A Writer’s Diary Entries From Mid-April, 2001
Friday, April 13, 2001
10 PM. I’m writing this in Locust Valley, on the fold-out couch in Teresa and Paul’s den.
Jade is in the basement, and Pam, who picked me up at JFK, took off for Gurney’s spa in Montauk. She made the couch for me as a bed, but then said I should sleep in her room with Phoebe.
I am so discombobulated, not only by time (jet lag) and place – the bedroom upstairs that I used to live in is now clearly Pam’s room, and I hate to intrude – but by a realization that I don’t know who I am.
It’s so weird being here without Teresa and Paul. The “note” she sent me in Arizona that got returned because of misdirected address – her “51” looks like “57” – was a $400 check.
I’ve been through so much hell in Arizona this past year that it seems strange to be back at the place where last July I felt almost completely happy. Is it possible the last nine months of my life have been a dream?
On the plane they showed The Family Man, a Christmas movie in which hard-hearted businessman Nicolas Cage finds himself glimpsing the life he could have had if he hadn’t thrown over his girlfriend: a wife and kids in pedestrian New Jersey.
Last evening I talked to Josh for a while. I also got another Amazon order for Disjointed Fictions, and Kate Gale wrote a note wanting to know my availability for readings this summer. John Domini suggested the names of Chicago bookstores I could contact when I’m at Ragdale and said that maybe we could do a reading together.
Last night I kept falling back asleep to Daniel Goleman’s Emotional Intelligence tape, so I slept very well without Ambien. (An hour ago I took one, along with Klonopin.) In one dream I was flying, gliding through the air like Superman. Dad opened the door and I flew into my room.
That flying dream made me feel great, and it probably helped me today. I was anxious, but not pathologically so.
I didn’t suffer a panic attack or much of anything on the long plane ride, which nevertheless got us into JFK 45 minutes early, just as the sun was going down over the Rockaways. From the air, I could make out my grandparents’ old apartment buildings.
So I passed the test of knowing that I can fly practically cross-country without terror. I couldn’t have done that a month ago. Whenever I started feeling anxious, I monitored my breathing.
It was warm when we landed, but the 70° temperature I experienced at 7:20 PM is about the warmest it will be during this whole trip.
I’m now jet-lagged and weary from traveling.
At the airport, I got scared when my luggage didn’t come out till the end, and adding to my anxiety was that Pam wasn’t there.
I called Dad collect to say I’d gotten in, and then I heard Pam cry, “Richie!” Seeing her there felt wonderful. It was really good of Pam to pick me up.
As we pulled into the driveway, Jade was out walking the dogs, and it was so good to see her, too. I know this isn’t my home, but in the past I’ve lived here as though it was.
Now I feel like a guest – on the couch in the den – but that’s okay. I thought about sleeping in Pam’s room, and I still might, but for now I’m okay down here.
Upstairs, I petted Phoebe, who seems calmer. Hattie’s still around, smelling and drooling worse than ever, and Ollie is here, of course.
There’s a couch Teresa bought for Fire Island at the Stern’s going-out-of-business sale stuck in the door between the den and the living room.
I guess if it wasn’t for the Nassau Community College interview, I’d be in Apache Junction this weekend.
I need to remind myself of my life away from ASU and Mesa Community College, and away from Quail Creek Apartments, where I went through such a terrible ordeal.
Phoenix might be a place where I could live once I can get past this crisis of anxiety and depression. I don’t really think it’s over yet. Spoken like a true sufferer of generalized anxiety disorder, no?
I really don’t expect to sleep much tonight, but if I stay awake, I’ll have a lot of stuff to take in and a lot to think about.
What I’m thinking about now are other lives I’ve lived: the agoraphobic teenager; the popular and successful undergraduate; the young adjunct; the writer sending out his early stories to little magazines; the Broward Community College instructor; the media whiz and social commentator; the law student; the computer education maven; the writer at artists’ colonies; the newspaper columnist; the lover of Shelli, Ronna, Sean, Gianni and a couple of others; the loyal friend; the son and grandson.
Is this just jet-lagged gibberish?
From the perspective of what Pam called the Lionel Train village of Locust Valley, Long Island, my life in Mesa seems to have been – to use one of my early story series titles – scenes from a mirage.
Yet Arizona didn’t have to turn out the way it did, despite my body and brain chemistry and my propensity for anxiety.
I just yawned. Well, maybe I’ll get under the covers and see how I feel.
Saturday, April 14, 2001
8:30 PM. I slept better than I could have imagined. Tonight I won’t take an Ambien unless I have to. The rest that I got last night did me a world of good, and I didn’t feel jet-lagged at all.
The main thing that went wrong today was my own fault. When I went Enterprise to rent a car, they xeroxed my driver’s license, and when I went to the Glen Cove Starbucks, I realized I didn’t have it, that it must still be in their copier.
I should have immediately gone back to Enterprise, but I wanted to relax, drink my Passion iced tea and then go to have an extra house key made up for myself. After that, I stupidly just had to get a baked potato at the Wendy’s on Glen Street.
I had completely forgotten that Enterprise closes at noon on Saturdays! Now I’ll have to pick up my driver’s license on Monday at 7:30 AM before my interview at NCC.
It’s not as if I had planned to go to the college or anywhere else today or tomorrow. What I did do was put the car on the street, so Jade could get her car out of the driveway this evening.
I spent a couple of hours fixing up my crappy term paper for my Pre-Columbian Theater in the Americas course and sent it to Professor Giner.
It’s probably a C or a D paper, but I got it in before the deadline. After I sent it, I realized how bad it was: parts of it are out of logical order, and the transitions are abrupt.
At least I now can forget about that class except for the final exam and postings on the discussion board, where I’m way ahead of everyone else.
I know I’ll end up with a passing grade or even a B, which would be excellent. Who cares, anyway?
If Monday’s interview is a disaster, I figure it was meant to be. I’m just glad to be in this house. The fold-out couch in the den is quite comfortable, but I have no place for my things except some space in the dining room closet.
I realize that I’ll never live in this house again the way I did in the late spring and early summer of 1997, or parts of the following two summers, or even the three and a half weeks I was here last July.
It’s Teresa and Paul’s house, and of course Jade’s house and now maybe it’s even Pam’s house, but it’s definitely not mine.
Still, based on the past, I do feel “at home” here, and I’m okay with that because it’s time for me to move on.
Jade and I chatted for a while, and I kissed Cat when she pulled up. Cat is glowing in her fifth month of pregnancy, and she and I talked about living in Arizona. Although her husband loved working as a golf pro in Tucson, for Cat, it was “too far away” (from family).
Although I didn’t like driving without a driver’s license, I needed to go to Farmers Bazaar, where I bought about $40 worth of groceries.
I walked Hattie and crazy Phoebe this morning, fed all the dogs this morning and evening, and picked up several pieces of their shit throughout the day. Unlike Ollie, who’s perfectly content to sit by himself in the living room, the other two dogs are quite needy.
The trouble with staying in the den is that it has no clock except for the one on the computer. It has no TV, either, but I’ve got my Walkman radio and tape player, though I didn’t use it at all last night – not even when I awakened several times.
Today was about ten degrees warmer than normal and it must have hit 65°. But the weather will be downhill from here, with heavy rain expected on Monday.
I still feel chilly, though it’s nice not to be in such an arid climate as Phoenix for a change. I expect I’ll be wearing my sweater for the rest of my time here.
When I felt trembly at 5 PM, I had a Healthy Choice pizza, took my meds, had a couple of glasses of ginger ale and put on the TV and watched the last two-thirds of the Merchant Ivory production of Howards End, one of my favorite novels.
Forster was incredibly brilliant with plot, characters, every stroke of his pen – and this story really meant something. Part of it was about place, something that has become important to me over the last year.
Yet when I’m feeling well, I take my own “place” with me wherever I go. What does Milton say in Paradise Lost? “The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven” or something like that.
If I felt better, I could live in Phoenix, though I expect that if I have to stay there – if I have no other option – I will remain only a year until I feel strong and confident enough to apply to jobs in other parts of the country.
Soon this bad academic year will be a memory, just like my good academic year as a visiting Legal Studies professor at Nova Southeastern in 1999-2000.
In seven weeks, I’ll turn half a century old, and I’m starting to be able to put this bad year in perspective.
I feel like a survivor. I know I still have a lot to get through, including my bankruptcy, but I figure that somehow I’ll manage.
When I get back to Arizona, I’ve got appointments in therapy with Susan for five weeks, so I’ll have some psychological support.
The coming months probably won’t be easy, but I suspect the worst is over – and it’s very hard for a person with generalized anxiety disorder to make a statement like that. But I just know I will not fall apart again.
Monday, April 16, 2001
10 PM. Today was a long, stressful day, and I’m glad it’s over.
Last evening when they came home, both Pam and Jade said I needn’t have stayed around the house all weekend just because of the dogs.
I actually did drive around for about 45 minutes yesterday, but I was too concerned about not having my driver’s license to feel comfortable.
At least being with Pam and Jade last evening and tonight has been fun; I like having other people to chat and watch TV with.
I’ve been taking Ambien and sleeping okay, though this morning I was up long before 6:40 AM, when Pam, leaving for work, came in to check on me.
Instead of anxiety symptoms, my nervousness manifested itself in other ways before the interview. Making my bed turn back into a couch, I threw out my back, but at least I brought my ice pack with me to New York.
Because it was only 48° when I went out this morning, I felt cold wearing just a suit and tie, but at least I looked decent and didn’t rain.
After picking up my driver’s license at Enterprise, I drove via the Meadowbrook to the NCC campus, stopping off at McDonald’s for orange juice because it was so early.
It wasn’t hard to find either the particular parking lot that I had a pass for or Bradley Hall, home to the English Department.
In the office, Marjorie – whom I’d corresponded with – gave me and another job candidate a sample student paper to correct and comment on.
Eventually, the department chair, Bruce Urquhart, called me in to meet with him and six members of the search committee, including Susan Gubenat from the old days at Zephyr Press.
I never know how I come across in interviews. They also had me meet the Dean of Instruction, Dr. Becker. Our interview went so fast that I got the impression that she didn’t think much of me – or maybe she was preoccupied with something else.
(I got this second interview only because I’d come so far; the local candidates will see Dr. Becker only if they make the cut.)
I’ll always remember the lesson I learned from my interview with the search committee for Department of Educational Services at Brooklyn College in 1979 or 1980. Of all the committee members, it was Professor Gelernt – who I’d tangled with in the English Department when he was chair and I was an adjunct – who seemed actively hostile toward me.
But later, when the head of the search committee called to hire me – stupidly, I didn’t take the job because I’d already started teaching at Kingsborough – she said, “Professor Gelernt in particular will be very upset. He said you were by far the most qualified applicant.”
From that I learned that I’m a poor judge of how I come off during job interviews.
Because the NCC professors and their union are being offered great incentives to retire at the end of this academic year, Dr. Becker said they may have lots of vacancies to fill – but they won’t know how many until June or even later.
Anyway, after stopping off to get groceries, I came back home to eat lunch and get out of my lawyer pinstripes and into a crew-neck sweater, cargo pants and sneakers.
Marcella came to clean at 2 PM, and soon after that, I noticed the upper bathroom was locked. In my anxiety this morning, I must have done it.
I panicked a bit, but finally I called Dad because I remember that had happened to him and Mom. He said all I needed was to buy a $2 screwdriver to push into the doorknob hole, and that did the trick.
I read most of today’s Times (not the Arts section) and also the Wall Street Journal and the New York Post, which I found discarded on a table at the Glen Street Wendy’s when I went there at 3:30 PM.
Although I’m cold, I’m grateful it didn’t rain today.
I spoke to my parents about the interview and also told Teresa about it when she called from St. Maarten for Pam.
Tomorrow I’ll probably drive into Brooklyn, but I have to be here from about noon to 2 PM for the guys who are fixing the fence entrance to the end of this block.
I just took my fourth Triavil of the day, and I also took Ambien, as I think my back pain spasms are going to keep me awake.
In an email Sat Darshan wrote, “I was crazy to travel to India with a 2½-year-old.” Kiran had projectile vomiting when they were landing in Phoenix, and it must have been a bug because Sat Darshan herself threw up several times at work on Friday.
They both feel better now. Sat Darshan said she’ll tell me all about the trip when I get home, but from her tone, it seems that apart from traveling with a baby, going to India did Sat Darshan a world of good.
She spent the first night back in the U.S. in New York and said that for the first time, she found she missed living in the city at least a little bit.
Sat Darshan said Nirankar is supposed to move to Kentucky soon, but who knows? I told Sat Darshan I’d call her next weekend from Mesa.
Using Teresa’s computer, I posted to my Pre-Columbian Theater of the Americas class discussion board and responded to emails from Miriam and Mark Bernstein.
I also sent thank-you emails to Dean Becker, Professor Urquhart, Marjorie (who showed me around Bradley Hall after my last interview) and Susan Gubernat. The others on the search committee were just a blur to me.
Josh called tonight, and it doesn’t look as if I can see him tomorrow because of the fence guys, but Pam and Jade said I should go out later in the day if I feel like it. I’ll see how my back is doing and if I can sleep tonight.
It may end up that Wednesday will be the only day here that I’ll be able to go into Brooklyn, if not Manhattan.
But I now feel certain that I’ll be back in New York sometime this summer, either here in Locust Valley or in Brooklyn at Mark Savage’s apartment or Teresa’s parents’ house.
I do wonder if my disappearance has been noted at ASU, but I don’t care all that much. I’ll deal with the consequences when I return.
After Pam made us tea, I watched Boston Public with her until Josh phoned.
Well, the job situation at NCC is out of my hands now, and I’m not going to think about it. They’re interviewing at least thirty people, so this was no big deal for them.
To me, however, just traveling to New York and getting through the interview was a major step in my recovery.
Tuesday, April 17, 2001
6 PM. I just fed the dogs and had an Amy’s Non-Dairy Bean & Rice Burrito that burned the roof of my mouth.
My back still hurts – it’s inflamed, like last time – but I can get around. I’ve been using the icepack I brought with me and taking some aspirin.
I just spoke to Mom, begging off with a lie about another call coming in when she started talking nonsense. She was interested in my trip to our old neighborhood in Brooklyn and seemed shocked that nonwhites had “crossed the line” and were living on our old block and the nearby area.
Mom asked me a lot of stupid questions, but then she doesn’t really have much contact with anyone in the real world and hasn’t been to Brooklyn in many years.
For me, who was last in Brooklyn and Rockaway nine months ago, the changes are gradual and subtle.
One thing I keep forgetting to mention on this trip is that it’s been so comforting for me to hear people talking in the same nasal, whiny Long Guyland-Brooklyn-Queens accent that I have.
Knowing that I would have to be back here at noon for the fence guys, I left Locust Valley in a chilly drizzle at 8 AM, taking the familiar route of Glen Cove Avenue into the Meadowbrook into the Southern State to the Belt Parkway.
I got off at the Flatbush Avenue North exit and stopped at the Burger King at Flatbush and Utica – it was Buddy’s Fairyland Amusement Park in my childhood – where I had
orange juice and read the Times front page.
One story, part of a series on the 2000 census, contrasted the low-density Southern suburban sprawl around I-85 from Atlanta through the Carolinas with the high-density, more urban Western sprawl around cities like Phoenix. In the East Valley, suburbs like Mesa – with a population close to 400,00 – are real cities themselves.
Driving around the old neighborhood, I saw that Deutsch Pharmacy and the dentists Hersh are still there in their corner locations, but Avenue N now has computer stores, sushi bars and cell phone service centers.
The classic kosher deli seems dead now except for the Mill Basin Delicatessen on Avenue T, which I had found online, and the glatt kosher Cedarhurst deli, King David.
I drove north on Ralph Avenue and then west on Farragut Road to Brooklyn College, but yellow school buses blocked the streets as I drove onto Campus Road because there was some kind of event for kids at BC today.
Getting back on Flatbush Avenue, I took it all the way down to the Gil Hodges Marine Parkway Bridge, which is still under serious construction – there are only two lanes open – that’s expected to be over soon after some night closures.
I drove through the Rockaways, where some new church-sponsored two-family homes like they have in poor neighborhoods like East New York and the South Bronx look good. I could see myself living in Rockaway, as Richard Kostelanetz apparently still plans to do, buying property from the city itself.
Driving through the Five Towns to Peninsula Boulevard, I stopped for gas at a Sikh-owned station with a Muslim attendant. I should have continued straight ahead, but somewhat stupidly, I decided to drive east on Sunrise Highway through Baldwin and Freeport and lost time when I had to backtrack to Peninsula, whose left lane becomes Clinton Street and ultimately goes into Glen Cove.
Back here at 12:05 PM, I met with the fence guys but was unable to answer all their questions. However, the job got done, it looks okay, and I paid them with the $600 check.
At 3 PM, I drove to the Wendy’s in Greenvale at Northern Boulevard for a baked potato and then went across the street to Wheatley Plaza for some Calm (chamomile) tea at Starbucks, where I finished reading the Times. After getting a couple of items at Pathmark, I returned home to feed the dogs and myself.
Mark Savage emailed after returning from Los Angeles with a bad cold. I told him I think Janet is terrific.
Kamari Lee of the Valentine Publishing Group tentatively booked a reading/signing for me at A Different Light on Santa Monica Boulevard for the weekend of July 8-10. I agreed to do that and also possibly a joint reading with Kate Gale at the Midnight Special Bookstore on the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica the same weekend.
I had thought I’d be in New York then, but what the hell? I could probably stay at Grant and Libby’s even though they’ll be out of town on one of their road trips that weekend.
So now I don’t know when I’ll be back in New York, but I’ve got time; I apparently haven’t gotten definite word from Ragdale, though the late June dates are pretty certain. Los Angeles is an easy trip from Phoenix.
Sat Darshan said that Rebecca, Kiran and Trevor’s birth mother, has apparently gotten off heroin – though she seems to still smoke weed and drink. So does Nirankar, who sent Trevor out to stay with his birth mother and her husband, who’s stationed at Fort Knox.
Sat Darshan told me that when she referred to Ravinder’s mother in India as Kiran’s grandmother, Nirankar objected.
That leads me to worry that Sat Kaur was right when she said that Nirankar and her sister saw Sat Darshan and Ravinder as placeholder parents to raise Kiran but not really take them away from her birth family.
In Kentucky, Trevor will live with Nirankar, but near Rebecca. Good riddance.
Meanwhile, Gurudaya says she’ll move out and finish Phoenix College through loans. Sat Darshan thinks that’s stupid, but then she won’t have to referee arguments between Gurudaya and Ravinder, with whom she had a nice reunion in New York on that one day she was there.
In his latest email, Timmy in Tennessee sounded a bit schizophrenic, which is what I’ve been afraid of happening. Maybe he’s manic-depressive. He says he’s been trembling a lot.
I don’t have any voicemails or emails from ASU or MCC students or faculty.
Today’s paper says that the FDA has approved Paxil for generalized anxiety disorder, which seems weird to me since it only worsened my anxiety, though it did help with the depression.
I haven’t had diaphoresis or flatulence from anxiety in the past week, really. The Triavil and Klonopin have helped my anxiety, with Ambien helping me to sleep at night. I’ll see if I can get away with not taking it tonight.
My back hurts, but so does the left side of my neck and my left upper thigh. I haven’t exercised in a couple of days. Perhaps, as Josh suggested on the phone, this mattress – I didn’t bother to make up the couch today – is too soft for me.
Josh said he took my advice and went to the U.S. State Department website. It seemed to answer his question about whether getting his son a Social Security number will give the boy the option of choosing American citizenship when he’s an adult.
I’m going to put the laundry in the dryer now. Pam and Jade won’t be home till late tonight.