A Writer’s Diary Entries From Early July, 2001
Sunday, July 1, 2001
8 PM. After sleeping well last night, I woke up at 5 AM, basically raring to go. Whatever that was the last few days – a virus or just psychosomatic – it seems to be gone.
I still feel a little weird, but I’ve been eating weirdly (for me) and haven’t been exercising. I’m pretty sure by now that I want to go back to Phoenix and try to make a life there. So I won’t be going to the interview in Waterbury.
I’ll have to figure out where to find my place in Arizona, so I’ll be back there sometime this month. I don’t expect to get the job at Nassau Community College, though certainly I would take it. But it’s not in the cards.
I guess I’d still like to eventually live in Los Angeles rather than come back East again.
I left here for Manhattan at 7:30 AM, and there was so little traffic that I was at Josh’s a little after 8 AM after parking on Fourth Avenue and East 10th Street.
It had been almost a year since I’d last been in Manhattan, and while I’d love to spend more time there, today I tried to take in everything I could during my brief time on the streets.
Josh looked fine, though now his hair is almost as grey as it is blond. We went out to Veselka, where I had buttermilk pancakes; for some reason, I was famished despite having my usual breakfast at home in Locust Valley.
Josh showed me the document the German consulate gave him to sign, and I can understand why he won’t sign it. We talked about his son and the kid’s future.
I predicted that no matter what happens, the boy would look up Josh when he became an older teenager, perhaps because he’ll be wanting a place to stay in New York City.
Gabrielle may turn the kid against Josh, but she’s kind of a nut, and the kid will probably see that at a certain age.
Josh told me about various friends.
James’s mother, Elaine Hughes, died of cancer in California.
Joyce Horman moved into her mother-in-law’s penthouse to help Elizabeth before she died; Joyce is angry that Pinochet, 85, will never be brought to justice.
Leslie Goff put Josh in her new book on IT careers, where he’s quoted and used as an example of a career-switcher.
From Veselka, we walked over to the Starbucks on Cooper Square and sat outside for a while before going back to Josh’s place.
It was good to see him, just as it was good to see Alice next. We chatted for a couple of hours in her apartment, where she made me lunch.
Alice’s business as a literary agent has been good lately, though she’s cut back to working four and a half days, taking off Friday afternoons the way most people in publishing do in the summer.
At 55, she’ll go to four days, and at 60, she’ll go to three days, but Alice says she will never retire.
She told me about her trip to Paris with her 72-year-old friend Mary, who’s “still a dynamo”; about a weekend at the Shelter Island estate “straight out of Martha Stewart” that belongs to friends in their late fifties, a recently retired couple; and about an upcoming lesbian wedding in Boston where one of the brides is Alice’s client.
Alice is as irrepressible and dynamic as ever. It’s amazing what a life she made for herself despite coming from a poor family with deaf parents. Unfortunately, I’ve never had her single-mindedness or drive.
Alice seems to have adjusted to Andreas’s death, though I never doubted she would. She and her brother (who, thankfully, has returned from Yemen in one piece) are selling their co-op near the World Trade Center while mortgage rates are low.
Alice thinks I should try to write for a newspaper, and maybe she’s right. Now I just have to convince a newspaper of that. My ideal job would be as a columnist, but nobody gets those jobs without paying their dues for many years.
We discussed the victory of writers in the Supreme Court’s New York Times v. Tasini case, after which newspapers have to take freelancers’ articles off Lexis/Nexis if they’re not going to pay them.
Alice turned down being in the Times’s book of Metropolitan Diary contributions because they weren’t paying her. Of course, I’m the blockhead who has never written for money.
I wanted to see more of Manhattan and Queens, so I drove home via Midtown and the Queensboro Bridge rather than returning home over the Williamsburg Bridge.
I got home at 3 PM, just ahead of the violent thunderstorms, which have brought an end to the hot, humid weather. A prospective buyer came to the house at 4 PM, but after I showed her around, the woman wasn’t interested.
Pam went into the city today. She tried to get into The Producers, but Nathan Lane was out, so she saw Chicago instead.
Paul came home from Fire Island soon after Pam arrived. He said that Diane is devastated by her mother’s death.
Paul expressed annoyance that the town of Islip, which governs Fair Harbor, had to have a public toilet installed because the beach is owned by the federal government and the lifeguards come from the state.
According to Paul, the public toilet has brought large crowds of rowdy day trippers, who have changed the character of the beach and the town.
If I feel okay tomorrow, I’m driving to Philadelphia. It will be the longest drive I’ve undertaken since my anxiety and depression began, but I think I’ll be okay. If I could drive over the bridges today without blinking an eye, I’m sure I can handle my anxiety driving over the Verrazano Bridge.
Monday, July 2, 2001
11 PM. I’m in the third-story bedroom at Ronna and Matthew’s house in Jenkintown. Chelsea and Abigail are still wide awake and raring to go, while I am dead tired.
Last night I took an Ambien so I would sleep, and I slept well again, but not enough because I got up at 5 AM for the second day in a row.
This room is much more comfortable than the den in Locust Valley; I have my own bathroom and privacy, but I’m also part of a family I like.
This morning I spoke to Teresa, who said she was coming home to get something to wear for the graveside service for Diane’s mother at Beth David Cemetery in Elmont.
I left the house at 9:30 AM, getting the dogs settled (Phoebe in, Hattie out) and exercising a little before I showered (in the upstairs bathroom, because Jade was still in the house) and dressed.
My trip started badly after I missed two turns, and then I was stuck for 40 minutes at one spot on the LIE before the Cross Island Parkway exit.
It was 11 AM by the time I got to the Flatbush Avenue exit of the Belt Parkway. I stopped in my old neighborhood to use the men’s room (boys’ room) in Toys-R-Us and to get gas at the Mobil station on Avenue U by Kings Plaza.
The Belt moved slowly when I got back on it, and I again needed to find a bathroom, which I did, at a McDonald’s on Hylan Boulevard on Staten Island. I was feeling a little dizzy, so I bought Bonine and Drixoral at a nearby CVS.
As I drove through Staten Island and onto the New Jersey Turnpike, I ate the sweet potato and cheese sandwich I’d made at home.
Early today, it was very cool – actually chilly at 56° – and it never really warmed up, so I wore long pants and took my sweatshirt.
It surprised me when I weighed only 143 on the scale in the men’s room of the Molly Pitcher rest stop, where I got some TCBY frozen yogurt. I thought I was heavier than that, but I also weighed 144 at the rest stop on the Pennsylvania Turnpike.
Driving south on Old York Road, I stopped at the Shorday’s supermarket and bought a broccoli-cauliflower-carrot mix and V-8, which I had in the parking lot.
Then I stopped at Barnes & Noble, where I read most of today’s New York Times as I drank the iced tea I bought there. On their pay phone, I called Arizona, telling Dad not to send my suit or dress clothes to Long Island.
I still might decide to go to the interview at Naugatuck Valley Community College in Waterbury, but I doubt I’ll change my mind given the way I feel.
The coming year in Arizona won’t be like the last one. As Sat Darshan said, I’ll find a job somewhere. I’ll also try to take some Internet courses again so I can keep up my student health insurance and maybe the student loan.
If my new car isn’t working right, I’ll fix it or I’ll sell it, and I’ll stay at my parents’ until I’m settled – unless, of course, I unexpectedly get one of the full-time positions at Nassau Community College.
I got to the house on Arden Road around 4 PM, and the girls were excited to see me.
The last time I was here, Abigail was two years old, and now she’s so big and talks a mile a minute, though I sometimes find her speech a little hard to grasp. (She has the same problem Marc and Alice had pronouncing R’s when they were kids: I thought she said bones when she meant burns.)
Chelsea is still thin and short, but she’ll be 8 in October. I played a lot with both girls, singly and together. Abigail made me smile when she asked if I remembered the last time I was here, “when you were a kid,” and how Ronna took our photo at the windowsill.
For a while, Chelsea and I played chess (she calls it “chest”), which Matthew’s brother, an expert, taught her, and she usually beat me.
I let Abigail win a made-up version of the game, as she captured all my pieces anyway she could. We read an Arthur story (the PBS boy aardvark) and played some games on the computer installed in this room.
Even when Matthew came home, the girls barely wanted to leave the computer.
I gave Ronna and Matthew a copy of The Silicon Valley Diet, and I skimmed Matthew’s new book, Bacterial Meningitis, published by Lippincott. It’s designed as the standard reference book on the disease and aimed at clinical practitioners.
Although it looked interesting, some of it was beyond me, though I could understand a lot because it’s so well-written.
Matthew said it took him years to finally learn how to avoid procrastinating so that it got finished, but the procrastination proved beneficial because it meant that he could include the newest developments in the field, like the latest vaccines.
Ronna had her checkup today, and her doctor wants to do an ultrasound of her breast, though there’s nothing urgent.
Ronna told me she’s eating soy products because she’s perimenopausal. But she and Matthew both look the same, and Ronna said I don’t look much different, either.
Ronna’s mother went back to Orlando this weekend after being here since May, except for a few weeks at Billy’s house in Shippensburg and a week at her brother Shimon’s house in Maryland. Although I’m sorry I missed her, I’m glad she left me her room.
I’ll spend tomorrow with Ronna and the girls. Chelsea hurt her foot and leg when she fell in day camp today, and Abigail has to get her fourth-year checkup and booster shots tomorrow.
I’m less tired now than when I started writing. I can still hear Ronna reading to Abigail downstairs.
Thursday, July 5, 2001
9 PM. My anxiety melted away yesterday as I watched TV: first, the coverage on the local ABC affiliate of the Independence Day festivities taking place in Philadelphia, then C-SPAN’s continuing series on current Supreme Court justices, which I’m still watching and have just turned off to write this.
A few hours ago, Ronna called from her brother-in-law’s and said they wouldn’t be home until late. I fell asleep during a program on Frederick Douglass, whom I dreamed about.
I woke up at 3:30 AM after only four hours of sleep last night. I couldn’t return to bed, but I wasn’t anxious or obsessive; I just felt wide awake. So I listened to my relaxation tapes, and just when I thought I was up for good, I fell back into light dreams from 5 AM till 6:40 AM.
After I exercised to the 7 AM Body Electric on WYBE, the secondary PBS station here, I went downstairs to eat breakfast and then got back into bed for a while – until Chelsea came upstairs to see how I was doing.
While Ronna took her to camp, I stayed with Abigail and read her the start of the Pokémon book I bought yesterday. She loves Ash, the hero Pokémon trainer, and some of the other Pokémon.
I finished reading the book to her tonight before dinner. It’s badly written, but at least now I know who Pikachu, Charizard, and the other little monsters are.
Today was mostly cloudy and cool. I went out at 10 AM to Barnes & Noble for an hour and read most of the Times quickly as I sipped iced tea.
At 11 AM, Andrea came over with Gabe, her four-year-old, for lunch. Then he stayed with us while Andrea subbed in an ESL class at Beaver College; she’s been adjuncting, and we swapped stories about the adjunct life.
Diane, the Caribbean cleaning woman, was working here all day, and the plumber and gardeners came this afternoon, so Ronna was pretty busy.
I went outside for a while with Emily and Gabe. It’s fun to watch four-year-olds interact and play together. They blew bubbles and sprayed plants, the air, and each other with water from spray cans.
At times they were really cute, but they are also querulous – if that is a word I can use with such little kids. As a non-parent, I’m amazed at the patience parents have.
For example, when we picked up Chelsea at the Friends School summer camp, there was a whole to-do about which of the three kids would sit in the child seat (Abigail’s), the booster seat (Chelsea’s), and who’d have to settle for a seat belt.
To me, it seemed pointless to move everyone from their original seats because the ride is like five minutes (and it would be shorter if Ronna weren’t such a cautious and even timid driver).
But kids have no sense of time, and even I recognized that the seats represented a kind of power play for each of the children.
When we got home, I felt exhausted and lay down for 20 minutes, going downstairs only when Andrea returned so I could be social.
After Andrea and Gabe left, I called Arizona unemployment (they call it “reemployment”) and waited a long time to establish a claim now that my Florida benefit year is over.
If I thought Florida was backward compared to Northern states, Arizona is worse. My weekly benefit amount is only $205, and I have to call in for my waiting week this Sunday.
Checking my email by phone, I discovered that Randy Miletsky of Nova asked me to call to arrange an interview for the position of Director of Developmental Writing.
I guess I’ll end up going to Fort Lauderdale for the interview. I’ll phone Randy tomorrow and see when they want me to come. It will be a big expense, but I would like to live in South Florida again.
I doubt Nova will pay my way, so I’ll probably end up at a hotel – or maybe I could stay at Frank’s condo in The Moorings while he’s at Aunt Sydelle’s.
The job doesn’t pay all that much, but maybe I could supplement it by teaching adjunct classes. I’ll see. I suppose I can bring myself up to speed on developmental writing pedagogy.
I’d certainly rather be at Nova in familiar South Florida than in Connecticut and maybe even on Long Island at Nassau Community College, but I really don’t look forward to moving across the country again.
Still, I know a full-time job would have good health benefits and other stuff, and as Tom wrote to me in an email, I really seemed to get along with the people at Nova, where I was very happy.
I don’t think I’d be too nervous to interview in South Florida, and I might as well make this a Grand Tour of Los Angeles, Chicago, New York, Philadelphia, and Miami, as I may end up stuck in Arizona for a long time.
When I spoke to him, Dad removed at least one worry from me because he said my car is driving well again after he put in high-test gas and liquid gas in it, clearing out the bad gas.
Well, I figure that if I’m meant to return to South Florida, the Nova job will come through. I’ll need to buy a dress shirt, shoes, and a tie – or have my parents send them to me. But I’m not sure I need a sports jacket in South Florida in July.
I suppose this is turning out to be an interesting time in my life.
Friday, July 6, 2001
10 PM. Abigail is still in my room, playing the Arthur CD-ROM game. It never would have occurred to me that four-year-olds stay up this late, but then Matthew comes home at 7:30 PM or later, and we don’t have dinner around here until after that.
I called Randy Miletsky (who also went to Brooklyn College and comes from Canarsie), who told me that Dr. John Chaffin, the Acting Director of Student Services, would call me to arrange an interview sometime next week. I expect Dr. Chaffin will probably phone on Monday when I’m en route to Locust Valley.
Checking online, I see that I can get a plane to Fort Lauderdale without spending a fortune. I called my parents and told them to send dress pants, shoes, a dress shirt and a tie by Express Mail. Dad said he’d call his sister and Frank and see if I could stay at Frank’s condo.
Anyway, right now I don’t feel any anxiety – though that will undoubtedly change as time passes. Still, I’d like to enjoy the rest of my stay in Philadelphia.
Unfortunately, I still have been getting up around 5:30 AM even though my bedtime is after 11 PM.
But I didn’t feel tired today after the morning, when I watched cartoons with Abigail while Ronna took Chelsea to camp. (Chelsea would arrive there about an hour late, after the most incredible performance of dawdling I’ve ever witnessed).
Able to go out for a few hours, I read the New York Times over iced tea at Barnes & Noble in Willow Grove and had my usual lunch of a baked potato and salad bar at Wendy’s. Also on my own, I went to Kinko’s and wrote to Tom and to Sat Darshan, who said that driving around a car without air-conditioning in Phoenix is unbearable.
Early this afternoon, I got a haircut at Supercuts, groceries at Shorday’s, a new phone card at CVS, and various items at Rite Aid.
Today was another glorious day with a high that didn’t even reach 80°, low humidity, and a blue sky with cumulus clouds that looked like a picture in a storybook.
I arrived back here in time to go with Ronna and Abigail to pick up Lindsay at the camp she says she hates, even though she looks pretty happy at the end of a day there.
We first went to Glenside, where I’d earlier gotten lost on my own, to get Chelsea’s piano lessons book from a little music store, Marcella’s.
Then we went across the street, where, near Rizzo’s, a famous pizza joint, Chelsea and Abigail got homemade ice cream rated “Philly’s best” at Dreams Ice Cream.
From there, we went to Curds & Whey, a nearby catering place/restaurant food shop on Old York Road, where the girls (like the businessman who stood next to us) were disappointed that there were no more soft pretzels, so they settled for gummy bears and chocolate-covered pretzels with jimmies.
By now, I’m almost inured to Chelsea’s stubbornness, whining, and teasing, and Abigail’s willful obstinacy (though she’s more easy-going than her older sister) – but not quite.
Ronna herself occasionally loses it, and who can blame her? I think that kids are just kids, and I’m grateful to experience a little of life with them, but I feel extreme gratitude that I never had any myself.
In my room tonight, the girls have seemed very well-behaved. they both can be charming whenever they need or want to act that way.
I suppose I prefer the children to the dogs at Teresa’s house because at least they are people who can sometimes be reasoned with. Plus, they are potty-trained.
I certainly feel a lot better than I did last Friday night when I was so nauseated.
Is it just two weeks since my reading at Quimby’s in Chicago? And two Fridays before that, I was seeing Kevin in Los Angeles and preparing for the next day’s reading in Santa Monica.
God, how can I not be grateful for this mid-year idyll? If I end up back in scorching Phoenix in a few weeks, I’ll certainly have good memories from this time of being with friends old and new in places all over the country.
If I make the trip to Florida, I’ll have spent time on the West Coast in California, in the Midwest, the Northeast, and the South. How lucky I’ve been to be able to experience different parts of America.
And I can’t forget how much better I feel now than I did last fall and winter. Just four months ago, I was still suffering badly with anxiety. Despite all the adjustments I’ve had to make on this long trip, I’ve managed fine.
Once I get settled somewhere, I’ll stop taking the Klonopin. One-quarter milligram a day has been enough for most of the past two weeks.
I’m going to try to relax the rest of this weekend. Ronna let me do laundry this evening, so that’s one less chore I need to accomplish before I leave here.
Who would have thought, 28 years ago in July 1973, when Ronna and I went to Washington, D.C., as boyfriend and girlfriend, that in 2001 I’d be her friend and hanging out with her, her husband and their young daughters in Philadelphia?
As I’ve always said, I’ve been blessed in my friendships. Teresa, Alice, Sat Darshan, Libby, Ronna, Josh, Tom and others have been the brightest part of my life. The most valuable commodity I’ve possessed is friendship.
Tuesday, July 10, 2001
10 PM. Having made the decision not to go to Florida for the interview at Nova, I just redeemed my America West frequent flyer miles to book a flight home to Phoenix for Thursday morning next week, leaving JFK at 7:11 AM and arriving in Phoenix at about 9:35 AM.
All this week, I’ve been feeling that I didn’t want to go to Fort Lauderdale for the Nova interview. Dad got really upset when I told him, but after all, he’d sent out my dress clothes by Express Mail, and he called Aunt Sydelle and asked if I could stay at Frank’s condo.
But when Pam gave me the phone message from Nova, I felt a sense of dread. Probably I won’t sleep any better tonight than I have been – especially after Teresa told me, “You’re going to be miserable and you’re making a terrible mistake.” (I told her she can tell me “I told you so” when and if I complain.)
Dad said I always say how much I hate it in Phoenix. Perhaps I’m just taking the easy, comfortable way out, but this is what I need to do right now. I haven’t completely recovered from anxiety and depression, and I still feel vulnerable.
The thought of uprooting myself again – even to a familiar place like South Florida – not only frightens me; it just seems too overwhelming.
I’m sure I’ll complain about Phoenix – if not to Teresa – but I’m going to try to make a go of it there.
This morning, before Nova called, I registered for two online classes at ASU and also for student health insurance, and I emailed my résumé for a Senior Office Specialist position at ASU.
I have to believe that I’ll eventually find a job in Phoenix for which I am suited. It won’t be easy, but none of the choices I have would have been easy. I don’t want to stay in Locust Valley much longer, as I don’t feel comfortable here.
Whatever I’m facing in Phoenix, it’s less uncomfortable than anywhere else – or so I currently believe.
Anyway, I felt very depressed today, especially after Dad practically hung up on me. Later, I called Mom, who said she understood what I was doing. Well, I guess even I don’t really understand it.
Tomorrow I’ll see if I can keep the rental car for another week – financially, it makes no sense, but I figure since this trip to Phoenix on frequent flyer miles will be free, I’m saving money by not flying to Florida and canceling my other flight. While I’ve lived far above my means this summer, I’ve been doing this for years.
When I left Locust Valley last July, I was panicking, but I don’t think I’ll feel the same way next Wednesday night before my flight.
At first, it will be hard to adjust to my parents’ house and to the terrible heat of the desert in summer, but at least I know what I’m in for.
Maybe once I’m back in Arizona, I can finally get off Klonopin. Anyway, it looks as if I’ll be up a lot of the night, but I’ve made my decision and I won’t second-guess it too much, if at all.