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1972 8 of 8


DIARY 3439

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 1. Wake and cuddle and go down on John to find him VERY hard, and he said he didn't come last night, though the other guy came twice, maybe, and I go very gently on him, VERY gently, and he comes with explosive force in contrast to my gentility. Very exciting, but it's 8 and he doesn't have a chance to touch me. Get to work and find to my sadness that there's work galore for the rest of the day, and I check out one and two and three and four and five, while Ronnie just fiddle-farts around with one, "coming up with all the problems," as she puts it, and thanks to her "genius" we have to re-do many chapters where the examples have to be repeated, I get the guidelines for what to do where there are changes in the text that EDI hasn't set, and the evening ends with a large meeting that completely turns me off: we all cluster around poor Sally, who really doesn't know what she's doing, and she instructs us to write memos about all the words used in ENGLISH, as part of their training for taking the standardized English tests, for the French and Spanish explanations on the tape, and I really don't think I'll be doing it. End up with the last unit I have to do scattered all over my desk, leaving it for Monday, when everyone announced they'll be leaving at 4:55, and I sign my bill for the first two weeks there for 23½ hours. Then home on the crowded subway, and we decide to go to Barnard for the Perez-Weidman dance concert, and I think about not going, but decide I want to see it, and it's so great that I'm very glad that I did (see next page). Everything's just so BUSY during these past weeks, there isn't time to pay bills, answer letters, or even clean out the top desk drawer, which is getting much too crowded. Took some time to read old New Yorks on the john, but there's still a stack of five to be gone through, and the Scientific Americans are again piling up under my desk. John's complaining about the Bs, particularly since the Cs arrived today at Dutton's, and Pam's complaining I'm not doing HER work, and both companies want all my time. Just not enough hours in the DAY, again, and it's a good feeling to work, but enough is getting to be just about ENOUGH!

DIARY 3451

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 2. Again I start rubbing against John, and finally he gets out the vibrator and pulls me off quite soft, and he comes with gusto, and the weekend gets off to a fine start. I'd bought carpet tacks the previous night, just to make sure I had them, but first of all I went over to have breakfast and the last of the perfectly ripe hand of six bananas that I've been enjoying all week, and figured I had about 22 pages of stuff to type to catch up with the last two weeks I'm behind, and get started, finally finishing about noon with 11 pages, feeling completely written out. Then have lunch over in the other apartment, after I've done the window on the side of the bedroom inside and out by 1 pm. Then tackle the kitchen window, getting all the paint off that, and finish off by scrubbing the kitchen floor, then put felt stripping under the bathroom window and around the French doors, which then became a BITCH to do, and for the first time it'd been done since the paint was scraped off it, and finally I feel about finished with the apartment, except that I get out the receipt from the drapes and find to my chagrin that they're about 9 inches too SHORT and about wide enough to cover the window area and that's ALL. So I write myself a note to that extent, and figure THAT finished the thought in my mind of putting up the drapes EVER in the bedroom. I even then get to vacuuming, to pick up the pieces of paint from the windows and get the messy bathroom carpet back in shape, and feel great about my entire progress: only have to get Jesse in for the drips and doorknob, and I'll REALLY be through with the moving-in phase, except for the constant maintenance, of course. Then it's time to shower and get to Len Ebreo's, and I call to make sure we're expected there, since we'd made the plans so long ago, and he hasn't painted the floor yet, but we're welcome at 7:30. John dresses in lousy clothes, and I get out the clean yellow velour and blue trousers to dress up, and we're out to arrive at the DOT of 7:30 (see next page), and we leave there about 12:30, having invited Len back with me, and we have a session in the living room (see next page) which leaves me feeling guilty about how I sort of USED him to my purposes, fucking him over, so to speak, as everyone does. Crawl into bed next to John about 2 am, exhausted.

DIARY 3453

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 3. Got the paper last night, so I want to read it, but we get up about 8:30, and I go over to wake Len, who says he slept very well, and John makes him coffee and we talk AGAIN about my basic philosophy (see next page). John gets angry with me, but we continue talking, Len admits that he DOES get good feelings from what he does for the gay community, and we drive into Manhattan just before noon, getting left off at Prince St., after John realizes he's left the meeting notes from DTW at home. We walk north, talking about how Canada's closing HER borders to immigrants from the United States, and maybe this IS the beginning of the end. He keeps talking about "The Holocaust," which I think is a book, but he means the Jewish experience during World War II, and he says that the people who got safely out in 1939 were asked by people who'd seen the end coming long before "What took so long to CONVINCE you to leave?" He said that LOTS of countries were full of expatriates, and that some of them weren't very happy about all the Americans who were coming to them. Into Mattachine at noon, and John comes in soon after and we have breakfast (see following page) with the directors from WSDG. That lasts until 3 pm, and then I subway home to read the paper, but Mrs. Johnson comes up with the plumber, who fixes the drips in the kitchen and bathroom of John's, sees that the toilet needs another pipe which he has to bring tomorrow, and fixes the sink drips in MY bathroom, so that leaves even LESS for Jesse to do, and I'll probably finish myself. Finish with the Times except for the want ads and the tail end of the difficult puzzles, and John's ready to leave for Bob and Joe's. Again we get there JUST at 7 pm, when we should, and it was another of their perfectly typical parties, including such a quantity of booze that the next morning I had one of the few hangovers I've ever had (see subsequent page). Out at 11:30 after inviting the sexy Hal to the next Tsi-Dun, and home to shower and finally get Len's come off my stomach, and fall into bed next to John, having done NOTHING of the typing I wanted to do today, and John even hoped I wasn't going to be "like Tom Warner" and sabotage his book by not proofreading it just because I was a good friend of his. I assured him I wouldn't.

DIARY 3457

MONDAY, DECEMBER 4. Wake at 7:15, lay around until 8, no sex forthcoming, and quickly exercise, since I HAVE to get into shape for the Tsi-Dun on Thursday, throw together a lunch, and subway off to ACC at 9:10, finishing the stuff that I left on my desk over the weekend, and then there are answer sheets by themselves to do, and Marg is in, and I tell her about how bitchy I was on Friday because I wanted to work on my own stuff, but couldn't because I did five units and Ronnie did only 2. We work through the answer sheets and Ronnie comes in about 10:30, and then they tell us they're going to move us, and I'm finished except for the last one that comes in later, and am working feverishly on the middle pages of the Production Management book, determined to get it out today.
They move a table into the hallway, and I show them how silly it is by WORKING there, getting into everyone's way. Then they move us back to a table in a dark hallway, and I keep working, determined to finish, telling them they'll hear from me when I do. By 3 I've finished and transcribed the errors onto the duplicate set, and call Pam to be mortified with a reference to 8 errors "fairly obvious" that I made on the first 45 galleys. I apologize and she says it's not THAT crucial, but I really worry about them. Then have lunch and THEN tell the big boss that I will NOT be working in such a position. Marg does some of her own work, I finish the puzzle with Ronnie, and then it's 5, and Ginny tells us that we'll be moving back IN tomorrow, since the compositors will be moved somewhere else. So it might work out OK anyway. Home on the crowded subway, and find John very tired. Finish reading "Bech" for the last ten pages I'd left unfinished on the subway, and have dinner, and John decides he's NOT going to Sergio's program at the Kitchen, saying I can take the car, but it's 7:35 and I'm finishing the dishes and convinced that I don't know my way around Manhattan well enough to drive in, and catch the subway at 7:40, angry with him, get there at 8:10 to find the performance cancelled, back at 8:40, find that it was the Kubelka blood-feast on Saturday that cancelled all WEEK'S performances, type 8 to get within one day of completion of typing the diary, and, having showered to wash my hair at 9, tumble into bed at 11.

DIARY 3461

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 5. Up and get into work at 9:15 to find that we're NOT going back into the corner office: I walk into a smoke-filled room with Tom and his cronies having a meeting, and Marge and Ronnie are still working at the table in the hall. I seek to start a revolution, trying to get their help as we watch them clearing out a windowless storage room for six or so of us, but they don't want to join me, and I go downstairs to sign some forms for employment and pay purposes, getting back up to find that we're going into the office next to Sally, which has a window for Marge to manipulate, desks or tables for EACH of us, and it seems like we're official at last! Hurry out at 10:20, reading on the subway which makes too much noise to be able to speak with Marge, and get into the class just at 11:09 (see page 3459). Back to work at 3:30, and then I have lunch, and there's one folder of work which I start into, but find there's no manuscript for the end of the unit book, so I leave it with Marge to question, since I'm scheduled to go to Crebos tomorrow, and leave at 5. Home to John and dinner, and type a triumphant 11 pages which catches me up to date at LAST with the diary, even enabling me to type a "Where Am I Now?" page for the first time in ages. Then sort out the letters, and write the letter to Sidney about Delacorte, write a painful letter to Edgardo, since I don't want to start one of those awful romances by mail, though I want to keep in touch with him and offer him encouragement in his hated stay back in Italy, and type a final letter to Elaine about the River, getting finished just at 11, when we've been given a deadline by the sleeping Mrs. Johnson underneath my typewriter. Figure a list of things that I'm going to do tomorrow, taking the doorknob out of the door, putting aside my binoculars, taking money for the calendar I want to buy, now that I'm going into the 42nd Street area again, and I've just about decided to call it my last day there until ACC is over, since there just isn't any reason to keep on at a LOWER paying job when the HIGHER paying job is open ALL the days. John's been watching TV, as usual, and we neck a bit before falling asleep at 11:30.

DIARY 3462

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 6. It's raining just a bit as I get out late at 9:30, having delayed with eating breakfast, exercising for Tsi-Dun tomorrow, and getting things ready but I don't think of taking my rainsuit along, which is an awful mistake, as the day proves. Out at 42nd Street and walk up Sixth Avenue, finding a tiny hardware store that sells doorknobs and buy a pair of glass ones for $1.05, then across to the Diamond Exchange where I don't see the fellow who fixed my binox, so I ask and they suggest Willoughby's around the corner. They lend me a tiny screwdriver, but I can't seem to fix anything, and try a few other places until the guy in Hoffritz has the wit to suggest I try Binolux in the phone book. Get into work at 11, but there's really not that much for me to do. Get a few things out of the way like Malcom, which I'd been signed up for and which I finished, and then had lunch and chatted with Elizabeth, then said that I was making this my last day, and she said she'd be sorry if I didn't come in to chat with her, and Nancy looked as if the 14th knife had been stuck into her ribs just about where the other 13 already were, but she said "You have to look out for yourself," and I had to agree with her. Then there was nothing I HAD to finish, so I decided to leave about 3:30, having found that the only two binocular repair places were right around the corner, and up on 44th St. Around the corner in heavier rain to find that they, paradoxically, seemed to work again, and the guy frankly said that I should buy a new pair rather than pay the equivalent price just to have them repaired. Out to hunt for a calendar, since the shop downstairs didn't have them, but neither does Bookmasters on 42nd, so I slog to Broadway in the increasing torrent, but THEY don't have it: but 57th Street does. Rain POURS down, my boots get SOAKED, my coat soaks THROUGH, the beret is a sodden MASS on my head, and the four records that I bought for $5 (the boob considered the Beegee's "Odessa" as one record) got soaked through, but I GOT the calendar, she was nice enough to wrap it in THREE wrappings, and I get soaked into the subway at 57th and 8th, home to undress COMPLETELY, hang everything to dry, have dinner, and get out to Darpana of India by 7:30 (see next page). Home to bed.

DIARY 3465

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 7. Got back last night and put in the doorknobs while John was waiting for the blast-off of the last of the Apollos: 17, but he went to bed at 11:30 and I sat up watching until 12:30, seeing it go up and getting to bed at 1. Up early and took money for Rita's birthday present, which I was determined to buy today, and passed an art store and was attracted to an acrylic set in the window for $16.95, which ended up $18.60 with the shipping charges but WITHOUT any New York tax, which is pleasant. Then to work about 10 and find a few answer sheets in to work on, finish those off while Marge and Ronnie are both working on something else, and then get down to Production Management at 12:30 and work on it pretty steadily until 5:30, a total of 4 "doubled" hours, since I ate for half an hour and did some little work things for half an hour, including the daily puzzle with Ronnie, which has become somewhat of a ritual. Out at 5:30 and home to a surprised John, who thought I said I WASN'T going to Tsi-Dun (which I can't imagine myself saying), and he'd arranged for others to go with us. He fries me HIS steak and has cold hamburger and chicken left over from previous meals, and I shower and wash my hair beforehand, and am just about ready to go, contacts in, at 7:15 when I smoke (John's smoked beforehand, and is taking a pipe with him too), and then we're downstairs to wait for Arnie and his friend, who is rather plumply pleasant, and we're off to the East Side to pick up two of John's leather friends from the Meat Rack, and the surly one gets in back and the shorter, cute one sits up in front on my lap, and I'm so pleasantly stoned, looking forward to a marvelous evening, that I'm running my hands along his legs and his cock, and he makes some joke about it, but I figure he likes it, and we pile out of the car at 85th and get up to Friedrich's apartment. I'd phoned Joe Farinas last night, late, to tell him about it, and John Casarino had called over the weekend, and John told HIM about the party, so everyone was told who should have been told. In at 8, putting my clothes on the floor, and have a VERY stoned evening (see next page), and clothes are dripping BEER that someone kicked over on them when we leave, WITHOUT Arnie, at 11, driving back home to bed.

DIARY 3467

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 8. Feeling fairly stoned when I get up in the morning, and still get out of bed at 7:30, and don't even bother to exercise (since I'd gotten to level 3 yesterday morning, and felt that I'd had it), and get into work about 9 to find quite a bit waiting for us, but we divide it up, and I spend a long time on the phone, calling Elizabeth and Nancy about the dinner here on Monday, called Pam to apologize for not getting anything to her (this was YESTERDAY) and saying that I'd try to supply her with more finished work by Friday, and calling Carol Sims and apologizing, but she says I shouldn't do that, she doesn't have a system worked out yet, so I'm not keeping anything back. Do the work, coming up with even more questions about how things are to be done with screens and specifications, and even demand a meeting with Sally and Susan, who answer our questions, but still leave us with the impression that ANYTHING we'd do would be OK, and everything we're TOLD to do is arbitrary. I work along, feeling VERY frustrated because I can't do my freelance work, and finally get to it at 4:10, and then sit around working until 6:30, also waiting for a messenger who brings in THE stack that fills the shelves, and still the shelves aren't NEAR empty by the following Wednesday, and this is the turning point of free time vs. work time at ACC. Then walk outside in MORE rain (and I'm back in the barely dried raincoat, having taken my hooded coat to the cleaners and kept the beer-soaked scarf when they wanted 75¢ "for handling" for cleaning the scarf), and decide I can't get wet AGAIN, so I subway down to 14th and across to 8th, reading "The Tantric Tradition" which is quite fascinating, and get to Le Beau Pere at 7, to find that Debbie's cancelled at the Cubiculo tonight, so we eat a VERY good meal until 9, and then John's too tired for the Elgin and we drive home, to smoke and watch something on TV, and I don't think we have sex, but we're together for an evening, and that's the main part of it, since I STILL have the feeling we don't spend enough time just BEING together, since I'm always typing until 11, and John's usually in bed and asleep by the time I get into bed after my evening shower, and then I have to get to WORK in the morning, which cuts down the chance of sex THEN. Bed fairly early.

DIARY 3468

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 9. Up fairly late, and maybe we have sex in the morning, but I get over and get things straightened up in the apartment, getting started on John's Bs finally, but then it's 10 and we're out in the car for the endless drive to Queens and the German Hi-Fi center, where I copy a list of things I HATE into the back of Tantra while waiting the half hour for John to get his cracked Mastercharge card accepted, laughing at the combination fireplace, hi-fi, bar sets from Germany "in the shiny plastic that they all use." Back home just a bit after noon, and back to the book to be stopped fairly quickly for lunch. Work on through the afternoon, then have dinner and shower again and it's time to get into the car for Norma's party at 8:30. John surprised me by not demanding to be there precisely at 8, and the pot roast he made for the third time was smashingly good, he having discovered the secret of REALLY boiling down the sauce to completion. Get to Norma's at 8:30 and we're STILL the first ones there. Start with marvelous thick brownies that she's sad she didn't make hash, and she's about to roll some joints when the bell rings and a limey-accented Brenda comes up from Helena Rubenstein, and she talks about flat nasal uninteresting things, and then a few married couples come up: I'm drinking more than I have to, but then the joints are rolled and I start on one or two of those, and then sit down on the bed and read "Jonathan Livingston Seagull" which Arnie got for her, and I'm surprised to find that it's a typical "search, find, student becomes guru outflanked by student" story of three levels: the regular flock, the fast-fliers, and then the fliers through rock, which is a marvelous analogy. Then try to chat, do so, start eating again, ask John to leave, he's afraid of giving the wrong impression, we chat for a long time with Arnie, I sit in the corner and watch candles burn, eat some more, John lies down on the bed, and finally agrees to leave, and Norma doesn't even stand to wish us goodbye, and we feel even worse about it than she does. Say goodbye to Arnie and we're NOT the first to leave, and drive home, even JOHN finally admitting it was a lousy party, and we're drunk at 12.

DIARY 3469

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 10. Sleep pretty late, but don't even get to the Sunday Times before John has the idea that I should do the FINAL reading on his book, so I don't have even to finish the Bs and can get to Production Control with a clear conscience, doing part of it between 10:30 and 11:30, and then we're out to the Mattachine breakfast, which is a lot like the others, except that there's a cute guy who'd lived in South Africa for 4 months, who was talking with Igor who was in "Jonesburg" for 2½ years but had never been to bed with a black. Talk to Don about NOT taking over the paper since my job was causing me to spend so much time on it, and feel good about that, and the pipe for the coats falls off and I think my rubbers have been taken, but they're there, and Henry's given us free tickets for Carnegie Hall for the 20th. Then we leave at 1:30 and drive to the Edwards' at 2:15, and again we're the first ones there, the Johnson's not arriving until 3. We're upstairs to interminable popcorn and hot cider, which is nice, but I've found that I have 7 hours of work to do before going to work on Monday, and when we don't eat until 5:30, that cuts a good deal into the time available to me. Tom is quite entertaining, and the color test we do is quite truthful and revealing: I love new things and adventures, putting it in a positive way, which I agree with, so that I can laugh off the negative implications: that I'm seeking to fill an inner emptiness, and I don't feel like going into the philosophical implications of the TRUTH of that impression. The cat loves me, the beef stew is mediocre but the mushrooms are good and the rum pie for dessert is heavenly, even outshining John's angel food cake with real maple syrup. I leave at 8:30, John coming with me, and I get back to the manuscript at 8:50, going through to 11:50 before I stop and do the dishes for the entire weekend, which takes until 12:30, and I work doggedly through to the very last page until 3:20 in the morning, cursing myself for not setting a better schedule for working, for ACC for having work, and maybe even my endurance which allows me to DO it. Across for a bleary-eyed flop into bed, not even showering or bothering to brush my VERY furry teeth. YUGH!.

DIARY 3470

MONDAY, DECEMBER 11. Wake at 7:15, still feeling fairly weary-eyed, but lie around until 7:45 and get up to have breakfast and start on the wearisome task of transferring the corrections to the author's set of galleys. Call Pam and tell her I'm bringing in the whole rest of the text, and she's appropriately floored, saying "You call me Monday morning to tell me THIS?" I work until about 10, then do some other things around the apartment like making my salad, so that I don't get into work at ACC until 12. Fill out my time chart for last week, call the people at Crebos to insure their coming tonight, and work through the day at all the stuff that came in on Friday evening. Ronnie's working on some kind of reading comprehension stuff, and Marge is doing unit numbers, so I'm the only one working on the unit books (with the small contributions of Bonny and Cecilia, who seem to be working on them, but who never seem to be doing much). I've brought in the Sunday Times puzzles, and we manage to botch both of them up pretty well, then feel guilty and get down to work. I leave at 5, getting home just before 6, to change clothes and pick up stuff in the apartment, getting JUST ready by 6:15, when they ring the bell downstairs and exclaim about the elegance of the halls, and then Nancy Doctor and Elizabeth Gillette are welcomed into our apartment with sherry, and then get the grand tour, where they, too, are enthralled by the stones, and Nancy's two years of geology comes to the fore and we talk about conglomerates and sedimentary rock, etc. Then over to dinner, and John's pea soup with pine nuts isn't terribly successful, but the linguini and clam sauce is quite good, and everyone raves about that, and then the pecan pie with whipped cream is GOOD, but the strange dusty bitter taste of the shells seems to infiltrate the entire pie. Talking more about our trip, while Nancy and I chat about the new electronic composers they're thinking of getting in, and then I get out the Spirograph and we're all onto the floor to try it, and I get out the gravity-Lissajou figures which they flip over, and then it's 10 and they have to leave. I wash the dishes and get over to bed at 11, and we both feel good about the evening.

DIARY 3471

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 12. Marge called last night and we arranged for Monday's class at Bronx College. I got into work at 9:30, after cuddling with John in the morning and having VERY good sex, he being quite hot, and me even being able to keep up for a very wet orgasm to add to my pubic area what he'd already liberally sprinkled my neck and shoulders with. Marge isn't in until noon, and I get to the puzzles and finish both of them, to Ronnie's admiration, and she gets about six calls from various boyfriends through the day, and Marge even gets called a few times. Still the pile of stuff on the shelf doesn't seem to go down, and it's quite a bore working on it for the whole day. Still finding general problems, and there are meetings about deadlines and styles and it appears Translators are moving down to the fifth floor, which would be dreadful, but only Audio moves down there finally. Out at 5 and get home, eager to spend the evening clearing up some stuff, and find that the Christmas cards have arrived, so I look forward to sending THEM out, but I FIRST want to catch up with the Sunday Times and the Village Voice. Well, that takes until about 9, what with dinner, and then I have to do the dishes, and John's over to the other side to smoke and watch TV of the men on the moon. I start on the diary after the dishes, and he staggers back to scream that they're showing color pictures from the moon with Houston-controlled zooms and focusing, and the logo "Live from the moon" across the bottom, and somehow I feel an unutterable love for John for his enthusiasm for this, and for my lack of reinforcing his sense of elation about the whole thing. Type till the dot of 11, not quite finishing, but get over to find John still awake, and I shower and smoke while we both watch the finish of the moon walk, and then we cuddle and he warms me up when we climb into bed, and there's the thought of sex, but he's not responding, and we HAD it this morning, so I move over, drifting, and think about masturbating, and think of the pornography, which stirs me briefly, but I'm actually getting to the point where I like to share it with John, so I fell off to sleep about midnight, feeling tired and happy.

DIARY 3474

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 13. To work fairly late, and for some reason I don't remember now I leave at 4, though it might very well be that I'm just getting fed up already with Ronnie, who talks on the phone for hours with her boyfriends, and I'm dying to do freelance work, but can't because there's work to be done in the office, while SHE doesn't help getting it done because she's either on the phone, doing her nails, talking to her friend Ginny, or gabbing with us about her boyfriends or clothes or the gifts she's getting everyone. Home to type four pages and get caught up on the diary, even to transcribing some of the notes on Pilobolus and Writers Workbook that have been hanging around for ages. Then have dinner and get out to the Chelsea for Babel's "Sunset," and I'd read the Voice before dinner and the critic didn't like it, mentioning particularly the Brooklyn-Jewish vs. Oxford English type pronunciations in the same family, so I noticed that right off the bat. Add to that the off-keyed high-school dramatics of the mumble-mouthed rouge-cheeked younger brother who spoke slowly, it seemed, out of a tendency to talk too fast. After the first embarrassment of "Lady Day," this for a second one is a bit hard to take, and when we drive back in the car, trying to figure WHY the play was given in the first place (except as a vehicle for Despo as a marvelously hammy mother-of-the-hopeful-bride, or for that odd moment when I felt SORRY for the Father's having been brought down by the son, being made into a piece of WOOD while the son acts even WORSE than the father did while he was in his prime), and we have a lovely talk about it, agreeing to disagree mildly. It was thankfully a short play, performed without intermission, though scene changes were awkward in the brighter-than-twilight lights for the furniture-moving, and we figure we might just as well let the subscription drop (as everyone else did to permit us to end up with subscription tickets one and two) next year, so that the Hurok is the only series we have, and probably the Brooklyn Academy, which is now taking IN some of the Chelsea productions. Smoke, probably, and get into bed, not even feeling like jerking off these nights.

DIARY 3475

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 14. Wake late and possibly even have sex, then up and work on the first 23 Christmas cards, mainly for people overseas and to those to whom I haven't sent change of address forms yet. Then we're out at 9:30 to subway to Dutton's to meet a charming Carol Sims and Joan Schwartz turns out to be the SAME gal who was doing the lights for DTW, and who didn't serve drinks at John's party for Marcia. We get everything in order and I take the As and part of the Bs back to REDO, and I'm into ACC at 11:30 to work through till 5, pleased that the short morning has made the day more bearable, though the work is beginning to pile up, and Ginny keeps coming around to ask if we need more proofreaders. Marjorie is hard at work on Product Numbers and Ronnie is reading the Read Achiever companion volumes to the Math Achiever, and she's finding even more horrendous stuff on the books than we find with the math. I'm glad that this is Friday for me, since I've decided to stay home and do lots of things tomorrow, and Pam calls to say that I'm getting a chapter of Graham's Mathematics book this afternoon, too. Still discouraged at the feelings of frustration I have when there keeps being work to do on the shelf. From a time when it seemed totally impossible to make the schedule, it now seems possible, since with the influx of units, they're almost up to schedule, being only about 10 books behind, with them coming in at the rte of 10 per day, when all they need is 8. Also, people from EDI are beginning to come around to find what's going wrong, so that management is beginning to take an active interest in meeting the deadline. Cecilia and Bonny are working on them, too, and Ron even does a few, though I find he's the math "consultant" for the job at ACC. Walk over to Mattachine for the subway south, and get in at 5:30 (see next page). Home at 10 to find John gone, heat the last of the pot roast in a double boiler, eat, and do the dishes, and just get ready to do some reading after I take a shower when John comes in, and he's so cold and sleepy that I figure he MUST have been having sex, and don't even BELIEVE him when he says he's been to "Heat" and double at the movies, since he came in in coveralls and he'd smoked before he went. Sleep feeling miserable.

DIARY 3477

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 15. John chatted about the details of the movies last night, which permitted me to BELIEVE that he HAD gone there, feeling dreadful at myself for suspecting him, but it indicates how depressed I was feeling about himself and me. Get back to work on the Christmas cards, deciding to use up the last of my roll of stamps for them, and find many more to do, just to keep their address list up to date, and end up sending off about 64 cards, being able to clean up my supply of cards left for the past two years, and even to make inroads into the ancient "Holiday Greetings" I've had for spares. Finish about 11:30 and get out to the bank to cash some checks, getting angry because my LAST checks haven't cleared yet, and then over to the post office to get rid of all except unstamped ones, and buy three sheets of beautiful stamps because John wants 100 for his New Year's Hippo cards, and get sheets of 11¢, 6¢, and 6¢ for 23¢ for each of the 21¢ overseas airmail cards just to find a use for the stamps themselves and to get blocks from them. Mail the last ones and pick up the laundry and the cleaning in the pouring rain, getting up just in time to see the middle and end of the last program on "Who, What and Where" 12:30-1 that I saw taped (and forgot to tune in on Monday to see what happened to the old lady who won that day), and then saw Mae West in "Belle of the Nineties," 1-2, which seemed to be heavily cut, since she was in all the time and some of the peripheral stories were sketchy, and it was over in an hour. Made popcorn and ate it with lots of butter, feeling positively gluttonous, then had lunch during the start of "A King's Story" at 3 (watched an awful crafts show through inertia). John was in at 3:30, complaining about my watching TV all day, and I got angry with him for that, reflecting off my disgust at wasting MY day without doing anything valuable, since the movies weren't THAT good. Then John suggests we try my restaurant tonight, and I phone around and settle on the "Nataraja," since the other places are filled up for tonight, and we dress and get out in the still-pelting rain: which has now set a record for the day, the week, the month, and even the entire year, and it's nowhere NEAR stopping! See next page for the end of this busy day.

DIARY 3479

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 16. Up for rousing sex, which makes me feel even better than I did after the party last night, which must last quite awhile, since I don't get started redoing the As of John's dictionary until 10 am. Work through until 1, getting a hierarchy of things to check on multiple passes through, punctuation in schooling parentheses, wrong fonts in numbers, and the flow of paragraphing indentation and periods before I put on my initials and then alphabetize the whole list after one letter's finished. Eat lunch at 1 and back from 1:30-3:30 to finish the A's (I may have been reading the Village Voice before 10), and then switch over to chapter 6 of the Mathematics book from HBJ from 3:30 till 5:30, debating about charging three hours for only 17 final pages, but then she decides it'll be better if I just chare her once for the whole book. Then work from 6-7 on the start of the Bs. OH, yes, most of the day in the morning was spent with Shirley Peterson and Marty Sokol on the phone trying to figure out how to get them all together. Shirley called at 9 am, then I called Marty, and we had it all figured out in a way to permit John to get to his lighting rehearsal for Kei Takei's "Rainbow Dances" at DTW tomorrow, and for me to do what I wanted to do about Chris Reed's party. Then we have dinner, and John takes off for his rehearsal, and I call Chris to find how to get there by subway, and he says that because of the dreadfully cold weather and winds and rain, most of the 30 people he invited aren't going to come, and he'll be happy if only 20 show up. So I feel rather sorry for him, and the call implies that I'm going, and though it was scheduled for 8:30, he says he doesn't expect anyone by 9, so I get onto the subway after shaving and showering at 8:15, and connections are well made, despite the fact that I just missed the subway (one came to Clark Street right after it), and I felt silly walking around in my rainsuit, since it had stopped raining, but it kept out the cold wind very effectively. Out to Jackson Heights and walk along the long blocks to Chris' apartment, and it's hardly worth the trip for the bare white-walled rooms and plain furnishings he had there (see next page). Home with Don and then subway coldly home, getting into bed at 3:30, quite thoroughly beat!

DIARY 3482

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 17. Wake about 8:30, surprisingly, and John said he'd gone to Marty's about midnight last night and picked up Shirley, and he was supposed to get back into the apartment at 8, but we talk about the night and I tell him about the encounter (which is a good thing, because as I step out of the shower, John espies a hickey on my shoulder, saying "He really DID get to you."). Then over and Shirley's a plump cross between Joan Sumner and Beverly Sills. She's cooked up some bacon but threw it out when it seemed to be very old, and I had some cereal when it was clear nothing more was forthcoming for breakfast. John finally said that I could come along to "help" at the first showing of Kei's "Rainbow Dances," and I read some of the Times while Shirley bounced around the apartment with nothing to do until we left about 11 am for the city. The car door was frozen until I banged it open, and we stopped at Balducci's for John to get some groceries (he's already made two huge glass trays of eggplant and tomatoey meat, so that we have food to eat in the spare times between), and Shirley's off on the uptown bus with my MMA membership to see what's at the museum. I get to the workshop to look through an old Peiffer book while Mal and Kei pin up what turns out to be their blankets over the windows to keep out the lights for the black-light sequence, and the whole things goes very well (see next page), despite John's agonizing that there won't be enough children there to make it worthwhile (in fact, the next Friday there were only 4 kids there, but the gal from the New York State Council was there, and she'll report that there has to be additional money for ADVERTISING). It's over at 2 and I subway home to finish reading the Times, clip out the puzzle to take to work tomorrow to solve, and then get down to more Bs from 3:40 to 5:40, when they both get back (she'd walked down to Macy's, or some such, and then subwayed down to meet John at the Workshop), talking about their days, and then they start talking while I start doing odds and ends at my desk, and then I get dinner into the oven so that we can take the eggplant over to the TV to watch the Nureyev "Sleeping Beauty" on TV between 7:30-9, during which they both sleep (see following page), and we get to bed almost immediately!

DIARY 3485

MONDAY, DECEMBER 18. Up and into work late again, somewhat after 9:30, but since Ginny and everyone else isn't in yet, I feel free to say that I came in at 9:30. Then we leave at 10:20 (though I wanted to leave at 10:15, since we'd cut it so close last time, Marge just wasn't ready, so we got into the classroom at 11:11, just as the teacher was settling the class down), and when we get back at 1:30 (and I haven't eaten lunch yet, I just sort of wave my hands, knowing that the TemPosition form says you shouldn't work under a four-hour day, and say that I worked from 1-5, figuring to be able to make plausible excuses if anyone checks up on me. I can talk through a whole day when I'm supposed to be working, but if I'm not actually THERE, it seems to make some kind of MORAL difference that I sign to the fact that I'm working. Guess it's the difference between being "at work," which is what I'm signing for, and "working," which depends on how much I and the people working with me FEEL like working. Class goes very well (see next page), though the questions run out about 12:30, and then Inger insists on getting us hot chocolate down in the snack bar, where I completely fall in love with a humpy college kid in perfectly faded blue jeans with sturdy legs and a much-rubbed whitening box stuffed with goody. Quit at 5 and get home to work on HBJ chapter 7 from 6 to 7, and to continue the conversation with John about Nureyev over dinner, and it gets more and more heated, until when I go up to him in the kitchen to kiss him goodbye, smiling because we let the talk get so heated, he turns on me with violence in his voice and says "Well, I'm very angry!" I turn without a word and leave the apartment (the next day he apologizes, still insisting, however, that he WAS that angry). Buy a 50¢ ¼-pound chocolate bar to go along with the surprisingly cheap $1.50 entrance fee for "Is There Sex after Death," with the cock-king SHOWN a couple of times, and some VERY funny doctors, though some of them are TOO cute, like the breast-exerciser, and Bob's funny with "MY cock is the biggest I've seen," though I'm sure too many take that like the fat guy who says "Oh, about 2-3 inches!" But it's fairly poor in the sex-super-bowl scene, and Marshall Effron is merely gross. "Heat" is worse than I would have thought, NO cocks showing at ALL, which is horrible, but Dallesandro IS beautiful to look at, indeedy, indeedy! So hot I come back to sleeping John, smoke, and come in tub by FLAILING COCK!

DIARY 3487

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 19. Got into the apartment at 8 to wake Shirley, who had been shuffling around John's apartment when I got back from the movie at midnight, and she said she couldn't sleep because her mind was going too fast. I got things ready and out at 8:45, but still couldn't manage to get to work before 9:30, finish chapter 7 from 11:10-11:40, and DAMN anyone who complains, and left at 4 because John invited me to the DTW office party, and I told them I'd be leaving at 4 today, and on Thursday, to go to the Crebos office party that Marge and Elizabeth invited me to. About this time Marge said she's leaving ACC for good, because she can't stand the work she's doing, leaving the end of this week. Wow. I leave at 4, briefcase stuffed with the chapters 8, 9, and 10 of the math book, and walk down to DTW to find not too many people there, John just putting his wassail on to heat (after it smelled up the apartment in a lovely way over the weekend for the initial brewing), and setting out the goodies on the table. I'd bought an origami set (which Jeff Duncan drew, of all people) for the $1 gift exchange, and Debbie Jowitt's child amazed by being old enough, ALREADY, to walk around under his own steam, winning everyone to him. Talked with a few of the budding dancers in Jeff's improv group, and they were going later in the evening to TAPE a show for WNCN on modern dance, with sounds of dancing and no visuals. Had some of the good cheese and halvah and liverwurst and olives and herring dip and felt that I had enough dinner with the boozy wassail, and left at 4:45 when I was sure there wasn't going to be anyone really cute to talk to, and picking out a small package that I could fit into my briefcase, and it turned out to be a lovely pottery vase/incense burner/grass pipe which Gerda Zimmerman handed back quickly when she was told about the smoking possibility. Lovely thing, and I thanked Wendy Summit for it with pleasure. Walk down 7th, stopping in at the Pleasure Chest to see if they didn't have any better books, but "Rape" by Tom was of such poor quality that I didn't buy it even for the $3 and his old detailed style. Then in to buy a Dinesen book, and then it was 6, and I went over to the Board meeting (see next page), then left at 7:20 for the Paper Bag Players (see following page), and subway home with John's plastic box-fun.

DIARY 3490

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 20. Up and subway to work reading the last pages of "The Tantric Tradition," quite lucid about the Tantric fragments we saw in various places through India, rather startling in its idea of attainment of ultimate truth: retain breath, retain semen, and banish thought from the mind at the same time in sex, and you'll "be" there! Seems they've already found what I thought was MY discovery: that holding the breath makes sex much more possible. What a PEAK they must be able to build to! Over two weeks to read THAT book, and immediately start on "One Hundred Years of Solitude," which starts out charmingly indeed. Only get to ACC at 11, for some reason (I think I made out some last Christmas cards to mail, possibly), and get so disgusted with Ronnie continually on the phone that I want to leave at 4, and finally do at 4:20, SAYING that I worked till 4:30, and talking with Susan to tell her that I can't STAND her anymore, particularly when Marge is leaving, and I'll just HAVE to be moved. She sympathizes and agrees with me, and says that two or three NEW people will be coming in for the rest of the job, which they now say will last for 6-8 weeks! So much for the January 15th deadline. Home at 5 and work on the Dictionary until 6:30, when we have dinner, and John reveals that HE'S going to some concert that the NY State Council is sending him to for a report for $25, and so he's not going to the free "L'Enfance du Christ" at Carnegie, given by Henry Messer. So I decide I won't go either. So we have dinner, and then he leaves, and I sort through all kinds of things in my loaded desk, writing checks (got lots of checks that I cashed---THAT'S what I did this morning, went to the bank, and wrapped Grandma's present and took it to the post office, along with two chapters of the math book that I took to work and had no time to work on, since corrections were coming through, I liked to do them, so consequently, I got most of them to DO), and clearing up easy correspondence, and then I'm determined to master the puzzle, which I do in about an hour and a half, putting the clue sheet away just as John returns at 10:30. He writes report while I try various methods of checking hours, days and $$ for my working this year. He ignores my temptation for him to work with it, and we go to bed.

DIARY 3491

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 21. One of these mornings I go down on John (probably TUESDAY, since I'd come just the night before, and probably wouldn't have felt like coming only 6 or 7 hours later), and another time we exchange favors with each other, which might have been this morning. I feel pretty good to be getting on the old Clark Street line about 9:15, getting up to 42nd Street to look in a couple of stores to see if they have those Hallmark datebooks, since I REALLY don't feature walking up to the 57th Street store ONLY to get two of them (one for dates, one for keeping track of MONEY and JOB information, which seems eminently logical---another RECORD to keep up to date for the most anal person in the world). Finally find a bookshop which has them from Norcross on display, and search their racks to finally find "Gods, Graves, and Scholars" (note that series comma!) by Ceram, which looks good, and I don't THINK I have it, and pick up two of them, promising the man I WILL use them, as he asks. Then in to work at 9:52, pleased to find my card there, and Leslie bitches jokingly about "having to fill out all these time cards for people coming in just for the party." But there's a big notice in the time-clock room, and Elizabeth and Tom welcome me, and Nancy seems VERY happy. I'm terrifically pleased to find stand-alone galleys for Chandler and Fox, and while I'm going through those lovely tables, it occurs to me that I COULD take this home with me, do it there, and get back to Crebos for another day of relaxation away from ACC. I ask Ruth, but she says it's always been no, but Nancy thinks for only a second and then says "Yes, why not?" in a pleased way, and later tells Harvey about it with a stress on the "Someone has to do it, and only Bob wants to." Edward starts on one of Marjorie's grassy pot-brownies at 12, but comes down when Harvey comes in to bitch about putting enough info on a board so that the compositor doesn't have to spend 15 minutes locating the spot on the manuscript. I have one about 1 pm, and the Crebos Christmas party starts! (See next page). Out about 4, dropping in on 42nd between 7th and 8th to check out sex books, but they're AWFUL, so I get nothing, get down to Bon Bazaar for a Philippine hemp doormat for $4.24, then to Mattachine (see following page). Home at 10 to eat the last of the eggplant, wash the dishes, and smoke and listen to Xmas records before John gets in at 12:30 and plops into bed.

DIARY 3494

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 22. [Last night I was very conscious of walking the dark streets at 4 pm, knowing it was the shortest day of the year. Now it's just the long uphill trudge back to spring! Or, really, back to the time change at the end of April, when it starts staying light around supper again.] Up at 7:30, leaving John in bed, and since my lunch's from yesterday, I leave at 8:45, getting into the office about 9:25, still calling it 9:30. New fellow has stuff spread all over my desk, so Bonny suggests I take HER desk, and it's worked out VERY nicely, since I'm ALREADY away from talky Ronnie. Marge isn't about to do ANYTHING, staring out the window, chewing reflectively on her bag of dried cherries, raisins, nuts, toasted soy beans, and pumpkin seeds, or talking endlessly with Susan about why she isn't working. Susan's around with Christmas presents, too, three books that Marge loves by a woman poet, an address-date book for 1973 for me. The system's been changed again: proofread units aren't taken to the translators anymore, they're given to Susan Bernstein, who sits in the furthest possible office with the head of the art department, who's the goofy guy with the VERY long hair. When I take stuff in even after 1 pm, she sort of looks at me as if I were nuts, so I do the last unit and stop, then eat lunch, and then gather around the people waiting for the food to arrive for the Appleton-Century-Crofts Christmas party (see next page). That's so awful that I leave about 3:30, getting home about 4, even before John gets in, sorting out the mail, going quickly through the Village Voice to get THAT out of the way, and starting again on the money chart, going through all the old records to sort out what will give me information about money and what won't. John starts in on the need for me to send in my return by January 15, or else get fined excessively by the government for not paying my self-employment tax, or something, and I feel that it's grossly illegal, but since it's the government, how can you fight it? John says I'm silly for feeling awful about it, but I'm sure HE felt awful about it before HE decided to accept it. Feel LOUSY on the way to (see following page) Kei Takei's party, but the people are SO nice I feel somewhat better (see subsequent page).

DIARY 3498

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 23. Up about 7:45 for elaborate sex with Baby Magic again. Then wash off a bit and get over to finish up the money chart until about noon, finding out that things really don't appear on PAPER as I feel them: for the 19 weeks between July 13th and December 23rd, I was out of work two weeks and at Hemlock Hall one week. For those 16 weeks, I worked 84 days or 5¼ days per week for 497 hours, an average of only 6 hours per day (or 31 hours/week), and I earned $2132 before taxes, or $4.30 per hour, or $133.30/week, which means I have to work 45 weeks to get $6000/year at that rate, which is rather discouraging. But only for 6 of those weeks did I work over the 35 hours John says is normal in New York. John leaves for DTW for his last programs, and I put in five hours on Crebos and Chandler and Fox, finishing the lovely tables, feeling fairly eye-weary. In between times I manage to type 11 pages of diary, but it's wearisome work, because there's really not too much to write about, and things seem to be changing so quickly I can't catch the essence of each day. But at least that puts me halfway there. We're out to eat at John's restaurant (after I go shopping for a pork roast during the afternoon, and call over a half-dozen restaurants to try to make reservations for Christmas night, but every place seems to be closed that's any good), which turns out to be the Near East again, and it may have gained in regular clientele and in predictable hours, but it's gone downhill in quality and interest. Back home with groceries for sweet and sour pork tomorrow, and I get to the deli for the Times and popcorn, which the Bohack didn't have except in the overly-expensive Jiffypop things (another reason to hate the city). John's out to Man's Country, and I think to go, but I'm too weary, and say "But you had sex this morning," to which John replies, "Oh, that was saved up from six months ago," so he smokes, eats a piece of cake, and goes off. I work some more, then at 11 start on John's Bs again, but stop at midnight, shower and wash my hair, and settle down for a long bout with the Times when John comes, saying he's "had dozens," at 12:45, so the lights go off and we're to sleep.

DIARY 3500

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24. I wake at 7:15 and lie until 7:45, when it's clear that John's not about to get up, so I put on the same old bathrobe and go into the study with two day's growth of beard to work two and a half hours on the Bs, from 8:30 to 11, starting to go over the flags with John, but adjourning to watch the syrupy-sweet "Godspell" on Camera Three, and I keep looking for the sardonic thin-lipped grin of Joel Gray to give a dash of Tabasco to the bland proceedings. Then back to continue from 11:30 to 1:10, when we take lunch over to watch "Horse Feathers" with the Marx Brothers. I'm back to FINISH everything that Joan's sent me to do on the Bs by 5:30, working a total of three hours in the afternoon, 7 hours in all. Then start typing diary pages until we have dinner of sweet and pungent pork with chopsticks, though I get a spoon to scoop up the goody with the rice, and then John's out to the "Apu" Trilogy at the Elgin with a trip to the Eagle afterward, and I call Mom and Rita at 8, content that she'd WANTED me to call "with a PART of the $20, anyway," and Rita's sent me something other than the India book, but she still has the form, so she'll get it to me for my birthday, or maybe sooner. Grandma got the picture of one of the two cysts that she's lived with for the past 10-15-or-even-20 years, and I call her just to spread good cheer. Then get to work on assembling John's Xmas present (see next page), and finish with that about 11, putting it under the bed so that it'll be all ready for the morning, having the vague fantasy that TONIGHT will be the night he finds someone else and runs off with them, and I'm left holding the envelope. Typed through the evening, going at a furious clip, getting 15 pages done, the last prompted by caroling on Hicks Street. Feels good to be up to date, but I have only one day left, letters to write, stamps to soak, and not enough time to do it all in. Sit and read the thankfully abbreviated Times by 12, and am just putting out the lights to go next door when John returns, so I shower and smoke while he goes to bed at 12:30, and get the lovely image (on the following pages) of the Cosmic Tape Machine, and get into a visual-imaging-from-grass bed (sort of red flowers on a blue background) at 1:30, not feeling sexy at all.

DIARY 3503

MONDAY, DECEMBER 25. Up about 8, feeling still somewhat sleepy, and John asks whether I want my present now or later, and I start kissing him, saying that I was giving him the first part of HIS present, and we exchange the delightful gifts described on 3501. Out and read the rest of the Times, and then don't feel like doing anything, so I read the beginning of "Art in Tibet," which is good on everything but Tantric studies, and then start on the puzzles in the Times, doing them both after reading all the articles. Watch silent movies on TV from 2-4, with the awful commentary Channel 13 always has, and get over to at least type three to catch up with the diary. Have lunch before the movies, and then back to write letters to Mom, Bill, Paul, the Seavers, and the letter, finally, to Delacorte prompted by Betsy Feist. Christmas dinner is more of the sweet and sour pork, and we even finish the last of it, in only two meals. Finish the dishes and get over to find John watching "applesauce" in the guise of "Rhapsody," and I sit looking up the Natal stamp information for Peter Schaffer, and sorting out the Canadian stamps that I'll send him for the next five times, and then remember that I DID want to finish the HBJ work this evening, but there's about five hours to do, it's 9 pm, and I just don't feel like doing it. So I watch TV with John until I feel like smoking, and we turn down the volume and start necking on the sofa, me playing with John's balls, then we're onto the floor for more action, and John goes to get the poppers and I'm into the bed, where the action continues furiously until he comes, and I finish myself off, and we're both quite content, I figure (um, forgot we had popcorn this afternoon) we're then going to bed, but no, John's out to watch the end of "Rhapsody," so I get the brownies out of the fridge, and finish up some of the Chips, which John has (though he SAYS he doesn't like their taste), and then we watch the beginning of the Boris Karloff theater, and the start is so marvelously hypnotic with the man, Cagliostro, killing a woman by giving her a diamond necklace. And then people are trapped behind a mirror, and it's fun enough until 12, when we both collapse into bed.

DIARY 3504

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 26. Wake at 7:15 and can't move until John wakes at 7:45, but he's obviously not getting up, so I shit and help him make the bed, and I get started on the Harcourt Graham Mathematics book chapters 8-10 at 9, and it takes a LONG time, so I call Susan to say I'm not going to be in today, and she says GOOD, and then I call Pam to tell her I'll be bringing the stuff in between 2-5, and SHE says good, then Arnie calls and inveigles me into wanting to see Antonioni's "China" (mainly by saying it's his ONLY feature film since "Zabriskie Point"), so I say I'll meet him at the MMA at 5:15, then call John to find that we'd agreed to go to a restaurant tonight, but John says he doesn't mind: I can go. But I feel very guilty about it, wishing I could get out of it some way. I work through until 2, making out a bill for 13 hours for the 8 hours worked, then have the lunch packed for me by John, read the last page of the last issue of Life magazine, and put it into the bookcase for future appreciation in value, and leave about 3 after shaving and showering, figuring I have PILES of time. Into Crebos about 4, but they have me type up my bill, then show it to Harvey and he notices an unnumbered Xerox and makes me fill them out, then Ruth insists that I have to put the (Population in Thousands) notice on EVERY page it's on (which I agree is a good idea), and Harvey greets me on leaving by asking if I'm working, and I say yes, but not here, and dash out at 4:45 to get up to HBJ just by 5, giving the stuff to Pam, and we chat for a few minutes about how slow it's going to be, but there might be math books to copyedit, and there might EVEN by in-house proofreading at $4.50 for them in a GRAVE emergency. Across to MMA to find the film's not been completely edited yet, Arnie bends my ear for minutes, I call John and we agree on a restaurant, I subway home, we talk, and go to the Chinese restaurant for a half-good, half-bad repast, and John ends up by talking about his strange feelings of something good about to happen (see next page). Feel like sex, so I smoke and we get over to Man's Country for their $1 for 4 hours special on Tuesdays, and it's a pretty live evening (see following pages). Home to bed at 12:30, feeling compelled to take another shower, and jerk off there, feeling EXHAUSTED.

DIARY 3509

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 27. Up fairly draggy, John even draggier from the sex last night at Man's Country. To work by 9:40, having made John's lunch in a bowl because he's staying in today, and sign in as working from 9:30. Bob's new, nervous, older, and has "a beautiful resume" but doesn't seem to learn very quickly. Barry's knowledgeable and onto Ronnie already, which is fun. Susan tells me that Bonny's QUIT, and there are meetings all day to see what to do with the project, and she tells me wryly that they've located two bottlenecks, her and Ronnie. And I can't reply because I'm convinced that it's perfectly true. Dealings with Ginny through the day, and Susan thinks I'm doing very well, so everything looks just FINE. Then I call Life and Canadian Immigration and the Brooklyn IRS and Olsten's to catch up on business, and Crebos to explain to Harvey why I was so abrupt last night. I mention money, and he says "Betsy and I were talking about that this morning, and we've decided you can go to $3.75 an hour." Blurp! Say that I'll be in Friday, not telling him that I'll be talking about some permanent arrangement whereby I can drop in maybe twice a week and take things HOME to do them (and get even MORE money from them), and feel GREAT about things. Call John, but he's not home: want to buy champagne to celebrate, but I have not enough money in my wallet, and can't pick up the poppers that I took the prescription back for today. Leave at 5:15 after talking with Barry and deciding to tell them tomorrow that I won't be in on Friday, not being able to do anything on the Mattachine writing I took with me in case there was a lull in the work. Home at 6 and John's not overly appreciative of my raise, saying it should be $4.50, and we have dinner of, odd, meat loaf AND steak, and I get back to diary, doing 6 pages nicely, particularly when the W.C. Fields movie doesn't go on, so I can't sit and watch it and take care of stamps. Write a letter to Peter Schaffer, but have NOW letters to write to Rita and Edgardo. It just never ends. Lists of things to do tomorrow, sort out stamps a bit, and get into bed at 11:30, unshowered, and have trouble sleeping. Toss and turn. Ugh.

DIARY 3516

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 28. Up early and out of bed with John still dozing, and over to type up the ideas that spun through my head while lying there listening to the woman above (see 3510-3515). That takes until 9:20, and then I make lunch, and my hair is dry from where I washed it, and I get to work at ACC at 10:30, and start making a list of things to tell Marge: like Ronnie read "The Faith Diamond Robbery" with Catman and Sparrow, Barry, who's only been there four days, told Bob, "The phone's always for Ronnie," that Bonny QUIT, that NG/ND/PD was allowed to REMAIN on the "all-English Progress Checks. And then made a special note for the following information on the audiotape: 12 + 3 = Purple. Work through until 5:30, then leave for Mattachine at 6 (see next page). Leave late, at 9:55, and get in at 10:30, put the steak on while I search for the mail, but I guess there isn't any, since IBM seemed to be off, the stock exchange was off, and many businesses were closed in memoriam Harry S. Truman, who was buried today. Read the Village Voice, finding nothing of interest in it, and do all the many dishes from John's making some kind of cake which used more dishes than any other recipe in the world, including four bowls for different colored doughs. I turn on the radio, flip to some good music, and hear a voice that prompts me to say "That sounds like Jeff Duncan," and it IS Jeff Duncan, talking about DTW, on WNCN. Finish dishes and gather things up to take them across the hall, and hear the door downstairs, and I say "That's John," and it is, and he's surprised to see me standing on the stairs (but he didn't kiss me, in fact we didn't kiss at ALL this evening). Into bed after showering at 11:30, but I feel a twinge, John's sleeping, so I'm up to smoke with the cock book, and tease myself into a very nice state of hardness, which I stay in for a good length of time, playing with my stiff cock with a teasing pencil, teasing, tempting, getting harder and harder, balls vanishing into my scrotal sacs, and finally I go VERY fast and come all in a puddle, which I pick up using my fingers as chopsticks, it begins feeling cold in the room, I dry off, put things away (couldn't locate the popper-sniffer in the tray, but it was there today), and crawl, tired, into bed, blissful at the silence upstairs, but THEN she starts tromping, so earplugs go in.

DIARY 3518

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 29. Up early and into Crebos early, about a few minutes before 10, and Harvey says that Murrill and Smith isn't finished yet, but that it'll be around noon. So I start working on something else, and noon comes and it's not ready yet, so I chat with Elizabeth and Betsy and Marge and keep on working, finally eating lunch there, and get the Murrill and Smith to take out, along with Britt and Boyd, and then walk down to ACC at 3:30, so I stay until 5:30 to finish off with at LEAST two hours for the day, and everyone's moving into the filing room, and I have to move a credenza out into the hall myself because everyone is so "injury-proper" oriented that they won't touch it without a mover's union card. So I get behind it and just PUSH. Work in Bonny's office until 5:30, and they say I can keep that, and everyone ELSE is worried about lack of circulation in the totally enclosed room (and there are two smokers there, too). Home and type two diary pages to keep up to date, and get off long letters to Rita and Edgardo, getting those items off the list of things to do and I make up ANOTHER list of things that I want to do over the weekend, hoping to get everything done, not even THINKING that I might not get around to everything, which of course I DON'T! Feel good to finally get rid of all the letters, though the stack of cards with notes that have to be answered on the chest are faintly ominous, and I add lots of extra things to the list of things to do: like clean out the bottom desk drawer, clean out the stamp drawer (since I've been having so much trouble getting into it lately with all the empty boxes cluttering up the space), and typing out the calendar book so that I can retype the master Table of Contents for my entire writing collection just after the new year. Then John's requested all the Indian books be in one place, and suddenly at 11 he's ready for bed, but I'm just ready to get going, so I look through all the bookcases to see what Indian books can be shifted to a certain section, and survey all my books by the time I start getting tired at 12:30, and I just NATURALLY want to stay up later than John, it seems, yet still can stand to get up earlier than he does.

DIARY 3519

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 30. Up about 9, having sex early in the morning, and then get right into moving the books around for the bookcase, taking the large ones off the bottom shelf, and then take ALL the travel books off the shelves, move the regular end of the fiction up more, move some other sets of books around, and then divide the moving into a number of groups: India proper, countries very like India, such as Tibet, Nepal, and Ceylon, and then the rest of foreign travel, then United States travel, then New York travel, and then the programs and art books that are associated with the travel, but essentially say nothing about the places I got them in. Work back and forth in sizing up the shelves, watching "The Fabulous Baron Munchausen" from Czechoslovakia and a marvelous production in color with combinations of animation and live-action which are very effective, particularly the horse jumping across the chasm, becoming an animated drawing as it falls into the abyss. Keep on until about 1, stopping when John brings over lunch, but I still have the sofa strewn with books when I decide I just HAVE to start on Murrill and Smith, so I get over and work on Crebos stuff from 2-7, tried to watch "Midsummer Night's Dream" but they cancelled it, and then we have dinner, and then over to watch "Mouse on the Moon," after John finishes watching "A Nice Place to Live" on Channel 13 with an improvisational group. John's been smoking to ward off some bug, and he wants to watch, laughing at the least provocation, and I keep working on the last of the shelves, finally agreeing that postcards really shouldn't be put on the shelves, and in the end that saves me enough space to be able to actually PUT everything, including the five books John got me for Christmas, on the shelves in the proper place. Then he goes to bed while I go out and buy the Times, finish both puzzles before watching "Manpower" on TV at 1:30 until 3, with the glorious cast of Marlene Dietrich as a poor B-girl who married Edward G. Robinson but falls in love with George Raft, both of whom work on high power lines, and there are scenes of cliffs with tension wires falling into raging rivers, and rainstorms among the tension-pole tops for a very stimulating viewing. DEAD tired at 3:25 when it's over, and don't even shower before crawling into bed.

DIARY 3520

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 31. Keep track on the list, and I actually, when I took some time off to sort out the stamp drawer, ended up somewhat ahead of my schedule for the weekend, doing 13 hours yesterday, leaving only 25 hours for today and tomorrow. But I'm up only at 9:30 today, and finish reading the Times in time for the 11 am showing of some of Norman McLaren's films on Camera Three, and they show only a tiny portion of "Pas de Deux," which is sad, and I'm ready for work at noon, having had cereal at 11:30, when John has lunch, so I'm off schedule for eating today. Work on the last hour of Murrill and Smith and start on the Britt and Boyd, trying to get in touch with Elizabeth to find out what KIND of job it is, and finally decide because it's quite clean that I can just read the manuscript word for word for sense, and that seems to be the right tack. Find lots of questions, however. Get over to watch "Call of the Wild" to see if they have on the "Midsummer Night's Dream" that they replaced with COTW yesterday, but they only have Indira Gandhi on, so I finish my toasted muffin with butter and John's apricot jam, and then vacuum the entire apartment after taking pains to dust everything very well, and scouring the sink and bathtub for the New Year. That's over at 6:30, and I have just time to shower to wash my hair and shave before we have dinner, which is only a liver omelet since we're having so much to eat tonight, and I get over to shave, and there have been lots of last minute phone calls: Elizabeth and Lorraine and Marge have decided not to come, Arnie called to say that David, whom he met in California, will be joining him, and that Lucy Harms will be late. John gets ready ON TIME, which is silly, so no one's in at 8, and in fact everyone arrived just at 9, so that we can go over and watch a SHITTY commentator try to screw up Sergio Cervetti (but he surely doesn't) on some kind of modern music program on PBS on Channel 31, and THEN we get over to the Multinational Monopoly game that I've invented rules for, and we set up the two boards, and everything gets going very well, and it's a highly successful New Years Eve party at the Hicks Street Monopoly Tournament (see next page).