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At times, as Ronna noted, her grandmother would make spoonerisms, but she’d also substitute one word for another – like “wall” for “porch” – and at one point she referred to Billy as “she.” This morning, as Ronna and I walked along with her for a few hundred feet, she introduced us to a neighbor as “my granddaughter and his friend.”

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What prospects did I have in the summer of ’68, when I graduated from Midwood High School? If my classmates had known anything about me, I probably would have been voted Mostly Likely to End Up in a Mental Institution.

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If this works out, the thing I most wished for in 1988 has come through. It’s scary, and I feel stunned. Part of me feels they’ve made a mistake and I’m not up to the job. The other part of me is so thrilled at this opportunity, I don’t know whether to scream or eat a banana.

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I’ve always thought of Pete as the quintessential East Village writer, but he’s decided to move to Park Slope. He can’t get any writing done because the neighborhood truants are always singing “We Are The World” or some rap song. Pete is also tired of the invading Yuppies and the drug dealers and all the NYU students.

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Robert came in late and said, “So I won’t see you again?” I just smiled.

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At City Deli in the 163rd Street Mall, the turkey on rye was really good, but I lost my appetite as I glanced at a USA Today article about the parents of an AIDS patient who died in March. Suddenly I put their last name and the face of the guy in the photo together and realized it was Lance! He died at University Hospital in Irvine just after his 31st birthday.

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After nearly two weeks here, I really feel a part of the MacDowell community. Last night’s dinner and tonight’s were both enjoyable; I’ve heard a lot of interesting talk, particularly from the visual artists. It’s interesting to get the perspective of people from San Francisco and Chicago.

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We made love until about 1 AM, and this morning the alarm woke us at 8:30 AM. It was terrific to hold someone in my arms that early, when I had the pleasure of being in a half-dreamy state. I hate to analyze our relationship; I just know it felt good.

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Back at her apartment after dinner, we played around with Lori’s Macintosh for an hour. I put on my jacket to leave, kissed and hugged Ronna good night, and one kiss led to another. We were making out as much as you can when you’re both totally vertical until I finally took off my jacket and we went into her bedroom.

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I can’t selfishly allow myself to get too close to her again. Why should I hurt her by being a sometime boyfriend? I’m gay, and that’s not going to change, and even if I’m not seeing any guys, I can never give Ronna the whole commitment she needs. We can always be friends as long as we both realize that’s all we can be. It would just be much easier if I didn’t have intense sexual feelings for her.