A D. Journal 1985

   I keep thinking of the Paul McCartney lyric about nobody being left in 1985 as this year concludes even though the year did not open as ominously as 1984 did with the front-page article in The York Times talking about scary FBI surveillance – which only further reminded me of just how right George Orwell was about our society. But 1984 started in the aftermath of the death of U.S. Marines in Lebanon and the American invasion of Grenada. I just published my story “Joe’s Diner” to reflect that strange Christmas with Hank had hung out with a number of outcasts. Phil had already sold the Willowbrook Dunkin, sabotaging the new owners with rumors. My uncle was already back in Graystone after yet another series of attempts at suicide, and I was making plans to move back into his apartment, leaving Pauly to occupy the old apartment on his own, giving me desperately needed privacy I could have living with him. I was worried about my cat Dudley, who was jealous of my relationship with

   It’s nearly year’s end and everybody is doing their reviews: music stations and magazines talking about the latest hot songs, newspapers and television going on all the sad events of the last year. For me, the year began on a prophetic note with Fran and I breaking up just ahead of Christmas, then briefly reuniting, only to have it fall apart permanently. I saw her only a few days ago on the street, a bitter sweet moment that made it clear we would never get together again. We put out our Sixties issue of our zine, a marked improvement on almost every level, better writing, and editing, and this sense of hope for our literary future. Early in the year, I quit Dunkin, enraged at the new manager, Jerry and partly as a compromise with Fran, who hated my working the overnight shift (even though it paid twice as much as I could make in the Fotomat.) But I went back to Fotomat at the end of January anyway, and found my predictions for financial ruin coming to pass – though the mov