A Young Writer’s Diary Entries From Late September, 1983

Leaving the theater alone and driving down Biscayne Boulevard, I felt the way I used to back in the days when I dated Ronna in college and we’d go to movies on Saturday nights. I wished I had someone with me – even just an acquaintance – to go out for coffee with. Although it was late, I didn’t feel like sleeping.

A Young Writer’s Diary Entries From Mid-April, 1983

Blair is 17, wears four earrings, is being published in his sister’s boyfriend’s Austin punk fanzine, and has been paid for sex. He began the letter “Dear Mr. Grayson,” and ended “Your friend, Blair.” I’m getting old, pardner. Last night one of my students handed in a paper on Jello Biafra and thought he had to explain to me who Jello Biafra was. “I know the Dead Kennedys,” I snapped defensively.

A Young Writer’s Diary Entries From Early April, 1983

You can’t make anyone love you, and if you could, it wouldn’t be worth it. Still, getting dumped hurts. Yes, yes: intellectually, I know it could never have “worked out” with Sean, and like my breakups with Ronna and Shelli, this will prove a blessing in the long run. But right now I feel like crying.

A 30-Year-Old’s Diary Entries From Late April, 1982

I can’t believe it. Sean just left. Here he was in my apartment, the guy I’ve been fantasizing about. . . Okay: now I’m sure that Sean likes me. I told him I give my books only to people I really like. Damn it, I wish I could express myself better and I hope he can see in my eyes how I feel about him.

A 30-Year-Old’s Diary Entries From Late March, 1982

Sat Darshan said Dharma Singh is considering studying Eastern medicine in Los Angeles; they’ll consult Yogi Bhajan to see if it’s a good idea. She isn’t crazy about going to Southern California, but “Libby is there and you will be too when you start going on talk shows and making movie deals.”

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