In the midst of confusion January 11, 1985


 Exhausted.  Waiting for Wayne to show up so I can pay rent.

I might have paid rent already, stretching out the old personal checking account until the edge of bouncing. But at the moment I have a number of other checks out and would not want any of them to bounce either.

Rent is least of my troubles.

I think about Fran out there in the wide world and cringe, wondering if she cringes over me as well.

The Willowbrook Dunkin stirs up mixed feelings in me, deep sadness, and yet also elation over my earning more than I ever have, 12 grand a year on the books, another 5 G off. A huge difference from when I first worked here, working for a lot less.

But I’m tired. I’m used to working four hours a night, not eight.

Back in the old days I worked for Frank and Danny, doing two yeasts, one which neither one of them wanted to do. I cleared about 140 a week then. I clear double that now.

After Frank and Danny, came Phil, a man obsessed with making money.

All bosses are hard when they first arrive, each believing they had to make significant changes in order to make their fortune. Phil, surprised me when he grew softer over time, and foolishly, when I had it good, I left – partly due to the confusion in my life, college, Christmas, and my crazy uncle (who I got stuck taking care of.) I thought I would make my living as a writer (a foolish notion since I only started learning the ropes – and still am – not ready to tackle that kind of challenge.

In the midst of this I became counselor to my old friend Mary Jane who underwent her own life crisis of having to decide between two men who loved her (better her than me). When I realized writing wouldn’t pay the rent, I panicked and got a job at Fotomat.

My ex-wife, Louise, hovered on the edge of my life as well. I still had the vain hope she might still love me, not understanding the insanity of her life, falling apart when I learned about how she made her money in the world’s oldest profession.

Then on one 4th of July weekend the whole illusion fell apart – freeing me at last from a decade of angst and guilt, only to saddle me with a different guilt over things I said and did in the past.

By the end of that summer, life changed again. I met Fran, and got entangled in her dual personality, falling in love with the one that was kind and tender, suffering through the mood swings that turned her into a needy, desperate desperado, clinging to me, leaving me with dual personalities as well, one who craved her arms, the other who felt smothered and in need of escape – which is oddly why I returned here to Willowbrook, a night time refuge from all that, a place where for the most part I work alone in the dead of night, like a wraith.

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