I’ve always enjoyed being alone, where I can sort my thoughts and groom my feelings and arrange my objectives. This fact was startlingly obvious from the first, and later I found out that people like that are called “introverts’. We draw energy from being alone, whereas our energy is depleted by contact with others.
My most profound warrior resistance, so ancient I can’t recall its inception, is my allergy to being “directed.” For my poor parents it must have felt like their third daughter never emerged from ”the terrible twos.”
My father was a very self-directed man, happiest with just my mother for company, so I had a model of resistance to being “molded.” He explained that he never could work for anyone else because their management style always rubbed him the wrong way. He formed two companies that he directed, and towards the end of his life was the kingpin or a charitable organization with a religious bent. He was grateful to that religion since they’d helped him with his conscientious objection in World War II, but he was never a believer. My mother was more mystical, with a strong response to beauty and design, who felt the most important things in life cannot be expressed. A wonderful challenge for a writer.
My husband and I frequently refer to each other as our “cuttle bone/cuddlebone.” We keep each other’s warrior blades sharp. When trying to explain how I became a warrior, deepest emotional relationships we form by choice paint a picture of a quest for support and validation. My coed boarding school had rigid social requirements of dating and communicating – there was a “Boys End” and a “Girls End” and every evening representatives from each side would meet in “Central” and exchange baskets of messages. At Girls’ End these messages (called “KOBS” or “Kindness of Bearer”) were stored in a stocking hung beside the recipient’s mirror. This was our earliest form of flirting! One lover I chose because his KOBS were beautiful – always expressed as free-floating poetry – another because he was imaginative and ambitious – a third because he was forceful and honest. It was how these boys came alive on the page that was significant to me. My last boyfriend at that school – whom I was to marry eleven years later – we are still married to this day – presented himself as an ideal combination of all of these, plus he was gorgeously beautiful. But before we could come together, many dragons needed to be killed.
Leaving the Coven
A craven of cronies stood Between us & God – God demands clones God hated short skirts.
A damnation of judges Stood between us & Knowledge; truth exists Only in service.
A clowder of cretins Stood between us & Art: “Don’t be disturbing” “Never trust instincts.”
From the depths of This oubliette You drank the koolaid Guaranteeing survival
Cherishing passions that One day would rescue me – So I could grow up And write you this poem.
It’s in Conflict that warriors emerge. My uncle insisted people in authority be “respected” and said whether they were worthy of respect was not the point. My parents were never that crass. It was a subtle game with them. My mother referred conflict to my father; we were ”hurting” her by not being the people that she wanted. It was hard to take seriously. But “discipline” quickly transferred to my father and he was a much scarier proposition. He was physically violent – spanking me, breaking down my door, visibly losing his temper and then further enraged over losing his temper. This was a whirlwind I could not ride and it hardened me against him. Some facts he refused to accept, actual truths he rejected with “No.” I understood that my mother was too weak to face things but Dad claimed to be a fearless seeker in life. It made me disrespect him.
My family typically spent a month each summer cruising on a thirty-seven foot sloop called the Phoenix. Four children and two adults relating in such a confined space shaped the warrior skills of my adult personality, including a taste for exploration, for reveling in the physical pleasures of water, wind, storm & sun, for the absolute dissociation of reading and thinking, and for reading aloud, also group card games such a Michigan and Oh Hell played during wild evening parties called “Phoenix A-Gogo.”
One of my earliest jobs was an office work temp – ending up as receptionist at an architecture firm. In my hegira through multiple workplaces I did not find one where I liked the lowly way I was treated. But Warriors, by definition, don’t put up with the Status Quo. Seeking to ratchet up my power level I used my training and auditioned to be a dancer. Things improved mightily! Although I still encountered some mistrust and scorn, on the whole, I achieved my goal of feeling plugged into the Universal Power Source.
At last, fireside peace. Finally got the baby to sleep pressed against my body in the bed, then managed to substitute a pillow.
He seems fussy lately – reacting I think to the general disorganization of streams of family & visitors. Also, I may be drinking too much caffeine. Fix that.
it’s surprising how little you can get done while baby-tending. The books warn – naps more important than housework. Can read while breastfeeding thank God. Starve without brain matter.
Today read almost all of Stone’s The Mystery of B Traven. Love this mania for self-concealment! 1:45 AM – Just back from Sutton’s – a delightful evening playing “Dictionary.” Shane gave me an exhausting early eve but he slept 3 and 1/2 hrs at Sutton’s like an angel. Sutton said he transferred funds to our joint acct at Kidder but we no longer have a joint acct at Kidder. T. says, “Probably mine, then.” Well, he’s not my father.
Our first night here was a nightmare – Toss a crazy man. House very cold and took some time to warm. Toss frantic about the baby who was perfectly warm but cried harassingly. In the AM he apologized. I always feel brutalized by his anger – seems he makes no effort to control it. He thinks everything I do is to “spite” him. What is the cause of this? Must have been Lois. She is pretty strange.
Outside this bedroom in the winter living room Toss & Dom & friends re-living the dictionary game – recounting the funny definitions. Finished feeding Shane and now waiting for him to fall deeply enough asleep that I can move him to his crib.
My press now an obsession. Every book is compared to my inner books. Last night intercourse first time! I was nervous because inside vagina has strange raw feeling tight but not painful. Shane clucking. Better turn out light.
12:30 PM Sun 3 Jan 82 – StormFall Review of book about the creative process quotes the theory that the artist must “stop before coming to premature closure” – closing off options too soon. Later, in discussion of life of Meyer Levin reviewer produces astonishing analysis of the way writers try to answer critics objection WHILE WRITING and that is “responsible” (i.e. bank-worthy.) Further along in a review of Why Bad Things Happen to Good People writer concludes that God is powerless to stop the consequences of the world He set in motion!! He “weeps” but can’t help!! Unbearably wrong-headed. Shows how religious tenets can go in one ear and out the other while the thinker THINKS he has understood. (Of course Judaism is different.)
Christ prayed the cup would pass – it didn’t but the story doesn’t end there. He ROSE! They all saw it!
2:40 PM Baby cried so couldn’t continue. Sad about leaving but eager to get home. The exit always puts me at odds with T and emphasizes my powerlessness. We’ll leave when he is ready at the most inconvenient time. He can promise nothing. Now he has committed us to taking soup with Sutton & Pansy which I am determined he will retract. Thank God I have SOME money and can protect myself from Housewife Madness. Feeling fat and ugly now and I was feeling beautiful before I came – a psychic manifestation of my powerlessness. Sutton’s house a fount of luxury. Toss agitates to seem successful around him instead of honestly stating difficulties & truths. I always feel the problem boils down to loss of identity – I feel like a ghost. The artist cannot allow herself Fear of the Unknown. Everyone else hedges – I want to leap.
Grover’s Mill 4:30 PM – Tues 5 Jan 82 Feeling better. Anxiety level high yesterday but read The First 12 Months of Life that says after 3 mos the crying stops “magically”! Baby begins to play by himself! OK! I “magically” felt less fatigue (fatigue is helplessness with me.)
Baby dozing in the Swing-o-matic but wakes the instant it slows. Hoping to finish first coat of paint on the crib so he can be in his own room by the end of the week.
Charlene stopped by to see the baby. Why does she depress me?
Suggested to Julio & Gretchen that they make a book of his photos of Maine & her poems and I will try to sell it for them. Labor of love. So many good artists out there discouraged by climate of rejection. Do you need mind as well as hide of rhino?
I set Sept 82 as press beginning – I will have $7000 of Corning.
Toss says he & Lois will start paying themselves out of Faircross – this will revolutionize our lives. Yesterday baby was sleepier allowing me to catch up on Psychology Today, N.Y Review of Books and My Search for B Traven which would make good novel.
9:40 PM – Shane asleep from 7:15 to 9:30 allowing us to have a lengthy, peaceful sit-down dinner! Toss very excited about condos wants me to type condo docs. We could get Margaret to watch Shane. It’s only 50 p. Unfortunately, it’s due Fri and I can’t finish by then! He approved Sept as start-off for press.
Tues. 12 Jan 82 – 11 AM Enjoying late breakfast downstairs after weekend trauma. Shane dozing in swing. Total nightmare weekend typing condo docs, spelling each other. Sat night we went out but that was traumatic too because we were away from Shane too long – 6 1/2 hrs – kept calling Margaret. Dinner and LOONG movie (Reds) too much! In future only one or the other. I stayed up trying to express milk – got only 3 oz which T used next AM trying to let me sleep. Worked on docs till 2 PM then dressed to drive to Lois’ go see Louise. Louise “up”, intelligent, appreciated Shane who unfortunately went on crying jag. Louise didn’t get to hold him as much as she liked. Back at Lois’ worked on condo docs till 12:20 – Shane obligingly slept – then the car wouldn’t start. Record cold night – 2 above zero – homeless being rounded up – still, five deaths. So, we couldn’t leave and spent the night at Lois’. I took the Daytimer catalog to bed with me and fell asleep choosing stationery for Quixota, my new press.
Baby now playing, yawning, stretching beside me, the beauty. Lois & T had 9:15 AM with Heritage Savings who will probably be their lender. After the cold night, Lois’ car wouldn’t work and they had to take a cab. Shane and I managed a bath together. They didn’t return till 4:15 PM. They’d had a good day, felt the situation promising. Lois offered to make dinner – so went to work on car batteries – next thing we knew it was 7 PM and Shane was deteriorating. All my efforts to give him away were for naught – I had to collapse in tears and go upstairs to howl. T. brought Shane upstairs when he collapsed into an exhausted sleep and I was able to go downstairs at 8 PM and wolf a chicken.
Then T & I left for our glorious home! At midnight with me swearing not to move till Baby’s christening. We discovered hot water pipes had burst (owing to cold) but we do have cold water. Called plumber today – they are coming but can’t say when. Shane sitting bad-temperedly in his swing – grumpy Baby Emperor. If he sinks into a doze, I will, too.
Thought about nothing but press all weekend. Trying to decide whether to allow Daisy to place them in bookstores or just go with mail order. Trouble with mail order is huge advertising budget! I want to be ruthless now that I am publisher and have everything done my way – maybe G & J’s book as calendar? Shane fussing.
8:15 PM Fri 15 Jan 82 Shane lying in his crib transfixed by his windup mobile – talking to it – especially purple hippo for which he cherishes extravagant fondness.
A good day – school out so Margaret didn’t come – wanted to be with her sons. Fine with me – I’m not quite ready to write.
Shane marvelously agreeable – only one bout of tears right before nap. Only 3 hrs sleep today bodes well for night. 7 Hrs last night!!! Toss due home in half hour – had to go to bank and missed his train.
Reading Dworkin’s Pornography – unbearably uncomfortable – especially for men! Her elegant writing anger infused – balance perfect. True, cogent, exact but does not express the blade of grass ALWAYS pushing upwards thru cement. The world may be a desert – yet deserts are hives of activity. Unexpected flowerings. It’s true that I’m disgustingly spoiled by the perfections of Toss. He is violent in his anger and his rage flames hot but it is not directed at me in a way that leaves me choiceless. And always there is his exquisite tenderness – the heart of his passion so personal – never a moment when he cannot be touched. (He gave his gloves to a cold bag lady this weekend – MENS’ gloves? She said!)
If I were Dworkin, I would despair.
And then there is the ecstasy the religious dimension gives to life! Otherwise the purposelessness & cruelty would be soul-killing – human aspiration and hypocrisy the sand constantly creating a tortuous itch. I see life now as a war only won by love. Thousand small trivial triumphs – looks- smiles – glances – tiny actions – seem to melt to nothing when extinguished by violence as Christ seemingly was – but he WON.
So shall we. Yesterday women’s group first time in six weeks. How time has flown! Daphne Hawkes seemingly smaller – more tentative – less powerful than I remember – psalm 31 newly moving.
Baby’s eyes slowly closing in his rocker – thank Goodness. I am ready for a nap. Finished Hope Cooke’s fascinating Time Change (I can read while I breastfeed.) Certainly takes courage to write about one’s life that way. How I would love to! Must get free of this money question. I used to be obsessed with sex – then love – now it’s money. Would like to get my press money together. Always something.
Last night Lois and Toss came in to dinner together – they had been at a mortgage bank in Irvington, NJ where they met with some sympathy.
Baby sleeping 2 hrs! Put aside my John Anderson mystery and find myself opening rejected poetry mss. I am too “ornamental.” Not “formal” enough but these poems “kick up their heels” says the Quarterly Rev of Literature. “Originality & gusto.” Does seem as if every day I have a little more energy.
Man O’War – Abaco – The Bahamas – Hummingbird House – 21 Dec 81 – 3:30 PM Rare minute’s peace. The children screaming all day, except Shane, who did his screaming on the plane. Almost screamed me into a post-partum depression. I was too upset to speak for 45 mins. Toss is fixing a broken lamp, niece Tremayne is reading to other niece Lylo who is tearstained from an encounter with local cat. Mom looking for a Band-Aid for Lylo, Genevieve and Dad trying to determine if second boat is usable.
Island not what I expected. I expected New Yorker style resort instead of bidonville out of a Graham Greene novel. Hummingbird House buried in foliage – wild poinsettia & succulents. 5 minute walk to the beach; a very nice beach and deserted. Unfortunately, windy today and it took some nerve to decide to go in. Water seems cool, then you get used to it.
Shane snoozling next to me. Just put aside Mary Chesnut’s Civil War which I am enjoying tremendously.
Our Pan Am flight was late which made us miss our Air Florida flight to Marsh Harbor and had to put everyone up at local hotel. Not too bothersome although we saw way too much of the Miami airport.
Sisters are in 2 little houses I haven’t seen yet on Dickie’s Cay. Avril says they are nothing to write home about and their advertised “view” is simply a lie. Avril seems happy but her skin very bad – trying to talk her into seeing a dermatologist before wedding. Glad this trip is only a week – tough being in such close quarters with family. Friday I had a very bad day – too many errands to run – had to take Shane in a rush to doctor who fortunately was calm. He’s VERY healthy in the 90th percentile of EVERYTHING. Weight 11 lbs and has grown ½ inch. I am tired of being fat but my discipline is good so it should GO.
Thurs Toss had a wonderful meeting with Central Mortgage – looks like they’ll loan all monies if T raises $50,000 on his stock which he would get back the moment loan goes through. Daisy came over to go over my poetry! I was resistant! With a “view to publication” is just more of the same problem I’ve been having. Screw publication or anyone’s views about this but my own. This is like girls “fixing themselves up” so some man might “have” them.
5 PM – God – it’s all I can do to get Toss to take Shane – now he’s got him and I can write 5 sentences.
Next few years a voyage of discovery – figure out how to please MYSELF. 11:30 PM – Very agreeable evening. Mom & Dad & Toss & I have been drinking & talking & reminiscing for the past 3 hrs. Good relationship with M & D – Dad talks about how I challenge them.
T. just finished reading this diary! (With my approval.) Mostly he’s Ok with it – minor reservations – sort of like Rosencrantz & Guildenstern – he sees things differently from Hamlet. It was painful to have him read my resolution to concentrate on work and say to hell with money – I feel like I’ve tried but I don’t want him to think badly of me. I want to write ghost stories! Lead a subterranean life. Answer no phones between Jan and March. I could always write the story of the way things OUGHT to be – Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre.
5:15 PM Tues 22 Dec 81 Very erotic night – Toss delicious. A lovely lazy day – took baby to the beach –parked him in the shade & swam in the surf. Slept 2 hrs in the afternoon – tonight ham dinner & Christmas celebration!
Wed 23 Dec – 3:30 PM So much to write I’m scared to get started – Shane could interrupt at any moment. He gave me a fairly rough night – been sleeping only 45 mins – needs to be fed every hour and a half – felt I’d gone several rounds with Sonny Liston. This AM at the beach he needed constant holding. During lunch he slept ½ hr – up 2 hrs – now sleeping again. Do I want to sleep? Read? Write about money or sisters?
9:30 PM – Very pleasurable evening. Read thru NY Times – review of Adrienne Rich’s Wild Patience making me feel human again. A little privacy to chew intellectual meat brings me out of any downspin. To write poetry of the most important simplicities individual to our era suddenly seems of maximum importance.
Just fed S – he sleeps very sweetly in his “Little Jogger” outfit – Xmas gift from Avril. “To assemble Japanese bicycle one must have peace of mind.” If you accept the slavery of Zen does it make you free?
11:30 PM – Christmas Eve Firecrackers…and they’ll probably go off all night. Feeling well rested – 2 extra hours sleep at breakfast (Shane’s fussiest period) while T took him, then lay around till 2 when I went swimming. Expressed 2 bottles milk.
Played cards – wild, vulgar Michigan – WON. Shane sleeping since 9. Tomorrow – snorkeling! I part company with Mary Chesnut – it’s a valuable historical document BUT her tirades on slave-owners going bankrupt through their “charity” makes you puke. She regards herself as quite an authority on slave behavior! I’d say the reverse is likely true. (Why do they keep singing “Massa’s in de Cold Cold Ground”? Hmm.) Reminds me of that bizarre man who studied homosexuals to find out what men are really like! Weird.
Thinking of Lois’ reaction to my press idea – that I am neither a good writer nor a good businesswoman. I refuse to look at my press as a business but operating a philanthropy at this stage of our lives too insane. Third way – seeding the ground? The Literary World is a malignant casino where the statistics are against you.
Start a vigorous exercise plan when I get home – right now I’m lying around worrying. Can I afford BOTH cleaner and therapist? Cleaner DEFINITELY more important! Was Guilders College a senseless detour? Made me a bit sad to see how proud it made T.
Concentrate on being a good mother to Shane – not making others’ mistakes. T thinks he will have financing for project in Jan. Priorities are family and writing – friends & school just have to wait. I want to be known as having a valuable contribution to make.
2:30 PM – Mon 28 Dec 81 Interesting and FAIR article on Plath in the New Republic. Since I wrote the above I have taken Tylenol for atrocious headache and put Shane in the Swing-o-matic to stop his screaming. First he didn’t like it at all, then sat with a hurt and insulted expression throughout – finally fell asleep. It’s not moving any more but I refuse to touch it and wake him.
Feel like I’m in an inescapable maze! MUST surmount this. Shane awake, so swinging again. Still looks far from happy but at least I get to write this.
Yesterday draining – up at 6:15 to catch 8 AM ferry to Marsh Harbor – traveling, airports, taxis and trains all day toil 8:15 PM – lucky to get home THAT early – caught the 7 PM train at Penn Station by 12 seconds. When we finally got home, Shane went on a shriek – I was numb just wanting to retreat into Times Book Review. Then all night long he needed nursing at hour and a half intervals – till I finally had T give him sugar water so I could get some sleep.
He’s now lying so beautifully – magnificent legs extended – I feel dumb & stupid. Rejected romance novel – they liked love scenes but want less barter. Agent asks do I want to revise. HELL NO. Plath needed to stay alive & keep working, article concludes!
10 PM – feel much better. Some food – 20 min nap – good hour reading NY Times. News: the Blands divorcing. I realize with such thankfulness my luck in having Toss – intellectual yet sentimental (in the best sense!) humorous but passionate, sexy but monogamous!
The baby, after being a wild man all day, has been asleep 2 hrs! Think I’ll try to stay up.
1:45 AM – I am a new woman! T and I have been bouncing around – wrote my thank you notes, wrapped 3 presents, packed one, sorted through oddments preparatory to cleaning bedroom. T has mounted phone cord to avert trip & falls, now mounting heating pad controls so they won’t get lost in Dusty Under-bed Darkness. The only solution to babydom is to do without sleep. God, I’m in a good mood. Still plan to do my nails & read a little.
Read wonderful Plath poem Child’s Park Stones. Different from her best-known stuff, yet excellent. Wrote a letter to Barry about my press. I need an upswing.
Bad news – Scribner’s rejects mystery, so I went to the hairdresser in great determination to get a new cut & body wave. I showed her pictures and she seemed to know what she was doing but it came out much too curly when what I wanted was a wave. She said after I washed it most of the curl would leave – it HASN’T – even the color looks brassier – now I think I look like Little Orphan Annie. Toss says “you traumatize easy” and it’s the truth. Never acquired the rhinoceros hide. Trying to be philosophical but feeling hopeless about my work which is the obvious result when you try to please people but don’t. Afraid agent Lavallee is going to abandon me and I couldn’t blame her – also the whole thing about having an agent is they have to think about the market and the market is telling me to STOP THINKING ABOUT IT.
Luckily the baby is a great joy. I let myself get too tired – made a big effort to get to Women’s Group and it was distressingly boring Old Testament stuff. When I tried to apologize to Mom for dragging her to this event she behaved strangely – maybe she PREFERS Old Testament – couldn’t figure it out. Daisy wanted to know why I was distressed and I couldn’t explain how my parents seem to feel threatened by my religious beliefs. Mom & Daisy did NOT like each other. At least Mom didn’t act scornful which was my big fear.
Last Sutton & Pansy came to dinner with Mom & Dad – it was a successful event and the parents liked Pansy very much. Didn’t sniff afterwards about how vulgar they were or over-interested in money. In fact, they acted like rich people around me for the first time, drinking a lot of wine and talking about Merrill Lynch Cash Management Fund. Toss very surprised to hear his father say that if certain targets are reached, he plans to give the Country Store he bought for $125,000 to the manager, a virtual stranger! T used to be against hitting up Sutton for bucks but this might change his mind.
Tonight parents are off to Aunt Fred’s so Toss & I can have dinner alone. Tomorrow afternoon Mom & Dad leave.
Thousands of phone calls to make and letters to write but I think I will just be ruthless and postpone them till I feel up to it. God, I feel better! Just need to talk to myself once in a while. Having a beer and trying to express milk for the baby’s night bottle.
8 PM 4 Dec 81 Started hemorrhaging at midwife appt today. Adair gave me a shot of methargine and had me rest until the bleeding stopped, then prescribed bedrest! No stairs for a week! No housework! I was so tired I was grateful for the directive. I especially want to avoid a D & C.
8:20 PM Tues 8 Dec 81 I did have to go to the hospital – had to call Adair at ll:30 because bleeding started up again with enormous clots! She came over and said I needed Medical Management.
I went to Middlesex Hospital at 2 AM where I was prodded and probed by literally EVERYONE in the emergency room while I clung tearfully to Toss, upset at being separated from Shane, who was being cared for by Lois. Finally, I was sent to a private room where I was able to express milk. Sent 2 bottles back with T so Shane never did run short.
The Pitocin in my IV finally stopped the bleeding and I was released at 5:30 without having a D & C.
Since then I’ve been OK – no bleeding at all.
I am being driven insane by being waited on. T never has dinner ready before 9 and when I send him for tea or coffee he always forgets.
I don’t mind giving up housework but I want to resume a normal schedule and take Shane places but we really can’t go anywhere before the Bahamas.
My reading diverse – The Economist, Money mag and 2 Agatha Christies. Also the entire diary of the Princess of Pless, which I found fascinating.
Yesterday I almost got back to my writing but Shane thrashed around like a whale in a tank all afternoon and by the time he subsided I needed a nap myself. Baby needs changing AGAIN!
Last week the nearest I got to postpartum depression was sobbing over Scribner rejection. I hold 2 contradictory views at the same time. Money represents freedom & dignity, and, it doesn’t matter at all.
Daddy weirdly touchy with me at the beginning of our visit asking what mistakes I’m going to make with MY child (as if I knew!) The only thing I can tell for sure is I’m bound to make SOME (but I won’t make THEIRS.) Sutton seems to have made an impact on him – he bought Printronix, opened a margin account and checks out the stock possibilities of California wines.
Freedom would mean writing what I like and selling directly. What fun. But you have to be prepared to lose money on it. I like doing things MY WAY which is probably why I’ve had so little success so far.
Dr. Jones trying to discover how my self-esteem got so badly damaged in the first place. Feel power slowly returning to me through the confusion & helplessness. Dimly realize I should welcome these difficulties if it makes me stronger. Freeing myself from people liking my poetry. My enemies are exhaustion & demoralization. Still want to write a mystery and have so many ideas I am afraid of them. Also, bothered by Toss. I have been horny the past 3 nights (no full sex for 6 weeks) but he keeps falling asleep with his clothes on.
Being good on my diet so hopefully will be skinny soon. Already look not-too-bad though stomach loose. Swimming in the Bahamas will help. Reading Troyat’s Catherine the Great. Looks like baby needs a feeding. Won’t tackle stairs till the weekend – then I’ll feel I’ve done my best.
10:45 PM Wonderful interview with William Stafford in American Poetry Review. Helpful yet caused fresh agonies. It was about writing for the process, avoiding disapproval AND approval. Yet how kill this terrible hunger?
My last conversation with Charlene making me think this friendship is pretty well over. I have the sense of not being listened to. She thinks I’m too privileged to have problems. Says I should try a tutorial with Ezra (whose taste I deplore) when I have given up on Guilders (and it has given up on me.)
Wed 9 Dec 81 Poor Weasel killed by a car this morning – killed outright, thank God – ½ hr after leaving the house. Very sad knowing she got away with this because we couldn’t pay attention to her. Lately we’ve been trying to get her to sleep in a cotton lined bed because of her allergy and she was taking it as a punishment. In a year or two it will be time to get a puppy Dixie can lick into shape.
Goodbye, beloved white dog. See you where all things are perfect and I can give you the attention you deserve. Valiant Toss out burying the body.
Thinking tormentedly about my writing. So much I want to write and can’t – rejection and poverty are difficult. But my “problem” is something else. The terms of my bondage are unclear. What is the condition I am searching for? Serenity. It’s funny how much better this diary makes me feel.
3:15 PM Baby asleep almost 2 hrs now. I’m still in bed – the crises and chaos of this morning haven’t allowed me to get up yet. Reading Living With Your New Baby which is very helpful. Called Lois to tell her I can’t cope with phone calls for the time being – I need to isolate to cope with stress. However, I could address announcement envelopes if Toss would remember to bring them home. Granma is being a pain, constantly calling & writing – we will see her Sat. She offered money but seems to have forgotten.
Hard to believe Weasel, so vibrant a few hours ago, is bloodied & broken in the earth.
This AM Toss told me that putting my name on his accounts makes him 50% poorer in the eyes of those who read his financial statements. I cold say the same, except that I am worth nothing right now. I want this marriage to work. Men contribute money and women contribute the bodies of children which are both everything and nothing under their ancient laws.
Everything outside God is imperfect. All my life I’ve been battling this undertow – a sense of being pulled in a direction I don’t want to go. If I quit fighting I’ll be sucked away. Would like to reduce my sense of confusion & division. I will negotiate & re-negotiate.
4:20 PM – Fri difficult therapy day. Dr Jones trying to get me to see similarity between my lack of acceptance in writing and my lack of acceptance by parents – I can write about it now but was shaken at the time. I think it cannot compute. After all, you have a good chance of being loved by parents but always a small chance of acceptance you’re your original ideas in a buyers’ marketplace. But what would happen if I believed her and translated my search for an income into an effort to be loved? Surely that way madness lies. Is it the goal of therapists to make clients crazier (maybe so they can help them more?) Feel naïve that I expected her to “cure” me. But very attracted to her intellectual world.
T’s brother Dom is coming to dinner. He’s only staying an hour and a half but I hate my solitude being broken. I want to write an essay on Muriel Spark, work out my ideas.
Hoped to have the baby tonight. Thumpings and soundings on my pelvic floor. Braxton-Hicks contractions – reputed to be ‘nothing” – are actually rather painful. Housework hangs heavily over me – Toss does nothing, won’t even pick up his towels off the floor – when I speak to him he apologizes profusely and pledges to change. Doesn’t. I’m boggled by this. I told him I don’t believe in his “as soon as I finish x-y-z” any more I want cleaning person NOW. He purposely arranges his life so he can’t meet his deadlines.
He usually does housework once a week – scrubs kitchen & bathrooms and sweeps breakfast room but he missed this week. I wonder if one of the privileges of motherhood will be my increasing sense of my own power. I hope so. Been difficult up till now.
2:30 PM Mon 9 Nov 81 This world just too crazy for me. Silhouette says my love scenes “lack fire.” Really the funniest part of this is how undiscourageable I am. Better off with a flat turndown than a false carrot. Lavallee writes to say Pinch turned down by Coward & St Martins.
The thing I really hate is how this looks to others – I am sick of being a deadbeat non-person. One needs talent, persistence, application & breaks. I got the first 3!
Managed to find a cleaning woman! I hope this will make it easier to turn to my desk with a sigh of relief. I think freedom is the key to great writing and I’ve been constrained by these petty editors. Miracles occur! T. very nice about my rejections, no “Maybe you should just try harder to please them” thank God. Plan to go on working endlessly without pay, support or recognition – to please myself, while the mystical brass ring floats alluringly by.
Last night Dom said he hopes Sutton is leaving us some money in his will. Toss said when their dad dies we’ll be so wealthy we won’t care! I regard such prognostications with the utmost cynicism. I suppose I’m technically better off than in my working dancer days when I owned a paid off car, an unpaid for house and $300 in bills but it doesn’t feel like it.
9;30 Am Tues 10 Nov 81 Cleaning lady half hour late. So she is probably lost. Yesterday I drove my car out and drove ahead of them to show them the house but she speaks barely any English. On the phone her son says she left to come here “a long time ago.”
Last night read Phantom Prince about Ted Bundy written by his girlfriend. One of the best crime books I’ve ever read! Bundy was like Lizzie Borden in that he ran counter to police theories on crime. They kept letting him go because he “couldn’t” be the guy they were looking for. If he’d known how to STOP he would never have been caught, but he got addicted. Intrigued by the atmosphere of pizza joints & rafting as counterpoint to this couple’s lives. Reminded me of old boyfriend Kyro!
This is a really a whole book about female helplessness and dependency. Women have been trained to act like this to provoke protectiveness in their menfolk – but it often has the exact opposite result! He needed her to protect him from the knowledge of his own monstrousness.
Granma woke me from a nap – still tormenting us about a palace oriental the Schulz Foundation is giving us for reasons that are obscure. Why the principals can’t deal with each other I can’t comprehend. Nap & then try Mrs. Rozo the Lost Cleaning Woman again.
“Memory is our private literature” – Aldous Huxley
11:30 PM Sun 15 Nov 81 Getting lots of sleep hoping a beautiful angel will be born tonight. I’d like to have the house clean. First cleaner doesn’t want to do it, found a new cleaner Margaret who’s coming tomorrow. Washed the white dog in the bathtub and it was really too much for me, can’t bend over at all. Read Lynne Wiley’s Abigail Adams with interest. I enjoy the sweep of a life.
I wasn’t to review Spark’s Loitering With Intent but it’s too thin. Enjoyed the first 7/8 but when it’s over, impossible to say why it was written. She really writes too many books. The transplantation to Rome has not agreed with her.
Yesterday Toss & I drove to Wyomissing to get used (family) crib & car seat. New relationship combustion. I am very emotional right now – told him I don’t want to be solely responsible for harmony in the relationship. In a marriage, there has to be some way to disagree without slipping the rug of love out from under the relationship.
Had Toss to myself all day – an ideal day – reading NY Times in bed.
6;25 PM We 18 Nov 81 Good visit with midwife. She assured me baby will be on time and I will have it at birthing center. Relief. Blood pressure nicely down.
Finally talked Toss into open a housekeeping money market acct with $3500 (and hopefully writing money). Margaret worked hard all day, house looks great. Sat down to write – to my surprise got 8 pages.
4:30 PM – 27 Nov 81 Well it’s all over – my 8 ½ pound baby boy sleeps beside me. Labor was both more and less bad than I expected – I had dysfunctional labor – 2 days’ worth – exhausting & discouraging but I was only able to get to 3 cm dilation myself by noon Wed after having contractions since Mon. The actual contractions were not hard to deal with although they could be painful lying down. Adair transferred me to the hospital after 13 hrs at the birthing center where my contractions finally spaced out to 10-15 mins apart. At the hospital they gave me Demerol – heavenly – enough for 5 hrs sleep then I was ready again. Jane my labor coach showed up and I was refreshed enough for Pitocin at 6.
We were lucky to be in a birthing room with a borning bed – as I discovered later when I got back labor. (Baby high & posterior.) I did all right for 2 hrs then the back labor became so intense I couldn’t tell when I was having a contraction any more. It was torture to be touched. Finally, I asked for more Demerol – Adair didn’t want me to have it because she feared it would increase the need for Pitocin but the Demerol relaxed me between contractions – my eyes became blurry and couldn’t focus. Toss said contractions continued as usual.
The pushing stage I remember well – I enjoyed it – the baby didn’t feel too big & I could feel him moving along. Crowning was a little painful and I got annoyed at everyone shouting “Push! Push” when I wanted the doctor to stretch my perineum a little more. Thankful for the tiny episiotomy they gave me.
Disappointed by mail – no acknowledgement by agent of MSS. Sunk in hopeless apathy, I refuse to speculate on how long it will take her to read the book. However, some good things are happening. Phyllis Chesler’s Women, Money & Power really excellent. Like all these women in the book I am just attempting to survive. The best I can do is keep an eye on commerciality. Maybe I can teach.
Toss sold his Suburban Propane during a brief market rally and got $6000. This weekend heavy socializing. The Plattens over for drinks Fri, the Weiners dinner Sat. Duke Droyer & his new wife Muffy for lunch Sun. This entailed quantities of clearing, cleaning & cooking. As a result, house in great shape. Toss a big help , thoroughly scoured the kitchen & bathrooms while yelling how dirty I am. That made me sad. Chesler is right – don’t ever get cast in the role of having more than 50 percent responsibility for housework. Never accept blame.
Women who do housework are so abused the only reason to do it is because you enjoy it or you don’t want the baby to slip in the slime. Today only empty & reload dishwasher, make bed, vacuum rug.
Spent 4 full hours on poetry only interrupted by phone calls from Toss & Dom. Received International Directory of Little Mags so mailing out droves of material. It has taken me 6 yrs to get 30 acceptances. My aim is 100, but I may get disgusted sooner. No decent relationships result. Seems like a great reason for having your own press. Now I love my Siddall poem which I almost threw away. You never know.
Need to buy nightgowns for my hospital kit but that will have to wait for tomorrow – we took the depressing tour yesterday.
At 6:30 make hamburgers, meet Toss at the train, drive to Bradley class – an important one – Adair explains Caesareans.
Sat 31 OCT 81 Met a woman named Daisy at Trinity Church yesterday – she has 3 kids, plastic surgeon husband, hopes to write for money. I showed her my poems – she has never been published. She admired them, pulled out hers – wish I hadn’t shown my poor, thin, stuff! (I am a late as opposed to early Eliot.) She is a natural poet – use of language acute, original and free. She doesn’t k now how good she is. On the other hand, her fiction is a mess – classic poet’s fiction – everything happening at once. A novel in 3 single-spaced pages! It’s a curable condition but her forte is poetry.
She’s coming for dinner (with husband) Sunday. Now I am faced with the difficulties of getting up when I don’t like being vertical.
Rewrote my Mansfield essay & shipped it off to new journal. Last night couldn’t sleep – woke Toss at 2 AM to make love to me – he was very good-natured about it.
3:20 PM Already exhausted with much left to do. Finished the ironing. Unfortunately mail brings rejection of my romance novel. They liked the writing, said the characterization “strong” but narrative “diffuse.”
3 PM Mon 2 Nov 81 Good intense work on the accounts but can’t wash the dishes till I write here. At dinner Daisy asked me if I wanted REAL criticism of my poetry – her tone full of warning. I steeled myself & said yes. She said I don’t write about the subject I write AROUND it using words as defenses & shields.
I am particularly vulnerable to such criticisms right now. I am escapist. The uncomfortable truth is I will never be as good a poet as Daisy because I am a “literary” poet who should be writing fiction. Toss told me afterward he likes my poems better than Daisy’s because they “get richer with every reading.” He never criticizes just to make me feel good so there must be some truth in this.
I contemplate the shocks of the past few months. Feels like all my props have been taken away. Feels almost spiritual, as if God is hammering on me. Seems like time to start building afresh. But I’m not yet ready to repudiate my dream of writing a commercial novel. I don’t need to get rich, I just need a grubstake. Do I even believe in myself? I think I don’t (it’s too hard) but I do believe in my work.
Guilders has the nerve to ask me to take classes THERE for my degree – I don’t burn that bridge – but I don’t want to. They are not emotionally supportive. They are preparing me for a world I don’t believe in. I can do better.
Starting to come to terms with the deep scars inflicted on me by my parents – I just wasn’t what they had in mind! Feel like I’m on my way to a workable life. Feeling my way. I want to be known. Spend my class time at Marycliff (Dr Jones’ college) trying to get closer to God. It’s a feminine voice that is speaking to me.
3 Nov 81 Discouraging letter from agent. She has sent Pinch out first time, still sending around Wolves & Blood. I need to get some hope going but nothing’s there. This is a life of slow starvation. Avril calls to say she & Karl are engaged! Will announce after his divorce (January) then marry in July.
Read 2 murder mysteries with fantastic openings & disappointing endings.
4 Nov 81 Pray have baby before Thanksgiving. Letter from agent saying my romance “very good of its kind.’ The SMALLEST encouragement helps but I needed it a month ago. Seems impossible to ever write another romance now. If my original editor hadn’t been fired, how different my career might be now?
Definite steps forward getting ready for Baby. Bought baby lotion, oil, talc, etc, made and froze 4 little meatloaves. Finished accts, cleaned the kitchen, read Agatha, brooding over what makes a good mystery.
Tomorrow sew, iron, clean study (soon to be baby’s room).Snap out of my stupor & fetch Toss from train.
10:45 PM Thurs 5 Nov 81 Always wonder how close I am to THE BIRTH, as I write the date. Don’t pick T up at train for one hour; can I stay awake? I finished cleaning kitchen, freezing two lasagnas; not in the mood for all the virtuous things I MIGHT be doing. Painted my toenails over my vast belly for what I hope is LAST TIME.
A little ironing this AM before time to rush off to Women’s Group.
Rather terrified to face Daisy! I very unwillingly discover I do have a rather large fund of self-contempt. Makes me sad, I don’t like admitting I’m so cruel to myself. I thought my parents were full of contempt for me and “transferred it.” Every time I exposed my aspirations they made me burn with shame. Feel Daisy has “exposed” me as a “non-poet.” Pregnancy causes loss of identity and her strong personality moves in.
Excellent Women’s Group with a beautiful communion which I think Daisy – lapsed Catholic – really enjoyed. Woman who contracted cerebral palsy from a riding accident in midlife (and then her husband dumped her!) wrote book & spoke about it.
Afterwards lunch with Fran Drevers & Daisy. Why be in such a rush? Everyone asks me. Have to get it done before my nervous breakdown! Pity my family took no interest in my writing. My role was “needy”. They threw money & food at us and fled.
Writing requires an extensive underground existence. Probably neither romance nor mystery will be accepted. (Fatalism, let’s blame that.) And I will have to start over as I’ve done oh so many times. Children will be different! Look forward to this labor as a watershed.
Alysse Aallyn 