6-29-06
Good Morning My Baby –
Bad start to the day — nauseous and constipated. Lay down, felt less yucky, got to work by 9. Semi-OK.
Lisa is better than semi-OK. Had her car broken into — busted window, smash and grab — while
exercising at the gym, and then she learned that her employer is being gobbled up by a bigger fish (she’d
been warned of this before she even took the job), but she remains upbeat. Nothing important was taken
because the important stuff she wisely kept in the trunk) and the windshield was promptly replaced; plus,
she’d gotten indications that not only is she likely to survive the takeover but may even improve her
position. Plus she’s going away with her new beau, to a place she wanted to go with her ex, except her ex
wouldn’t because the rooms have no TVs, and ex couldn’t think of anything else to do in a motel room
besideds watch TV. No wonder she’s upbeat.
6-30-06
Good Morning My Love –
Am feeling somewhat better. Slight GI problem. But this is two weeks of problems off and on. It keeps up
and I’ll have to see Dr. G….
…whom I saw last night to get some med samples. Got a month’s worth of Lipitor, saved $25. He got on my
case for not doing my cholesterol blood test. Promised him I’d do it next week.
Tony says that self-inflicted grief is a common, obsessive and ultimately destructive behavior, that is
best dealt with by distraction, aka doing something else. I’d pretty much figured that. Tony unfortunately
(for me) will almost certainly be in China Sept. 20, getting Sophie, his 1 1/2 year old daughter, and I’ll have
to make do with his boss if I need help. I’m not happy about it but nothing can be done. Strange that
something this important to me should be affected by, of all things, the Chinese government.
I did email J. about the Sox, got a quick reply asking how I was; wrote right back asking her if she was
moving to N.C. Haven’t heard from her since.
And I know you don’t care, but last night the Sox played as good a game as I’ve ever seen them play,
especially defensively, winning 4-2 for their twelfth straight. They don’t hit quite as well as the ‘04
champs and their pitching isn’t as deep — which may keep them from winning it all — but they’re the best
defensive Sox team I’ve ever seen, having tied a major league record for 18 straight errorless games. A
pleasure to watch baseball played at its highest level.
I’ve decided to redo the Jane’s Migraine sketch in the lighter, sitcom vein I described earlier. Don’t need to
complicate the story with too many indications of the dark side of Jane’s and my relationship. It will be
delved into enough later, I suspect. There are plent of dark undertones in the migraine per se and the
mother-and-child-on-their-own situation. I may add some abuse references, since Jane with a migraine
wasn’t going to do much hitting, giving the child a chance to help her when she’s helpless, thus offering
a contrast the the usual threat-filled disciplinary environment she usually maintained. The child does what
he does because he sincerely wants to help, not because he’s afraid of getting the crap beaten out of him.
7-1-06
Good Afternoon Beloved –
Well, I finally heard from you, in a way. Of course, I had to sign for you at the P.O.: your ashes came,
surprisingly heavy, in a plastic bag inside a fairly nice-looking cadboard box with appropriate labels. I
stopped off at Salvation Army to see if they had something that would do for a lidded urn, but no luck.
Would like something with butterflies on it….Might try ebay for the hell of it. Odd feeling. It was you, and
it wasn’t. What made you you was in your head and heart and came out in what you did and said, and what
I’ve got is you in its least relevant form.
I did tell Lisa it had come, and that if we all did get together I’d do the Marlboro ash bit, as promised: we
each take a puff and flick the ash into the urn.
Wanted to say something to Janet, but thought it might depress her; besides, she never asks about my life
or you. Perhaps she’s too self-involved, or afraid of sadness, or both.
7-2-06
Good Afternoon My Darling –
Have gone over “The Haircut”, will type it up and send it out later. Can’t help but feel it’s good. We’ll see.
If it is it’s a little heartbreaker.
Heard from Sindy — via phone message — who sounded better and has more help, at least for the
moment. Will call maybe Tuesday the 4th. Lisa OK. She’s learning more about her new beau’s relation-
ship with his ex, which inevitably is problematic. Wrote a long fatherly letter, suitable to be ignored.
It was humid and rainy this morning, so I’ll try a walk later.
Checked out urns on ebay. Want a cloisonne one with butterflies, but will wait to get it until my finances
improve.
Have been a goodish doogie, exercising and vacuuming. Walking and typing up the sketch will gain me
sainthood, revokable at midnight.
7-3-06
Good Morning My Love –
I’ve found myself irritable lately, angry/annoyed over small things: Christy spending her first hour at ECS
making personal calls, doing email and web searches, and talking non-stop; customers who have our
catalogs but call on the 800 line (our dime) to ask us for prices; procrastinators who wait too late to call
for rental info, then blame us because C.S. is away; drivers doing their insane things. Don’t know why my
milk-of-human-kindness phase has soured. Hope it returns. I could negate some good will if it doesn’t.
Did walk some yesterday evening — found exactly a buck — and did OK. Hot, but dry and breezy. Then in
the evening I did my stupidest PC trick: I shut the computer down with my draft of “A Haircut” half typed.
Brain cramp. I’d gotten tired, lain down without turning off the computer, then forgot I had the thing half-
done and shut it down later. DUMB!! Go ahead — laugh at the Un-Geek!
Waiting for art class. Large hot room on the top floor of one of Brookline H.S.’s buildings. several totally
ineffective fans going.
Really don’t feel like art class tonight. I think the combination of writing “A Haircut” and getting your
ashes has made me a tad too depressed. Am having to fight irritability and keep the sarcasm down. Really
want to tell people off but mustn’t. Try to remind myself that it doesn’t really matter and that I’m not
exactly perfect myself. Throw in some frustrating poker and some ordinary aches and pains and I’m in a
funk. Perhaps you could stop by and we’ll have a late dinner…for the late, great Donna Boyce.
And part of my funk, a small part I hope, is the thought that tomorrow I’ll have no one. Partly my own
antisocial fault, but the matter of fire works keeps coming up, and fireworks, for me, was all about you
and your delight in them and, increasingly, your problems seeing them. How can I enjoy fireworks without
you? Hell, how can I enjoy anything you delighted in, without you? You made stupid things like that
special. You had that wonderful child in you that seized things with both hands and wrung everything good
out of them. Joy is rare, but you sure gave me a lot. I should be grateful — I am grateful. Just miss you so
much — and your 62nd birthday is coming , and I don’t need to get you anything but god I wish I did. To
see your wonderful reactions to the cards and gifts — you made me feel like a king, baby.
The universe is a flatter, greyer place without you.
As I write there happens to be a mirror in front of me, and as I glance at myself, sans glasses, I see a face
in repose except for the eyes, which to me look stricken. They’ve looked that way to me since the day you
died, especially the right eye. Don’t know why. Don’t even know if I’m accurate. And if I don’t get myself
together soon, don’t even know if I can stay here.
At least work kept me busy.
One of the perils of a funk is dangerous questions, the sort that push you into deeper funks if you let
them. The “who cares/what does it matter/what’s the point?” questions. The “I won’t ever be loved again,
will I?” questions. The “Is this what it’ll be like till I die?” questions. Thank god I can still find great purpose
and meaning in our life together, and there’s been a carryover of pride from that, but it’s starting to fade –
not my appreciation of what you were, what we were, but the pride. It’s like my life’s work is done and
nothing is likely to have that meaning, urgency, specialness again. For me such an irresistable combination
of your remarkable personality and your great need. That combination dragged my reluctant best from its
deep hiding place and forced it into action. Now it stands there feeling useless, like Superman with no one
to save.
Right now I feel forever trapped in Clark Kent.
7-4-06
Happy 4th, My Love –
Not happy for me, though, my beloved, since the fireworks will go off without you to enjoy them. What
pleasure I got out of them was mainly your delight. No delight today.
Got through art class OK. Worked on different kinds of line. Not glad, not bothered that I stuck it out.
Teach referred us the Van Gogh’s landscapes, drawings on the ‘net; I checked them out and they’re
impressive in their variety and control, even to some extent their economy. Perspective terrific too. I’m
having problems sight-measuring objects; keep screwing it up. I end up with a decent-looking result,
except the proportions of what I’ve sketched resemble the actual subject not at all.
Will type up “A Haircut” today.
Typed it up. Sent it out to Tom, Lisa, Tony the T and me (at ECS so I can print it off). God, I want it to be
good! Keep fantasizing about people’s reactions — just setting myself up. I honestly see much good
writing in it, but that won’t matter if I can’t draw the reader into this couple — us — seen through other
eyes, and make him care, and share pain and situation. And the end, where we cry, has to work. No idea
if it does. Guess I’ll find out….
J. finally wrote, a nice long letter. She complains about Northeastern, Susan, the work; is threatening
retirement, preparing for her trip to England — in other words, same-old, same-old. More talk of going to
N.c. — or Amherst, for some reason. Wrote back at length. Don’t expect to hear from her again till I decide
to make contact.
Have heard a bit from John, who’s gotten around to reading State Boys’ Rebellion, and is moved. Good. Let
him admire someone worth admiring.
And had a nice talk with Lisa. Right now she sounds very good. Her thinking’s good; she’s acknowledging
her anxieties but controlling them. When she describes an incident with latest beau and I extract more
details, I find this relationship very promising. Had written her a long letter about his relationship with his
ex and child, how if he’s a good man it’ll be problematic, as was mine with Ginger and Lisa, or yours with
Mark and John . If Lisa and beau work out, his relationships become hers (and vice versa) and she’d better
understand that now and try to figure a way of handling it long term. I think the letter helped her
understand that we all come into our mid-30s messy, with pieces of our past intruding through our
present into our future. It’s how we handle the mess, not whether we have it, that reveals our character.
I’ll talk more about this later — or simply forward the letter, copy it and append it. I can do that with such a
letter because Stan, who goes through the email at work, puts such things in my folder without reading
them.
All around outside the backyard, fireworks are going off, making all kinds of bangs, sizzles and cracks.
Much more than at 250 Broadway. A bit unsettling; there’ll be a lull and I’ll forget about them, and then they
start up again, and I jump a bit. Worst moment was when a plane came over and I thought it was some kind
of rocket, and started praying it wouldn’t hit the house. You wouldn’t like it here because it’s a basement,
and you culdn’t see anything that gave you pleasure. But as you know, I’m a burrowing animal, trying to be
unnoticed and out of sight until I want to emerge.
Miss you, baby.
I love you Donna–
7-5-06
Good Morning My Love –
Feel better today, emotionally. Having typed up “A Haircut” and sent it out, anxieties and all, has lifted a
weight off me. Didn’t realize its power as it sat in my mind, waiting. Glad it’s done.
Bad afternoon. l discovered I’d made mistakes at work, mixing up orders; almost didn’t catch them and
much extra work to (I hope!) straighten things out. More mental mistakes, the scary kind. Then, after
picking up dinner, clipped a curb with the car and flattened it. AAA just finished putting the donut on. I
may be able to get air back in the tire; will try tomorrow.
Stupid.
Doesn’t look like anyone will read “A Haircut” soon. Tom is coming back east next week and may stay
over, if I can inflate the bed-in-a-bag. But he’s got a lot to do in anticipation of leaving.
And Lisa haas begun the process of negotiating her position, if any, in the new bank that gobbled up her
old bank. I have no doubt she’ll land on her feet and may even improve her situation, but it may take a
while: meetings, interview et al. Plus the new beau, occupying most of her spare time….
7-6-06
Good Morning Beloved –
Had AAA change the tire last night; it’s at Goodyear today. The AAA guy said the old tire might still be OK;
just hope the Goodyear guys are honest and cut me a break. Will have to accept what they say either way.
This month I must have the car inpected; Patrick told me I needed two new tires (the old ones are getting
like Patrick and me: bald!), so I may as well do it all now. Will inspect next week.
Another of my little brain cramps involved my losing the sheet with my upcoming appointments with Tony
the T. Called and got ‘em, but HATE these mental mistakes, and fear them.
It’s been a good week for the GI tract — good thing, since I’ve had a lot of carton work, 100 heavy at least
– and my back by now is expressing its displeasure. Will have to give it heat, love and sympathy this
evening. (If you showed up, I’d give you the same three things — so, how ’bout it? Hmm??)
Your impending birthday is bothering me, I confess. It shouldn’t but it does. Old urgings keep saying,
whacha gonna get her? Why haven’t you gotten any cards yet? And I tell myself, she’s gone, she won’t miss
having birthdays except for what you’d give her. Well, baby, as the song goes, I can’t give you anything but
love, and you’ll have that — as you’ve had it — every single damn day.
Just have to ride the day out, like all the monthaversaries, like — god help me — I’ll have to ride out
Sept. 20 and the days surrounding.
I may have caught a break re: the tires. Goodyear says they were able to repair the tire, and that my tires
might pass inspection. Goodyear suggested the Shell station down the street — wink wink nod nod — and
I’ll give it a shot next week; it’d be nice to have the inspection over with. If I don’t have to lay out $200 or
so for tires, I’ll try to get your urn on ebay. Deal? Call it, god forbid, a birthday present.
