Someone With a Pen: Richard Grayson’s Diary

Saturday, August 24, 2002

4:30 PM. Today was an okay day. Better than okay, mostly, although I’m pretty much sure that I will wake up tomorrow with my usual Sunday anxiety.

For a little while today – after the TA training session, which went pretty well – I thought, “Maybe I have this anxiety licked.”

But an hour ago, figuring out how I’ve only managed to pay my bills the past couple of months because of the extra checks from being reimbursed for my Seattle and Tampa trips, I started to worry about my ability to keep paying the bills without taking further cash advances that will only put me deeper into debt.

Then I thought about the Florida Bar Examiners and financial responsibility, and I started to obsess. because it’s like I’ll always have something to worry about.

That’s what Vincent said when we talked on the phone today.

God, it was nice to hear his voice. He said that Dr. K is right when he told me I’d probably be just as anxious if I took a “non-career job” because I always seem to need something to worry about.

After I told Vincent that I worried about my competence as ARP director, he said that I have a distorted view of my talents and abilities.

Both Vincent and Dr. K are right; probably everyone who knows me would say the same thing.

I think maybe there was a time in my life when I felt more confident that I was talented and competent. How and where and when did I lose that feeling, and where do I go to get it back?

I did a decent job with the dozen or so teaching assistants who showed up at school today at 9 AM.

I kept them for a little over two hours, and if it wasn’t the kind of training Jane Fishman would have given them, I did my best under the circumstances.

The TAs are all bright people, and they mostly seem to have the people skills they need to succeed as teaching assistants.

I liked being in front of a classroom again, telling my little stories. I was a college teacher in 1975, before most of the TAs were born.

Anyway, when I walked out of the law school at 11:30 AM, I felt this enormous sense of relief and freedom because my “weekend” had begun.

I thought about how, when I was a teenager, I used to feel the same way when I finished my weekly therapy sessions with Dr. Littman.

I never knew if it was because therapy helped me feel better or because I knew that once the session had ended, I wouldn’t have to go back to therapy for a whole week.

When I got Vincent’s message, I called him right back and we spoke for an hour or so. It seemed shorter than that.

He’s quit the coffeehouse job because he knows his second novel is basically done and he’s got to finish it, and as with his first novel, he needs not to be working and not to be involved with the drama of a workplace.

Vincent asked me about teaching after I asked him why a good writer like Bard Cole, who’s had the same publishing experience as Vincent – a book with St. Martin’s – would need to go to an MFA program.

I guess I’m not the person to ask why someone would go back to graduate school, but to me it sounded as if Bard had a good life in New York.

I mean, Bard should be teaching in an MFA program. But I guess in these times, his getting a fellowship at Alabama is a good thing and probably the best he can do professionally.

Vincent said that unlike him, Bard needs to be around younger people.

“He’s totally into younger guys,” Vincent said, “People like Travis Jeppesen and that asshole Philip Guichard” – both of whom Vincent has published in his webzine.

Of course, Vincent is an “old” 33 even if he looks about 21.

I guess we talked about two of the challenges that have been so hard for me: figuring out how to make a living and be a writer and dealing with middle age.

I think when I’ve dealt with those two things, I’ll feel better – but life will always be a challenge.

Once I accept being in my fifties, I’ll have to deal with being 60. I’m afraid of making a career out of my job because then I won’t be a writer anymore.

I couldn’t get the Sunday Times this evening, so I sat for hours at Barnes & Noble and finished Jonathan Safran Ford’s Everything Is Illuminated.

I don’t care what anyone says: I thought it was an amazing book, especially for someone so young.

Sure, I can see the flaws in it, but I always think flaws make a book so much better – like the flaws in Vincent’s book – because it makes the book seem more human.

Foer’s novel made me laugh (inwardly), and it also brought tears to my eyes, so what else can a reader ask for?

I’ve also been watching Paul Thomas Anderson’s amazing film Magnolia, which reminds me of early Robert Altman.

Anyway, last night I forgot to mention that Dad told me that Marc has been made the manager of Cricket’s Ahwatukee store.

Because it’s in such an affluent area, the store does little business, so Marc only has to work five days and still gets a $150 weekly raise.

I imagine the downside, which Dad didn’t mention, is that Cricket will probably close the store relatively soon – or just go out of business entirely.

Still, as Sat Darshan said when I talked to her this afternoon – she phoned from the Hospice of the Valley office – being a store manager will look good on Marc’s résumé.

Sat Darshan said that Kiran was with Gurudaya today, but now Gurudaya is planning on taking a job on weekends, which will make it more difficult to find someone to take care of Kiran when Sat Darshan works one weekend a month.

She doesn’t like her to spend time with Nirankar, who she now thinks is definitely bipolar, and she thinks Trevor sets a bad example because of his “backtalk to authority.”

I suggested that maybe Trevor has ADD, but Sat Darshan said that no, Trevor can concentrate; Ravinder has ADD, so she knows what that’s like.

Then she had to get off the phone to make arrangements for the hospice to take in a new patient.

Rosalie Sanderson emailed. She likes her new job as an instruction librarian at New York Law School, where Rick Matasar is the Dean.

But Betty Taylor, after so many years, is finally retiring as the director of the library at UF Law School, and Jerry Israel, who’s heading the search committee, has asked Rosalie to apply for the position.

Rosalie asked if I’d write her a letter of recommendation, and of course I will.

Bob Moberly from UF is now Dean of the law school at the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville, and he offered her a job there, but Rosalie would prefer to be in Gainesville even though she loves living in New York.

Steve, of course, as the director of the Wildlife Conservation Society, would remain in the city.

This evening at Borders, I found a copy of The Express, which had a nice story about Javier, who actually quit his job as a commercial litigator to work full-time on the No to Discrimination/SAVE Dade campaign to encourage voters to reject the repeal of the gay rights law.

As Javier said, he’s gone through losing an election like this.

There was a photo of him, and he’s got a widow’s peak hairline and a little bit more chin. Javier is still handsome, but he’s 33 and looks his age – or maybe older.

He’s an impressive man, though, and I admire the sacrifices he’s made for the gay rights movement.

Hey, there are so many people out there doing all sorts of good stuff: Javier, Vincent, Sat Darshan, Rosalie and Steve.

It sounds corny, but it’s been a privilege to know people who are fighting the good fight, creating art, raising kids, educating students and the general public.

No, I’m not going to compare myself unfavorably to them. Instead, I’m going to stop writing and try to get some sleep.

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Tuesday, August 27, 2002

9 PM. Dr. Marks, the urologist, kept me waiting a long time, and he saw me for maybe five minutes, tops.

It’s a spermatocele, he said, and he could tell that without even looking at the ultrasound.

“If I were you,” he told me, “I’d just leave it alone.” He wants to see me in a year.

It really hasn’t been bothering me, so I’m more than willing to listen to the doctor’s advice – especially since the most profitable part of his practice is probably surgery.

He also did a digital prostate exam and said my prostate isn’t very big, so he wasn’t surprised I had a 0.4 score on my PSA.

So I feel relieved. I just wish our healthcare system worked so that I could have gotten this diagnosis sooner.

We still haven’t got a clue how to care for the 40 million or so Americans who don’t have health insurance – as I didn’t, this time last year.

There was no co-payment today for me.

Last night I woke at 2 AM, and after being awake another hour, I broke my rule about not taking Klonopin two nights in a row and took 0.25 mg of the drug.

That and the relaxation tape got me into a light sleep from maybe 4:30 AM to 5:30 AM, the kind of sleep that’s unsatisfying because I dreamed I had insomnia.

This morning a tape of Body Electric got ruined by the wayward VCR. It was one of my favorites, from 1995, when I must have taped it at Ronna’s on West End Avenue that August.

I don’t have many Body Electric tapes left, and I hope some are still in Arizona. I should have taken more of them here.

Well, of course VCRs and VHS tapes will probably be obsolete in five years. DVD sales of movies have eclipsed VHS tapes of movies, and once they get a DVD that people can record on, VCRs will go the way of vinyl records and phonographs.

I went to Starbucks before work. Today I didn’t have all that much to do, as I’m waiting to hear from Evonne and Ellyn before I send out the ARP schedules to the students.

I left the office for the doctor at 10:30 AM, and when I got back to my apartment at 12:15 PM, I called Dad and Aunt Sydelle to tell them of my diagnosis.

Then I ate lunch and waited until a violent thunderstorm abated before going back to the law school.

Yesterday I got soaked when I left the house at 5 PM to return to NSU for an hour or so.

Kevin emailed me and other friends that he can be seen on the video of the film Voyeur.com, so I ordered a used copy for $8 on the Amazon.com shops.

Mark B said he’s glad I’m okay, and he also inquired about my sciatica.

I told him I still feel the piriformis syndrome on my left buttock, but the pain has basically stopped radiating down the back of my leg. It’s been over a month since I stopped taking Celebrex or Vioxx.

If I could stop taking Prevacid, that would be good, but I still have two months’ worth of pills.

Spence said the best time to call him is after 10 PM, but of course I’m usually asleep by then. Not that anything will come of talking to a 31-year-old, but ever since I met Thien in San Jose, I have a little thing for Vietnamese guys.

I wrote to Bard Cole after reading his latest online diary entry from Tuscaloosa.

He said that so far the MFA program seems interesting, and he went to Alabama because he didn’t want to be the kind of person who can live only in New York. Bard said that Vincent told him that I’m a good person to know.

Coming home at 5:15 PM, it felt as if I had the whole evening ahead of me; I’d forgotten how long the day can be.

I went to the big Publix on Nob Hill and Cleary (across from the Starbucks I went to this morning) and found lots of my favorite couscous-and-vegetable wraps. I bought ten of them, plus other stuff.

I’m thinking I need to take six credits next term to get my student loans deferred, and I looked at NSU’s graduate Certificate in Peace Studies, which students can get through online study. It’s aimed at lifelong learners like me.

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Wednesday, August 28, 2002

9 PM. It’s been a long day. I fell asleep soon after I put away my diary last night, but I woke up very early, and I didn’t want to take anything but Triavil.

Somehow I did manage to get a little sleep, dreaming that I was back in Mesa, trying to park my car.

I left the house at 7:40 AM and got back for good twelve hours later.

In some ways I screwed up with my emails to students and with an appointment, but I think my errors were understandable and well-meaning, so I’m not going to beat myself over the head with them.

What strikes me about today was the meaningful conversations I had with students, faculty, and administrators. It seems that my job at NSU Law has become an important part of my life.

As anxious as I still get, I bet I would miss my job if I left it. Yes, some days seem totally frustrating, but there are other times when I realize that being ARP director has really integrated itself into my life.

Maybe this is a temporary feeling. Well, hell, all feelings are temporary, aren’t they?

We had the book club tonight, and Joe Harbaugh joined us. He’s been having a lot of physical problems, but they have ruled out kidney stones, gallstones and prostate cancer – the latter only after his first PSA showed a score of 13.4.

It’s interesting to spend time with Pat and other people at work on a social basis. They’re all liberal Democrats, certainly, and all of them seem to go to a lot of movies and plays and generally are very intelligent.

I sat next to Kathy Cerminara, whom I think is brilliant.

Earlier today, I was talking to one of the TAs, Amy Cosentino, who’s head of the Italian-American Law Students Association.

Her father, a doctor, must have grown up in my neighborhood, and I had to tell her that Buddies, the burger restaurant with all the rides and games on Fillmore and Unica Avenues, has become a Burger King.

I relate to Italian-American life in New York City because I grew up in a basically Italian neighborhood and because I’m so close to Teresa’s family.

I’m generally pretty good at relating to people. Tonight, when the others started talking about our orientation exercises, I tried to contribute to the ongoing discussion.

I may not be the brightest person at the law school, but I’m becoming more confident about my intelligence.

Of course, emotional intelligence is more important in the long run. I’d like to think I have some of that, but who knows?

Josh just called. The politics at the New York City Department of Corrections are a nightmare for him, and of course jobs in IT are so scarce right now that it’s not as if he can just pick up and leave the way he might have been able to years ago.

I was sorry to hear that Harry’s sister died of cancer. Her funeral was on Monday; she was only 48 and really suffered in her last year.

Right now I probably should call Spence.

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Saturday, August 31, 2002

9:30 PM. I had many strange dreams last night, obsessive dreams – but I slept well and didn’t wake until 6:45 AM. It’s the second day in a row I’ve slept late: late for me, anyway.

I exercised to a Body Electric tape playing on my new VCR. Dad said he’ll send me some of the tapes I left in Apache Junction.

At 8:15 AM, I went to Starbucks and read the Times, which printed my letter today.

In it, I agreed with their columnist Bob Herbert that New York City shouldn’t keep homeless families in the Bronx House of Detention for Men but said that until the city makes alternate plans, city officials from Mayor Bloomberg on down should spend the night with the homeless, a gesture that would help undo the impression some of the homeless children have that they are in jail because they have done something wrong.

I liked seeing my name in print, and then “Davie, Fla.” It seems as if I often get in the paper on Saturday, when the fewest number of people read it, but it’s always a good feeling, and I can add this letter to my CV.

I think the last letter I had in the Times was about grading college students in October 2000, and that one had “Mesa, Ariz.” after my name.

Hopefully, at least one or two people I know will read my letter in today’s paper. Of course, by now the Sunday Times is already out – I didn’t get it tonight – and I’m old news.

Well, I made a dozen copies and sent two off to Mom for the scrapbook she keeps. At least I think she still keeps it.

My appointment with Dr. K was for 11 AM. I told him about the bar exam and about my testicular cancer scare.

Both of those crises are over now, and my worries are performing in my job, particularly in regard to the skills workshops, which I’m anxious about, and how well I’m going to supervise the teaching assistants.

The other big problem is money and debt, and related to that is the investigation by the Bar Examiners, where someone in authority is literally judging me to see if I’m moral enough to be an attorney in Florida.

Because I have one more appointment left with Dr. K, I made it three weeks from today, when I will know if I passed the bar exam or not.

Dr. K said it seems that my physical symptoms are disappearing – I didn’t take a Prevacid today, either – because I’m adjusting to my job.

He said I started getting sick in late February because the excitement and newness of the job had worn off and people were expecting results.

Dr. K said I should call Spence tomorrow, not today, because a piano teacher would be working on Saturday.

I had thought of calling Spence when I knew he wouldn’t be in, to test if he’d call back. Not a good idea, Dr. K said, but if I do call him and leave a message, and if he doesn’t call back, I should forget about him.

For a change, after our session, I went to the Wendy’s on University Drive in Pembroke Pines to get my baked potato and Diet Coke.

At 3 PM today, I went to the Sunrise Cinema again, and this time I saw The Good Girl, a film that Vincent had said he was going to see last Saturday.

Coming home at 5 PM, I had fat-free franks and fruit for dinner.

Then I went to the Hollywood Barnes & Noble, where I read the latest issue of Poets & Writers with all the usual ads for creative writing programs and literary contests. I feel so not a part of today’s writerly scene – if indeed there is one.

Maybe I got published in the 1970s and early 1980s only because it was easier back then, and that is also how I got grants and into MacDowell (and even into Yaddo, though at times when I couldn’t go there).

Today it’s obvious that at 51, I ain’t going nowhere as a writer. It’s not as if I’ll ever be able to support myself from my writing even if I didn’t have writer’s block.

It was after 8 PM when I came home and watched the first half of my favorite Buñuel film, The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie.

It’s 10 PM now, and I don’t know if I should watch more of the movie or try to fall asleep.

It turns out I can’t enter NSU’s Peace Studies Certificate program or any other program in the School of Humanities and Social Sciences in the winter trimester. So I’ll have to find another academic program if I want to defer my student loan payments.