Someone With a Pen: Richard Grayson’s Diary

 

Monday, January 1, 2001

8 PM. I’ve been feeling pretty well – about the way I did before the depression and anxiety slowly grabbed hold of me in September and October and finally took over my life. But I’m cautious. I felt better after a couple of weeks on Paxil, too.

And of course I’ve had the luxury of not working, of not getting up early and going to a job every morning, of not grading papers and figuring out how to occupy class time, of not worrying about my own disappointing graduate courses.

Still, I’ve learned that if the depression and anxiety do return when I start teaching and attending classes, then I definitely need to do something else with my life.

Coming to Arizona didn’t cause my depression although some bad things happened here. But I’m okay now, and I’m continuing to take each day on its own.

I did watch the ball fall at Times Square just at the start of the local 10 PM news broadcast, and I fell into a delicious sleep till 7:30 AM. I still have some anxiety dreams, but the sweaty palms and shaking are gone. I’ll call Dr. Brubaker and make an appointment for next week; I’ll be seeing Susan next Thursday.

I finished reading Bobos in Paradise and have just begun Dave Eggers’s A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, which I can tell is absolutely brilliant just from the introductory material.

Like Eggers’s writing, my best stories and essays are elliptical, self-referential, recursive and funny. I think I could have gotten further in my literary career if I had been published more carefully and if I ever had the support of a New York trade house. But who knows?

Tonight, after I decided that “Silicon Valley Diet” was too long for the Unity Fest 2001 gay play festival (they have preference was 15-25 minutes and no more than 45 minutes), I abandoned it in favor of a play adaptation of “Cuban-Chinese Restaurants,” which I finished in a few hours and which I will send off to their Park Slope P.O. box tomorrow. The play’s got a black and white gay couple and a small part for the Cuban-Chinese waiter, so it will meet the Unity Fest’s multicultural aspect.

Boy, it would be great if I won and got to see my play done in New York City in June. However, for me, just writing the play is a kind of triumph.

Well, I successfully set up my new VCR so that it taped Wai Lani Yoga and Body Electric from KAET/8 at the 6 AM hour. I guess this semester I’ll be doing my exercising in late morning or in the afternoon.

There wasn’t much email. Jen said she’d have lunch with me later this week, and Lynn in Minnesota said that if I like skinny Asian guys, I would have loved the Chinese-Vietnamese guy he went out with last night and had great sex with.

Maybe I need to go to gay bars. The online stuff isn’t working. Guys just disappear, and interest wanes quickly – on my part as well as theirs. I don’t know why I feel a need for intimacy now. I wrote about this to Mark Bernstein.

I also wrote to Pam in Locust Valley – her ex-boyfriend Michael, who worked on the Gore campaign, has been with her – and a few others.

I went over to Starbucks at 10:45 AM and read much of the Times over a small iced tea, which doesn’t seem to harm me. In the afternoon, I lay down for a little while and actually fell asleep.

I continue to upload New York Times articles for my English 102 classes, particularly the one at Mesa Community College, where my only text is a spiral book doing research.

I feel I have more freedom this term because I know I won’t be back, and English 102 is a little looser than English 101 – although I’ll miss the English 105 class’s super-bright students.

I don’t know what to do with my grad classes, but I need to have six credits.

Tom and Annette are in Germany now. Paul and Thomas supposedly flew to New York today and I’m not sure when Teresa is coming back from San Francisco.

I plan to read for a while although I’m already sleepy without even having taken my 200 mg. of Serzone yet.

Since I went shopping and did laundry yesterday, I didn’t have many chores to do today.

I put out cat food and water every day, and the birds – sparrows, mostly – come for it, as I suspect that big furry cat does at night.

I sent my former NSU student Sheila Alu, a $10 contribution for a campaign for the Sunrise City Commission.

At this point it’s an open question how 2001 will go for me. Right now I don’t want to deal with either the past or the future.

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Saturday, January 6, 2001

10 PM. I did better today than yesterday in getting out of the house and doing stuff, so even though I still have stress-related garbage in the back of my mind, I’ve managed to keep it from coming forward.

And right now, having taken my Serzone (200 mg.), I’m kind of drowsy. I’ve spent the last 75 minutes reading tomorrow’s New York Times online: the Week in Review and some of the major stories.

It ain’t the fun of having the physical Sunday Times on Saturday night the way I could get it in New York City and often in Fort Lauderdale, but it’s something.

I slept okay though I seem to have one upsetting dream each night. Last night I had one in which I had pus and open sores all over my torso.

I slept till 7:30 AM. Of course, this coming term I’m going to have to be in front of a classroom most days at that hour. But I guess it’s okay to hibernate a little before I have to deal with chronic sleep deprivation.

Well, maybe I’ll be able to nap in the afternoons. I am not looking forward to teaching, and I keep putting off making up my syllabi and looking at my texts.

Out of the house at 10 AM, I mailed a bunch of letters (the new postal first class letter rate is 34¢) and return my library books. Another reader of the Arizona Republic criticized my “PC” attitude on the bronzes in downtown Mesa. Of course, they’re all right-wing assholes.

Then I took the service road of Loop 101 to Ray Road and drove past I-10 to the Ahwatukee Barnes & Noble, where I read today’s Times and reports on the teetering economy in the Wall Street Journal and Time.

Yesterday’s unemployment number remained at 4% although it seems as if layoffs, store closings and shutdowns of Internet startup companies are announced every day. I’ve given up predicting the economy, though of course I’d like to see a recession like those in the 1970s and 1980s.

Bad economic times lead a lot of people back to college again – which is probably how I got hired full-time at Broward Community College in the early 1980s.

At the Wendy’s across the street from the bookstore, I read a few pages of one of the books for my grad class in Press Freedom Theory as I munched my baked potato.

Jen called after I got home, and I went over to her and Paul’s new apartment off 48th Street past McDowell in northeast Phoenix.

I drove with Jen to downtown Scottsdale to get some art supplies she needed after agreeing to do some watercolors for someone’s new office.

It was relaxing to spend three hours watching her as she worked quietly, turning out decent stuff without a lot of effort.

Jen figures she won’t graduate until December, and then shop be out of Arizona really quick, probably back home in St. Louis.

Paul’s parents, both of whom are doctors, bought a retirement home in Vegas, but they still have their house in St. Louis.

Jen and I talk easily, whether it’s kvetching about ASU or whatever, and I feel bad that I didn’t see her when I was really sick.

She suggested I could drive to Nogales and cross the border into Mexico to get my meds for a lot cheaper, the way she does.

Home at 6 PM, I became anxious because my car is making a grinding sound when the steering wheel turns. I know there’s probably something seriously wrong with it, but Mom warned me not to get upset.

She said Dad could drive me (or drive here and let me drive) to North Phoenix to see Dr. Brubaker on Monday if I need to. Mom also assured me that they will help me buy a new used car if my car is near death.

I downloaded from Driveway.com some of the stories I collected for the book that Alice sent around three years ago. I’m thinking I could get together another print-on-demand or e-book just for the hell of it.

Of course, it would get even less attention than The Silicon Valley Diet did, but it would just be a simple hobby and I wouldn’t expect anything but a physical object. We’ll see how I feel about it.

Teresa’s parents sent me a Christmas card, hoping that things are working out here, telling me that at least I’m better off here than enduring the winter snows of New Yok City.

They ended the note by saying, “Remember, you can spend the summer in Brooklyn.” That would actually be great. Even without air conditioning, Williamsburg beats the 115° heat of Phoenix.

I didn’t get my unemployment check at my parents’ house, so I’m a little nervous about that. There’s other stuff bugging me, but I won’t go into it.

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Sunday, January 7, 2001

9 PM. My hands are sweaty again, and I guess I’ve been more anxious as school approaches. But as Marc said when I called to wish him a happy birthday (he’s 46 and just had a quiet day off), that should tell me that I don’t really like what I’m doing.

I try not to get upset about the problems of the car, the computer, the toilet – they’re just things – and I try not to obsess about the future: where I’m going to live or work, how I’m going to survive financially, how I can afford another car if I need one.

I did send out some application packets for jobs at Nassau Community College, Pratt and Southampton College of LIU. The latter two are for creative writing teachers. I’ll apply for some more jobs, I guess, but I ran out of CVs and will have to print out and xerox more.

I still haven’t done my English 102 syllabi, and I need to get them done this week – at least the one for ASU.

Last night I slept okay, but I was a bit restless. Now that school is coming, I have more on my mind. Of course, that includes the grinding noise my car continues to make when I turn.

I need to learn how to deal better with unexpected anxiety and stress. I haven’t looked at the meditation and anxiety workshop online for a while.

With Teresa’s parents offering me their house in Williamsburg, I feel I have some place to escape to this summer, and just tonight Libby repeated her invitation to come to Los Angeles whenever I feel like it.

When I called, I spoke first to Wyatt and then to Libby and Grant. They and another couple were just coming back for the adult celebration of Libby’s birthday at a restaurant while the four kids (Wyatt, Lindsay and their friends, the couple’s two kids, who are in their classes) had stayed home.

Libby said it was good to see her father in Safford. She feels he paid too heavy a price for leaving the family 30 years ago. Of course, he just should have told Libby’s mother and his kids how unhappy he was and how he needed to divorce her and get away rather than just disappearing.

At this point, her father is totally retired, but he’s mentally sharp and manages on his own in the trailer with the help of Meals on Wheels and his breathing device. Of course, he loved seeing his grandchildren.

I got a phone message from Alice, but I decided to email her back because I knew she would be out today. I also wrote to Teresa and replied to a letter Timmy sent me from a cybercafe. He quoted lyrics from a Fiona Apple song that he plays going to bed because “it’s about nobody wanting to date you because you’re difficult, and it makes me feel less alone.”

I told Timmy that if I were in Tennessee, I would definitely be dating him – if he’d have an older guy like me. I do feel bad that every one of the Yahoo ad prospects just lost interest, but it conforms with my previous experiences.

I don’t think it’s me as much as it is that guys are ambivalent when they answer personal ads. Some are just amusing themselves, and everyone seems not to want to appear too interested.

Once school starts, I’m probably going to get too caught up in my work to want to see guys even though I know it would be a mistake to avoid having a social life.

This morning at 10:30 AM, I was at Borders, reading the parts of the Sunday Times that I didn’t get to online. Later at home, I read the Magazine’s issue on the people who died in 2000; I still haven’t looked at Education Life or the Book Review.

My feet hurt a little after a weekend when I exclusively wore the new orthotics, but it’s nothing serious so far.

Another thing I did today was to write a Brooklyn College librarian and archivist, asking for advice on what to do with my diaries. I guess I’ve thrown out all my “papers” – drafts of manuscripts, letters from editors and publishers and other writers.

I remember back in the 1970s, I kept a scrapbook of little magazine acceptances and copies of the small checks ($10, $35) back when the NEA gave lit mags money to pay contributors. I have lots of xeroxed reviews and clippings.

I just don’t know how to react to my writing career (my temptation is always to put the word in quotation marks) but I know I’m a minor writer. Where once I could have gotten more attention, it ain’t the 1920s or the 1950s anymore. Look at Baumbach and Spielberg, for example.

Of the Fiction Collective people, Russell Banks and Mark Leyner are stars (Jen said she just discovered Leyner and loves him), Sukenick and Federman are known in a scholarly way, and Mark America and Cris Mazza are hip and young.

But what happened to Mimi Albert, Elaine Kraf, Seymour Simckes or even George Chambers or Leon Rooke? Why should I fare any better than them?

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Wednesday, January 10, 2001

10 PM. I finished A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, an incredibly good read. I should be reading more books. But once school starts, I don’t have time.

Well, I’m no Dave Eggers or David Foster Wallace or David Sedaris or Michael Chabon – to name other white-guy writers I admire – but I think I still have some stories, fictional or not, to tell.

I need to convince myself that anyone would care to listen, and that’s hard after seeing what happened with my last book. Sustaining my “career” as a writer has been so hard.

Perhaps it’s my lack of confidence or my laziness. Over the years I’ve gotten just enough encouragement not to quit but not enough to go full steam ahead.

Twenty years ago this week, I left New York City for Florida. But just before I left, I got a book contract from Kevin Urick and White Ewe Press, and I had like 100 published but uncollected stories.

I still have enough to do one more book, maybe a print-on-demand. If I had time I’d pull a manuscript together.

This morning I woke up at 7:30 AM, the same time when I’ll have to be in my classroom next week and for the entire spring term.

I think I’m going to need an alarm clock for the first time in my life. Actually, it might be better if I rely on one rather than my nervous internal clock.

Much of the morning I was feeling slightly shaky and palm-sweaty. I was obsessing a bit about my decision to teach again this semester as well as all the other decisions I’ve made that got me where I am.

More and more, I’ve begun to think about leaving Phoenix, and while I won’t make my decision for a while, I’ll be happier if that’s my default mode.

Of course, that fits my pattern of everything being temporary, a pattern which hasn’t worked out very well.

I was at both campuses today. At ASU, I got the key to my new office, which I’ll share with John and another faculty associate. Today they were painting it. The student aides at ASU will copy my syllabus by next Tuesday, I was told.

I went over to the Computer Center to check email, although I later discovered I could access it by dialing 1-800-MY-YAHOO and hear my messages read in a monotone voice by a computer.

I also learned by calling Bank of America that the $5,400 or so from the student loan is going into my checking account today. Maybe school won’t be so bad.

At MCC, I feel more comfortable because the smaller community college seems more homey. I again used the computer, and I bought my textbook at the bookstore since I’m embarrassed to ask for another one after losing the book they gave me.

I called Teresa because I haven’t heard from her in weeks. She said Paul’s British cousins’ kids, Georgie and Thomas, have been on the computer nonstop, so she can barely go online these days.

Teresa’s not happy with them being there, and Paul is even more unhappy – so much so that instead of hanging out in the house, he spent the entire weekend plowing and sanding the streets of nearby towns after a big snowstorm, even though he doesn’t really need the extra cash.

The Brits have tired Teresa out, and she’s annoyed with them at this point. She said that Renee had the nerve to say, “I think it’s very odd that Richie was living here before and now Pam is living here.”

Teresa is still in the middle of Pam and Norton, whose therapist called and started asking Teresa why Pam left Norton and if Teresa thanks Pam will go back to him.

“Doesn’t that break the psychologist code of ethics?” Teresa asked. Sounds like it to me. Like Teresa, I feel bad that Norton is in so much pain, but Pam’s never going back to him, especially now that Michael her ex-boyfriend, is being such a sweetheart.

Teresa says they’ve now got too many cars – mostly Hondas – in the driveway. She needs to get rid of the minivan, which has little use for now that no one’s catering expensive parties.

All the stock market losses have made people and companies pare back, the way they did after the 1987 crash. Even if it’s not a real recession, this downturn seems like it’s going to be bad.

Crad wrote me again, mostly all about his investments in mining stocks, which I’m not particularly interested in. Crad now seems to be more of an investor than a writer.

David Kirby and Barbara Hamby sent me a nice Christmas card with funny photos of themselves.

I got a message from CompUSA. They have to send my hard drive back to Compaq to be replaced, so I guess I’ll lose all my word processing files. But I have some saved on Driveway.com and can recover most of the other important ones from the Web.

When I get the computer back, I’ll have to reinstall Prodigy Internet and other programs, like my modem and printer drivers. Bummer – but the best way to look at it is as a fresh start.

Of course, Arizona was supposed to be a fresh start for me, but it came at the time in my life when I never wanted a fresh start less. A year ago I was so happy working as a visiting professor of legal studies at Nova. I miss South Florida.

Tomorrow I have a session with Susan, and I’m determined not to let myself succumb to negative thinking.

Mom called to say there was another letter in the paper about my bronzes column, but this time a Chandler woman supported me, expressing amazement that another white person had the same misgivings she did.

To attract four or five letters is really good for a little column in a regional edition of a newspaper the size of the Republic. I didn’t expect it. Maybe something else that’s unexpectedly good will happen in the next few months.

After watching TV (Dawson’s Creek, West Wing) for two hours and finishing Sunday’s Times Book Review and the Education Life supplement, I decided that I should continue to enjoy my freedom for the next five days.