a tense and tender nearness
Friday, October 11, 1996
8:45 am, train
Everything is truly changing for the better. I think I can believe it. I wish I could hear whether the whole D line is fucked up, or just this train here at Atlantic Avenue.
Now here on the R train. I smelled the air on Flatbush Avenue, and it smelled bad. The way there are too many people and no working clocks all over this silly system. The way two men handing out fliers blocked the traffic of people in the station, and the woman next to me has a cast around her thumb. The way I raced across the platform to catch a new train as others are being routed ahead of it. The way it’s moving now and stopping again in 30 seconds. The way we put our hands to our eyes to keep from screaming as we inch. The way immediately the words fuck you and I hate the world started occurring to me as I got frustrated. How frustrated, yet how calm I am not. I meant to write “now” but wrote “not.”
It’s 9:05. I won’t make it until 9:30, and I was supposed to meet Frank at some indeterminate early time, and it’s just more pressure. I don’t think I can stand living in New York and having to do this every day. I remember how bad it was when I was going to the Press, Ted would have already delayed us by fucking around, and how uptight I was.
Things are getting better. I don’t hate the world. I love the world, and sometimes feel disappointed or frightened because the world does not seem to love me back. No judgments, said the yoga teacher at Neversink. Try not to judge the hard-faced people nakedly shoving each other for seats. Breathe in and out and let the rest take care of itself.
Going to see Judith today. I know, I always write it. But I always know. It is always on my mind. I keep pretty good track of it. My parents are both so full of poison. I haven’t done yoga in a few days. Maybe I’ll try to make sure to meditate tonight and throughout the day. Yesterday wasn’t bad at all, except one or two times, a baby crying, I couldn’t find the schedule, someone waiting on hold. Hope Judith is gentle. Hope I can be, too.
Get your slow ass out of my quick way. I’m a New Yorker: impatient, demanding, a hothead, but not a mean person. I would like to prove, once and for all, I’m not the psycho.
Talking to Judith about the work trip I skipped, I kept using words like prove, and show to myself. After the years of being, how shall I say, quite disturbed, it’s hard to trust the newer incarnation of me yet. So, she didn’t come down on me for sleeping with Frank…yet. And me, well, there’s a little sadness and guilt but it’s flagging, definitely.
The other night, Frank was saying, it’s so nice to lie here like this. I’m thinking yes, I lay with Ted and now he lays alone so I can lay with you. I wanted to say, don’t you feel bad that he’s deprived of this for you?
Judith said you and Ted need to see each other less and less. Then Ted called to say he was taking a few days to go upstate. He’s smart. He’s doing the right thing for himself, getting away. I’m happy for him. I hope he makes some decisions. I still have genuine love for him. Oh, what’s love? A form of affection so deep you get you get dizzy?
Just drifted off thinking we’ll get new phones at work. I feel pretty great today, truth be told. I feel really quite free, like Ted had turned into this huge crushing rock, which isn’t even fair to him.
Things do change. People get stronger and clearer and are able to be happier. I just won’t let the stress gets me, that’s all. Go home on time tonight. Spend some time with the cats.
Yesterday, I was smoking in Room Zero with a bunch of folks. Gabriel Stein came in. Gabriel, I feel I must remind myself, was a gross little prick with a snotty sense of privilege, who I had sex with when I was 15, and the maid was trying to get into his bedroom the whole time. Definitely one who had fallen off the list. I didn’t feel animosity or shame, necessarily, but did feel like it was weird, temporarily at a loss for something to say. He didn’t meet my eyes.
Another huge party at work next Saturday. And I’m reading at Fat Rabbit this week. I really want to do a great job and present something wonderful. I just realized I accidentally blew off Spyro again last night, and how much that relationship continues to feel like a drag because it’s not honest.
Yet another day with messed up trains. I can’t believe it. Moving into Manhattan would probably help my stress level. It’s true, I’d have to say goodbye to the delicious thrill of hating people from a tense and tender nearness, but I think I can learn to let it go.