no place to put all my stuff – or just to be. Maybe I can adjust, but I decided today was not the day to cut out my daily dosage of Klonopin.
On the other hand, I’m fortunate to have the living room and dining room, which I can shut off by closing doors, and I have an air conditioner for a hot day like today.
So much is going on here regarding the houses: selling this one, buying the new one, and all the stuff going on with the Birch Hill Road rental house. I went over there this morning to watch Teresa paint and pull out weeds, though I didn’t really help.
I come from a totally non-handy family, which is why it makes sense that my parents have always bought new houses and that I’ve always rented. If I ever bought anything, it would be an apartment, not a house.
I don’t expect I’ll get the job at Naugatuck Valley Community College, but I’m happy to be a finalist somewhere else besides Nassau.
Part of me just wants to go back to Arizona, where I have the comfort of family, if nothing else, and where I could try to make a real life.
After I rented the car, I was able to get to Wendy’s for a baked potato, though I still need to go shopping for food later.
Right now I’m going to try to take a nap.