Last week, under Avi’s window, a man from the hotel bar hit a woman for dancing with another man. When we mentioned it to Brad, he said that if she was dancing with someone else, she deserved to be beaten.
October 19, 1979
Knowlesville
Today we began picking Golden Delicious, the most fragile. I was on the end row, beside the avenue of poplars, and while working I thought of my sister Amy. At lunch Avi and I took thirty-five apples and sent them in a box to the gang back in Raleigh. Each one we wrapped in something different: a sock, a glove, a Xerox of an apple. They were McIntoshes, Macouns, Goldens, and Northern Spies, each then tied in string with a name tag on it.
This was payday. So far I have $400 in savings.
October 26, 1979
Knowlesville
It must have snowed twelve times today, though never for more than three minutes at a stretch. That didn’t stop us from picking, though.
In the morning over coffee, Doreen, our waitress, who last month told us that at the age of six she was raped by her father, announced that she once worked at a carnival gaming booth and is now a lesbian living in a trailer with her girlfriend, Rocky.
I said I was gay too, and she seemed happy and pointed out other gay customers. “That woman over there, dressed like a man? She’s a dyke who drives a truck and is named Peewee.”
Doreen has Rocky’s face decoupaged to her key chain and told me that the two of them were married last year at a gay church in Florida.
October 28, 1979
Knowlesville
Jean and George, two pickers I overheard this morning:
Jean: You’re picking too slow, George. If you hurry up we can get out of here.
George: You’re the slow one.
Jean: My breakfast hasn’t affected me yet.
George: Honey, your breakfast is in my pants.
November 6, 1979
Knowlesville
Picking ended. I feel like camp is over. In the barn, a party. A long table was set up, and I liked watching everyone but me get plastered. Lots of silly speeches. It’s interesting to work with people for almost six weeks but never see them all together.
December 8, 1979
Raleigh
I started work back at the Breakfast House today and learned that my gas-company credit rating has slipped to a B. Was ill all day yesterday. When the meth catches up to you, you find yourself paying for it. When on a spree, I’m convinced I can smoke three packs of cigarettes, not eat, and run all over town with no consequences.
1980
January 1, 1980
Raleigh
I gave away all my meth yesterday. It’s either give it up or become an addict and lose all my hair and teeth. I never sleep or eat anymore. I never leave my apartment.
January 26, 1980
Raleigh
I’ve been a mature twenty-three-year-old adult for one month. Last night I lay in bed from three o’clock until four thirty, starting to panic. Some meth this morning, some now. I think I’ll give the rest away, because after several days and nights it starts to get hairy. I got a lot done, though—made ten valentines, started on a shroud, took some egg crates and attached them to a broiler pan and a great photo of a chicken from the Washington Post. It all came together, all this stuff in my closet.
I’ve started peeing in my kitchen, into empty jars, then replacing the lids and putting them on the shelf. I’m considering saving a month’s worth.
February 7, 1980
Raleigh
Last night up ’til five a.m. Finished four more crates. Took far too much speed in the course of the day and spent today coming down, down, down. Slept until noon, took a bath without bothering to rinse the thick layer of Comet from the bottom of the tub. Went back to bed until four. Then another bath and up to begin my day. Bought baby bottles, toothpaste, aspirin.
February 26, 1980
Raleigh
Both the crates I entered into a biennial at the NC Museum were accepted. Both. Not one, but two. There were fourteen hundred entries, and only forty-five were chosen.
March 8, 1980
Raleigh
Tiffany was on TV last night. It was a show about élan and other places similar to the one she’s been exiled to. In her snippet she was standing in a boxing ring with a bar across her eyes. I’ve been writing to her since she left, but she just sent a letter and told me to stop.
I’m going to start saving dirty napkins at work.
March 9, 1980
Raleigh
Last night I took my first quaalude, and, boy, did it wreck me. I was totally useless—not quite like being drunk, but close. None of the queasiness, just really relaxed. Relaxed to the point of idiocy. Coming home, walking up my stairs, I fell. Then I fell twice in my apartment and decided I was better off on the ground, crawled to my alarm clock, set it, and crawled to bed.
March 18, 1980
Raleigh
I have just taken amphetamines stolen from a drugstore. They’re given to hyperactive children to make them even more hyperactive so they’ll get tired and pass out, giving their parents a rest.
Last night I went stark raving mad. I had a list of calls to make and used the same two dimes for five hours before coming to the conclusion that all three friends were together having a wonderful time and talking about me. I paced, made messes, finally cooked pork chops, and tried to read magazines.
April 8, 1980
Raleigh
I’m on this pure meth I got from W.’s friend Liz. It’s moist and foul-tasting, super-severe, and I haven’t figured out the right dose yet. Allyn from downstairs tried it too. Then she and I threw a party that was fine until two drunk guys wandered over from the IHOP and crawled into bed with Dee Dee’s nine-year-old daughter, who was asleep in the other room.
April 11, 1980
Raleigh
I’ve got $12, no job, and unpaid rent. I’m depressed, I’m broke, and soon I’ll be out of drugs. I feel so sleazy and cheap. Still, I have two sculptures in the art museum.
April 25, 1980
Raleigh
I began work, sort of, at Irregardless’s lunch place downtown. It’s two and a half hours a day. People order at the counter, and my job is to carry their trays to their tables when their food is ready. The hard part is figuring out what to say. I eventually settled on “Here you go.” It felt good to have somewhere I had to be, to have someone expecting me.
April 29, 1980
Raleigh
I worked at the Empire today, clearing someone’s backyard of kudzu. Dad drove me home afterward. “I’m a fifty-eight-year-old man with the mind of a twenty-one-year-old,” he said in the car.
An hour later I was smoking opium with Allyn from downstairs. We didn’t feel much, so we put on a Ravi Shankar album and plugged in some colored lights, hoping that might help, but it didn’t.
May 6, 1980
Raleigh
Ronnie’s new roommate, K., eats only raw vegetables. It’s to keep her in shape for all the drugs she takes. We talked last night and she said it was just a matter of time before grocery stores start selling human meat. She really believes this.
July 7, 1980