status and worth and talent

Tuesday, April 30, 1996
11am, train

Just saw Ava on the way to the train. Her face is still ugly, and her hair looks fake.

Picked up Ted from the airport last night. Felt tired, cut off, and weird in the cab. Felt like playing 20 questions. How was the reception? How was your dad? Et cetera. Then in bed he really started talking to me, about his niece, his mom. He really opened up. Told me he’d felt lonely out there, and couldn’t wait to get back to me, because I always make him feel loved.

I was exhausted and falling asleep, but it was great to hear him say what’s on his mind. His father, other stuff, maybe he’s not as cut off as all that. Had little nightmares, not too bad, the inevitable someone-with-a-gun dream. One about Jackson walking past me in a group of people, I yell at him and make myself look bad.

I am so happy and grateful not to be going to NYPress today, to be going one block over to 600 Broadway instead. Grateful to myself for making the job change. Yesterday I went to the roof with Steve from the art department and I could see right into my old window at the Press, Maddy sitting at her desk. Then we came back from the roof and two guys from the 3D department were playing whiffle ball with a broomstick and asked me to catch. I thought, great, I work in a big playground full of guys.

Nervous because I left before 8 last night with Dan, the studio manager, but I didn’t want to be last in the studio. Last night coming home felt a little elated. How much better I like the new job than the old, at least for right now. NYPress is such a dysfunctional place. I hope the free Village Voice really kicks their ass.

Last night, I sensed Ted spacing out while I was telling him about the thing with Ava. I pushed it a little, and he said it made him think about Lauren. So we talked about that a while. Felt like he and I are doing really well. Better than I would have thought.

Maybe I’ll have lunch or dinner with Raj. Had a pot hangover today, per usual. Time to cut down. Ted’s willing to modify his own smoking if it’ll help. We both want to stop.

Not so full of ideas for the book. Seems better just to live life right now, and not try to force anything out. I am a writer, I do write every day. I’ve been published, I’ve proved my status and worth and talent. I don’t need to scramble and push myself into fits of anxiety because I don’t have a finished manuscript tomorrow.

Everything will fall into place. I’m doing great. I love myself and I’m getting better in every way, every day. My life is changing, and I welcome and accept it. I’m not afraid to be happy. I’m not afraid to be great. Not worried that I’m not famous. Doing great.

Sunday, May 5, 1996
9:45pm, home

Had a bad dream where Sam from the Press took my hand and told me that he’d checked with the guys down in research and apparently I’m not a very good writer.

After lunch with Mom and Jake, went back to Williamsburg to see Ted. He’d forgotten we were supposed to meet, and I got really mad. Like I was bawling, crying, and kicking furniture, and thinking about killing myself. I calmed down and we were making up but then I rolled off him during sex and said, this is bullshit.

Then took a cold shower, came out, and cried to him. I feel guilty and confused. I don’t know what’s up with us. He was very tender and considerate, saying it’s okay. He felt okay, and he didn’t want me to feel bad, and we could talk about it more later if I want.

Kind of tired of Judith knowing it all. Being so inflexible and self-congratulatory. God, I don’t want to meet my feelings today.

Having lunch with Ian tomorrow. A little pang when I heard they were looking for a new Listings assistant, but I wouldn’t go back. I feel like they helped kill my writing. He wanted to know what it would take to get me back as listings assistant. Nice to be asked, at least

Ted and I passed Ava and Jackson in the street Thursday night coming home from the Purity. I just want to punch Ava right in the face.