A Writer’s Diary Entries From Late August, 2001
Friday, August 24, 2001
It’s about 7 AM and I’m at my gate at Sky Harbor.
After writing yesterday’s entry, I took a Triavil 2/25 and Ativan, then went to Taco Bell and had a Sprite just to get out of the house. I was very nervous and thought about canceling the trip.
But after eating dinner at 5 PM, I felt very sleepy, so I lay down, first on the living room floor, then on the couch.
While I didn’t fall asleep or even into an alpha state, I was either relaxed or exhausted from the stress of anxiety – and maybe the meds kicked in.
When Marc called and said he wasn’t coming home, I went into his bed. I took an Ambien but still woke up at 1 AM, though I wasn’t agitated. I lay in bed quietly till 5 AM.
Jonathan and Dad drove me to the airport, and here I am. I am scared but a little sleepy, so I’m not going to take any more drugs. My bags are checked through to XNA, and the flight attendant assured me that a regional jet is a lot better than a prop jet. That, of course, did not allay my fears.
Checking my email now, I see that I have an Amazon.com Advantage order. Well, I just can’t deal with it now. Over the next month I need to forget my Arizona worries.
*
12:30 PM CDT in Dallas. The trip to DFW was the easiest and most familiar part of my journey.
There’s a little prop jet leaving for Northwest Arkansas in a few minutes, and I’m worried that my baggage will go on it and that some unscrupulous person will pick it up at the XNA airport, though hopefully that won’t happen.
I’m at the rather quiet wing of the Delta Connection, meaning ASA and other regional carriers.
The regional jets are tiny, but they look a lot safer and sturdier then the prop jets. So what do I do for the next three hours without going crazy? I’ve already eaten a whole lot.
In some sense, this is the hardest part of the day, as I have to deal with nervous anticipation. I felt chilly on the flight here, but I got a blanket for the rest of the trip.
I guess I can read the New York Times now. I have a heavy backpack and don’t want to walk too far.
I’ve stopped over at this airport two or three times before this but have never really felt that I am in Texas.
*
8:30 PM in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. I’m very fatchatted: tired and wired at the same time.
I managed to survive at DFW by walking more than I should have, by buying frozen yogurt and eating it while watching Gary Condit interviewed about Chandra Levy’s disappearance, and by fretting about the trip to Northwest Arkansas.
Actually, the regional jet felt much the same as a regular jet. There were about ten people in the fifty seats, and the flight took an hour.
My luggage didn’t come out of the carousel; it had come on the earlier flight but was there waiting at the Delta Connection/ASA ticket counter.
Tammy, the driver of the express shuttle, had me sit up front so I wouldn’t get carsick during all the hairpin turns around mountains.
The Bentonville and Fort Smith areas looked like small town America except for the Walmart-created affluence symbolized by the shiny new airport, the campus of Northwest Arkansas Community College and the grounds of Mercy Hospital, though there were also signs of Tyson’s corporate largess (or power).
It took a good 80 minutes to get to Dairy Hollow.
Eureka Springs is this amazing tourist town with lots of restaurants and shops and gorgeous Victorian saltbox houses, all situated on steep winding streets.
I realized that Tammy had taken a wrong turn, but I figured she knew where she was going, and besides, I just got to see more of the town.
Debbie hugged me when I arrived, and I joined Rosemary Daniell, her sister Anne Webster, and the Shakespearean performer Cedric Liqueur in having dinner just as they were about to start dessert.
All of them have been here a month or so and are living in the three studios that are a little away from here in the woods.
It seems like the three of them go out a lot at night and take long walks and hit the bars. I hope I fit in all right. I like Debbie a lot.
I am alone in the main house. Everyone tried to show me the ropes, and Debbie stayed to show me my Peach Blossom suite, which is quite beautiful and has a fireplace and a jacuzzi.
After putting away all my stuff, I felt overwhelmed by the trip and being here.
“This is a place where people come to hide out or to heal,” Debbie said. I need to do both.
Sunday, August 26, 2001
2 PM. I’m still adjusting to life at Dairy Hollow and in Eureka Springs. It’s hard, but everyone is so nice, and the important thing is for me to be patient with myself. I’ve got to expect it will take a while to adjust.
While I was up before 5 AM and I’ve spent time ruminating (with all these cow icons around, that seems appropriate), I noticed that my diaphoresis hasn’t appeared since I left Phoenix.
Yesterday afternoon I tried to write, both on the typewriter and in longhand, but I didn’t get very far, and I despair of even being as productive or as bold as I was when I was younger.
Last night I was rereading some of the stories in With Hitler in New York and I Brake for Delmore Schwartz – the ones where Richard Grayson was the main character – and I don’t see how I ever had the balls to consider myself and my life so important and urgent.
Those stories were written when I didn’t know any better, when I was still virtually an adolescent although I’d conquered agoraphobia, done well in school, and made friends and lovers. Like a naïve kid, I felt I that I had my whole life in front of me, with fame and fortune awaiting me, along with the rest of the clichés. I’d love to be able to recover that chutzpah.
This diary entry seems self-focused, but I’ve actually been spending a lot of time trying to get to know the people here and seeing what Northwest Arkansas and Eureka Springs are like.
I just went into town in the big tourist tram and scored the Sunday New York Times after taking a long walk to Gazebo Books and chatting with Virginia, the owner, mostly about the weather.
Anyway, at least I have the Sunday Times to savor, but somehow it doesn’t seem so urgent to read it now. Maybe that’s a good thing.
Last evening we gathered at 5 PM for a trip to the Turpentine Creek Wildlife Preserve outside of town. I drove with Debbie, who brought her vodka and grapefruit juice mix with her in the car, while Cedric went with the sisters.
Turpentine Creek rescues big cats and bears from unwanted or abusive situations and keeps the lions, tigers and other animals in spaces where they can be healed and cared for.
Yesterday it was open to the public for free, as they were releasing some lions and tigers from their cages and into a larger open space.
There were a couple of hundred people there, and we were late, so we couldn’t see the release of the animals all that well.
Afterwards we spent maybe 80 minutes there. I felt a bit nauseated (as I do now and as I did before; I think it’s just nervous adjustment and a change of diet, as my body’s getting lots more fat than it’s used to) but it passed (as I hope my current queasiness will pass).
Cedric was clearly fascinated by the animals, and he probably would have spent a lot more time there.
We all got separated; I know Rosemary doesn’t like to walk so much, and she was sitting down somewhere till she started taking snapshots.
Later, Anne and I talked to some of the young interns there.
The most fearsome sight was a highly inbred white tiger with a pug nose and horribly misshapen face, looking almost like he had Down’s syndrome. I was also intrigued by the liger, the offspring of a male lion and female tiger (tions are even rarer).
Luckily, although I did dream about lions and tigers, I didn’t have a nightmare about the monstrous white tiger.
As I was walking around Turpentine Creek, I finally met Crescent in person. We hugged; she’s a lot more New York/Jewish than I expected.
Debbie lives with her husband on a 50-acre property on a mountain near Turpentine Creek, so I went back to Dairy Hollow in Anne’s car.
I was glad Cedric wanted to go home and spend last evening preparing for his performance tonight, as it meant that I could stay here too instead of eating out and 
going to a karaoke bar with Anne and Rosemary; the latter seems as up for bar life and drinking now as she was in Sleeping With Soldiers.
For dinner, I had the spicy meat casserole, and then I went to my workroom to read my own books and my Stress Management Workbook.
I went to bed after 10 PM, and as I said, I awoke between 4 AM and 5 AM. I listened to my relaxation tape, but once I was up, I was up. It doesn’t get light here till at least 6:30 AM.
Anne and I had arranged that she would come get me around 9:30 AM to have brunch at the Daily Planet, the Internet café.
During our stay there, I spoke far too much about myself, my family and my mental and financial problems – but I guess I need to re-tell the story to come to terms 
with it myself.
Later I thought about it: It’s like becoming 50 years old suddenly hit me right when I moved to Arizona.
The year before that, when I had a full-time job teaching Legal Studies at Nova, I still felt as if I was young man, starting out in a new career.
But in Arizona, I somehow discovered that I was no longer young, and my confidence and joy disappeared with that. I no longer feel the slightest bit attractive to younger guys, though I’m still attracted to them.
I also see it’s going to be a lot harder to get a job after 50. I still don’t know what I’m going to do when I return to Phoenix. Adjuncting is no solution, even though I probably can get hired for the spring semester.
After all, I could currently be teaching paralegal students at Lamson College if I really wanted that life. We shall see what happens. I can’t let myself think of it for too long.
I again saw Crescent and her friend Steve (he’s from Little Rock, and I guess she’s seeing him) today while I was waiting for the trolley.
I phoned in my unemployment claim this morning and I left a message with Frank, though I didn’t give him the number here.
In town, I mailed out four credit card payments. I finally wrote Leora Zeitlin about I Brake, but I need to find an envelope to put the letter in.
I feel so restless. I’ve been taking only .125 mg. of Klonopin twice a day, and I’d like not to have to titrate the dosage higher.
Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to come here for five weeks, but at least I’m away from my family for a while and out of the Arizona heat.
Monday, August 27, 2001
2:30 PM. I just walked back from the Carnegie Library, where I was able to go online and write emails to Teresa, Sat Darshan, Ronna, Tom, Mark Bernstein and a 
couple of others – mostly the same letters with slight changes for each recipient.
As I said, adjusting to being here in Arkansas is hard for me.
I read parts of the Sunday Times yesterday afternoon, though I’m far from finished with it, and I did some more writing, but it seemed forced.
The typewriter is a crummy tool compared to the word processing capabilities of the computer. However, I can’t blame my unwillingness to write more on the tool I’m using. The problem is with me.
One thing that may come from the next month here is that I will decide that I’m no longer a fiction writer.
If I don’t produce any new material – and I haven’t written a decent story in over two years, not since finishing The Silicon Valley Diet – I believe I can still get one 
more book out of my better old uncollected stories like “In The Sixties” and “Coping.”
But that would be a hobby, self-publishing a volume like that, and I don’t have time to do that now.
I’m preparing myself to go back to Arizona and get a job. I’ve even thought of the possibility of being a student at ASU again and going back to adjunct work.
I see that ASU has three Interdisciplinary Studies positions for the next school year; I think I would be a perfect match for one of those lectureships.
Surely there’s some organization, academic or business or nonprofit, that can use my abilities and my experience.
When I saw that Crescent and Steve were relatively dressed up for Cedric’s performance last night, I put on a sport shirt and long pants instead of my usual t-shirt and shorts.
Cedric’s one-man Julius Caesar was fascinating – he took it up to Caesar’s assassination and played all the parts as though Caesar were reliving the experiences – and Cedric added in stuff from Shakespeare’s sonnets as well as Langston Hughes and Thomas Wolfe.
The son of a British mother and Arab father, Cedric had gotten a master’s in biology before he accidentally got into acting and ultimately became an associate of the Royal Shakespeare Company, where he got his training.
I thought the choices he made for his first performance of this piece – he’s been doing one-man Macbeth performances at schools and at senior and community centers – were interesting, though I think he was best as Cassius.
After the performance, I was introduced to Sandy Wright, Dairy Hollow’s executive director, whom I’ll be meeting with on Tuesday. I also got to meet some more locals.
Earlier I’d spoken to Frank, who’s done landscaping here at the colony. He knew Cedric from the library, but didn’t want to come because he doesn’t like Shakespeare.
Frank said I should call him tonight and we could have lunch tomorrow. I’m sure we don’t have much in common, but it will be fun to get out.
Walking back to Dairy Hollow in the darkness wasn’t that easy, but I got to my studio around at 9:30 PM.
After reading the Sunday Times Magazine section, I made the mistake of trying to get out the trundle bed, which I couldn’t get back under the daybed for a while. That was a comedy.
I had a similar mishap this morning when, in shutting the refrigerator, I knocked over a glass jar of brown sugar, which splintered in tiny slivers, making not just a mess but a hazard.
Luckily I only cut my wrist slightly, and hopefully, I got all the pieces of glass up.
When I couldn’t get to sleep by 11:30 AM, I took a fourth Triavil for the day, but I ended up sleeping well.
I awoke at 4:45 AM and somehow immediately began ruminating about bankruptcy and life after credit cards: no more vacations, no more rental cars, etc.
But happily, I ended up falling back into delicious dreams in which I was visiting Pam and Teresa’s parents in Williamsburg, walking on Eastern Parkway and in Rockaway, hanging out with cute adolescent boxers, and having intercourse with a fat woman who reminded me of Shelli. I didn’t wake up until 7 AM.
My stomach continues to be rocky; it’s as if I’ve developed acid reflux. But I still went to the grocery store with Debbie in the pickup truck of her late brother-in-law – he was shot to death at 37 – and we also went to the dollar store.
In addition to what Debbie bought for the colony, I bought $45 worth of groceries and sundries for myself. Now I can have light bread and fat-free cheese for lunch every day. I also bought stuff I’m used to, like caffeine-free diet cola, Crystal Lite, sweet potatoes, and cereal that I like.
It was good to go out. Later, though, walking home from the library, I twisted my ankle. It bothers me a little, but hopefully this is not serious. The streets of Eureka Springs are so steep and the sidewalks here are very broken up.
It seems to me that Arkansans must be the most unhealthy people in the United states. Downtown over the weekend, I was amazed at how many people held cigarettes as they walked, and today the grocery was filled with all these fatty pork and dairy products.
If I had any fantasies about moving to Eureka Springs, they’re gone now. I need to live in a metro area. Apache Junction may not be charming, but the amenities of the suburbs of a large metro area are nearby.
What I do like about being here, of course, is that I have my own space and privacy – though I have to admit I do miss my family a little.
The Sunday Times had a death notice for Professor Miriam Heffernan at Brooklyn College. She was 89, a devout Catholic and Stuyvesant Town resident, though I already knew that.
I just phoned my parents. Mom said that my tax rebate check arrived today and BP Amoco put a hold on my account due to all the cash advances.
I won’t worry about that now or about anything else. Well, I’ll try not to.
Tuesday, August 28, 2001
4 PM. I’ve just come from a very pleasant afternoon with Frank. Physically, he’s not my type, but he’s a really nice guy and a great person to talk to; I felt I could relate to him easily.
Frank picked me up at 12:30 PM after I’d met with Sandy told her that everything was going fine and wrote her out a check to Dairy Hollow for $540 to cover my stay.
First, Frank and I went to the Crescent Hotel. Since he’s on the town historic preservation board, he knows everything about the architectural history here.
From the roof of the hotel you could see all the ridges above and below, from downtown to the Christ of the Ozark statue by the Passion Play grounds.
Then we parked at the Unitarian church, which he belongs to (Frank was raised Episcopalian and is a “recovered born-again Christian”), and walked to the northern (I think) part of the downtown area.
After I got some stamps at the post office, we went to The Oasis, an “Ark-Mex” café, where John, who ran the last Poetluck, works. We had burritos – mine had tofu – 
which were enormous and good, and we chatted for a long time.
Frank was kind enough to pay, especially after I told him my financial situation.
After we walked around downtown and then up the steep hill to his Dakota pickup, he drove me to his house. It dates partly from 1886 and has lovely furniture and beautiful gardens that he works very hard on.
Frank gets a good pension after working for 31 years at Commonwealth Edison. He told me he decided to move here three or four years ago – and says that only recently has he begun to feel comfortable enough in Eureka Springs that he has no regrets.
We talked about a lot of stuff, and I will surely call him next Wednesday, when he returns from a trip to visit friends in Enid, Oklahoma.
Yesterday I wrote a few more pages, first about my work in political campaigns in the 1960s, and then – after talking about it on a long walk to the post office and 
back with Anne and Rosemary – I wrote about Dad’s bad investments in the hotel and racehorse in the 1970s.
It was really great spending time with Rosemary and Anne. Again, I talked a lot, but Anne wanted me to stop her sister from obsessing about a chapter of her book and how to structure it.
I ate veggies and cheese for dinner, finishing off at 8 PM with a sweet potato before doing some writing and completing the Times Book Review.
I didn’t fall asleep till about 11:30 PM, and then I woke three hours later after a dream in which Dad was driving me and Mom on Riverside Drive in the West 80s, where Dad came very close to smashing the car into a wall.
Awake, I immediately started obsessing, but instead of worrying, I became almost manic thinking about the projected collection of stories based on my LaGuardia Hall days, called In The Sixties.
It’s essentially the book I have left after taking out the gay stories from the original big manuscript I put together for Alice years ago.
I thought about how I want the book structured, but unfortunately I don’t have the stories with me here. Still, I went to my workroom and made up a plan for the links between the stories and what stories I might want to include and the ones I need to write to add to the collection.
Of course, this is something I could have done any time during the last few months, but somehow I’d lost faith in my writing.
Last night I felt sure I wanted to get this new book out regardless of how; maybe I could do it as an e-book.
I also decided to write Martin Hester to see if Avisson Press has taken I Survived Caracas Traffic out of print so I could put it in a Backinprint.com trade paperback.
I became so euphoric that it scared me. To use Susan’s term, I was “cycling” the way people with bipolar disorder do. I’ve felt this kind of euphoria before, but not recently – maybe not since last October, when I wrote the “Arizona Diary” piece for the Arizona Republic.
It scared me because I knew I couldn’t get back to sleep in this frame of mind. So I took a Triavil and an eighth of a milligram of Klonopin and listened to my relaxation tape – not because I was anxious but because I needed to calm my mania.
I slept a little from 5 AM till 6:30 AM, but this morning I had what I knew would be the inevitable hangover. I also had a little diarrhea, so I decided not to exercise today. I didn’t really feel better until I saw Frank.
Prior to that, I was lazy and depressed – and I thought about writing letters to Liz McCullough and to Uncle Marty and Aunt Arlyne, notes telling them how sorry I was about things that have happened. I still might do that.
I called Yahoo By Phone and heard Sat Darshan’s email saying that Kiran was okay the day after surgery. But the abscess was bigger than the doctor expected; Kiran vomited from the anesthesia in the recovery room and was sick all Friday.
In response to my telling her what Debbie said about people coming here, Sat Darshan said, “You may be in Eureka Springs to heal, but not to hide out,” and that 
I needed to give myself time to adjust.
Josh emailed from Germany and sounded upset and discouraged about his son. Apparently, German laws give him only the “right” to send his son money every month. Because he’s so far away and will need to learn German to have any kind of relationship with the boy, Josh agrees with the judge, who said he “can never be a real father.”
Tom wrote that, as an Arkansas native, he envies my being here. He’s still writing – mostly memoir – and sent off the Washington Post Book Review he was assigned.
Mark Bernstein suggests I might do more personal travel-writing like his gay Hari Krishna friend Dan.
Tonight we’ll be having dinner at 6 PM, and Crescent will be there. As Frank said, Crescent is both charming and dynamic, so she’s very controversial in this small town.
*
9 PM. Crescent joined us for dinner, and Rosemary kept asking her questions about Ned’s death and his affair before that and all kinds of personal stuff.
It made me feel a little uncomfortable, and at one point I may have gotten out of line when I said, “Who are you, Connie Chung?” because I felt I was watching an interview.
But then I realized that Crescent liked telling this story even though she choked up at several points. I guess I’m uptight about seeing people in a vulnerable state. I suppose my discomfort is probably part of my own mishigass.
All of us but Rosemary took a walk to the post office and back after dinner, and I returned to my room about an hour ago to read USA Today
I finally was able to get a little of the NPR station from Fayetteville, WUAF, at 91.3 FM on my Walkman. I had to hold it in one place and there was lots of static, but hopefully now I can listen to Morning Edition and All Things Considered.
Thursday, August 30, 2001
8:30 PM. I’m just back from an after-dinner walk to the library and back with 
Cedric and the sisters.
I made that walk three times today, and my foot is starting to hurt the way it did yesterday afternoon. (I skipped last night’s walk.)
With our dryer broken, Sandy got my laundry dried at Crescent’s yesterday, so that did not turn out to be a big problem – except that the colony dryer is broken for now.
Debbie got sick to her stomach this afternoon after having lunch out with Sandy, so for dinner we had pizza delivered. I had three slices – probably too much because my own stomach is hurting a little now, though I suspect it’s probably just the touch of indigestion.
Kvetch, kvetch.
I felt better last night and today, but I still decided to mail those abjectly apologetic letters I wrote to Elihu and Liz.
I typed out three pages of the story I handwrote in Chicago, “The Best Barnes & Noble in America.” It will probably be 9 or 10 pages, as I’m adding to it as I revise. I also wrote a little about Uncle Dave Tarras this morning.
Last night I slept well and had vivid dreams which I should have written down, for at least one of them could have turned into a story.
Around 2:30 PM, I took the trolley into town and read the main section of USA Today at the Local Flavor Café, the place across from the trolley depot where I’ve ordered iced tea several times before.
Just by riding on the trolley and walking around downtown, I’m getting to know some Eurekans by sight. I’ve enjoyed having conversations with them.
This evening we had a great conversation at dinner.
When I despaired of what I’m going to do after I leave Arkansas, Rosemary talked 
about how she’s always applying for visiting writer positions, putting herself forward for readings, etc.
Cedric told me – and the others agreed – that I should stop teaching adjunct classes in composition if I hate them that much. Instead, Cedric said, I need to make myself a job tethered to my special talents and abilities, similar to the way he has booked himself for 350 performance gigs a year for the next two years.
My friends are probably right.
While I’m here, I need to think a lot about my future. Yesterday I finally sat down and figured out that I owe about $46,000 to credit card companies.
Today’s USA Today editorial cartoon featured a guy saying the weak economy hasn’t slowed his spending, that he recently bought a snorkel – and in the next 
panel you see his house half-submerged in water labeled “personal debt.”
I still have about $25,000 in available credit, and I figured out that I make about $2,000 in payments each month. (I’ve already made out checks for all my accounts for September.)
I am probably paying about $10,000 in interest a year and I have about $9,000 in secured savings. So I currently have only about one-third or maybe even one-quarter of the debt I had when I went bankrupt in 1990. That’s not as bad as I thought.
At 1 PM, after evading the three big thunderstorms we’ve had since Wednesday, I walked to the library, where I got online for an hour.
Virginia wrote that she spent some of July in St. Luke’s, the Phoenix psychiatric 
hospital, as she had a bad relapse in July after coming home from Lake Forest.
Virginia’s not teaching now but is on disability. She said she’s so heavily medicated that she can go to school to do her email only when her husband drives her. Despite some recent poems being taken by magazines and one winning an award, Virginia said she’s afraid that her “chance will never come” for book publication.
It scared me that Virginia had to be locked up in a mental ward.
Once again, I realize that despite my nervous breakdown last fall and winter, I’m much better off than some people.
Kevin sent a mass email saying that he’s taking a break after five shows and will concentrate on his social life and relaxing when he’s not doing his day job at Warner Brothers Records.
Sat Darshan wrote that Kiran now needs dental surgery next week: “Another day off with no pay and more suffering for her.”
Teresa said that she and Tony just came back from the Fire Island house, which is in good shape after the renters left. Pam is still in Locust Valley, but they’re going to paint the apartment in Williamsburg in preparation for Pam’s moving there before school starts.
On our walk tonight, we could see Christ of the Ozarks brightly lit.
Friday, August 31, 2001
8 PM. Although I slept less than six hours last night – or so it seemed – I didn’t feel tired today.
Perhaps it was because I had pleasant dreams of being back in Brooklyn College or UF law school and walking through the campus, where I was constantly being greeted by friends. That was in contrast to reality at ASU, where I always felt isolated among the crowds.
Maybe being in a writers’ colony in this small town has given me back that sense of community that has always been important to me. I felt similarly when I was at Ragdale.
Since Debbie told me that she and the new housekeeper, her friend Cindy, wouldn’t be going to the supermarket till the afternoon, I decided to take the trolley downtown this morning.
I was waiting for it on the front porch when Cedric came out and chatted with me for a bit before he walked in the other direction to the library.
Today’s trolley was filled with elderly Cajuns from Lafayette, Louisiana, who teased me playfully, and we had lots of laughs. They seemed like such nice people.
One of the best parts of the experience of being at a colony – or so I tell myself – is meeting people and learning about daily life in a new place.
So I know the trolley driver on the Red route and the waitresses at the Local Flavor Café, where I again sat outside, overlooking the trolley depot and the rest of Main Street as I sipped my iced tea and read USA Today. (It’s not the New York Times, but it’s an okay read and a lot quicker.)
It made me remember a short-lived TV series from when I was a kid, Window on Main Street, a drama with Robert Young as a writer who returns to his small hometown after many years away.
I still have moments when I’m amazed that I’m 50. I don’t understand how the years passed so quickly. Part of the work I need to do now is adjust to my age.
Considering that I arrived just a week ago, I think I’ve adapted pretty well to Dairy Hollow and Eureka Springs.
My Stress Management Workbook says that even vacations create stress because they involve processing change, but I feel I’m adaptable and can learn to be flexible.
The book asked me to divide my life from age five into thirds and write down my biggest successes in each. My successes included getting published and doing well academically, but most important success I’ve had is making and maintaining friendships.
I listed as some of my strengths: my interest in people, places and ideas; adaptability and flexibility; intelligence and persistence; friendliness and a sense of humor.
What I need to do is use these qualities to make my life more successful; I have to give myself success.
I typed up another three pages of “The Best Barnes & Noble in America” today and hope to finish it by Sunday.
Early this afternoon I met Cindy, who seems very nice, and Debbie took us to Hart’s, where I bought $30 of my own groceries in addition to what they bought for the colony.
This evening Cindy made a nice dinner, with onion soup and meatloaf. I ate small portions of everything and finished early to prepare for my informal reading.
I read “But in a Thousand Other Worlds” and some of the pieces in Eating at Arby’s. Rosemary, Anne and Cedric seemed to enjoy it.
It turned out that in April, Rosemary had bought I Brake for Delmore Schwartz at the AWP convention in Palm Springs. I guess Leora Zeitlin was there for Zephyr Press.
Because I’ve been icing my tendon, which is sore, I didn’t join Cedric and Anne on their walk. Rosemary came to my studio, and I gave her my kitchen’s Mr. Coffee, which I don’t use.
My only immediate worry is what I will do after Cedric and the sisters leave. But I guess I’ll find company elsewhere or go more deeply into myself. August is ending well.