This is a journal entry of mine dated May 6, 2020. We’d been enduring Covid lockdowns for less than two months at this time. I was living in a rough part of East Harlem. I wrote a memoir about this experience; CLICK HERE TO READ THAT. A few brief notes:
I can’t recall now if the CDC had told us by early May we didn’t have to wear masks outside yet; I do not believe we knew that information at this moment
I found the racial component interesting. I left the language as is, re “the white lady” and “the Black lady.”
The tension at the time in NYC was incredibly high. This is a perfect example of that.
I address my journals as “Jack,” aka Jack Kerouac. Been doing that since 2006, age 23.
~
Jack,
It’s Wednesday, May 6, 2020, 1:33pm. Getting a late start, mainly because I decided to read the short story, “The Dead,” the final story in the story collection, “Dubliners,” by James Joyce, written in his early twenties between 1904 and 1907 but not published until 1914 because it was seen as “obscene” in Edwardian Ireland of the late 19th and early 20th centuries.
Anyway the story is incredible. I mean just really spectacular. Lots of sexual tension (reminded me of Checkhov); lots of lust/rage/desire; interiority; plot; and some fantastic cadence and lyrical rhythm and gorgeous, fluent language. Not too ornate or flowery or purple-prosy either. In 1914 Hemingway was a mere 15. That was before Papa ever even published a word, I believe. We all owe Joyce, in terms of modern literature, even Ole Hem. Maybe especially old Hem. (I wonder what Hem said in his time about Joyce.)
I read the first story of the collection, too, “The Sisters.” Not bad, but “The Dead” is much stronger. Crazy dissonance and lust and desire and complex humanness!!! There is even a line which says, “He wanted to say that literature was above politics.” Holy fuck, right???!!! Beautiful!
Anyway. Then I went on my walk. Oh, I should also say that this morning I was feeling—and last night, too—pins and needles and tingling in my left arm. Slightly in my right arm as well, but mostly in my left. Dr. Chung had said last week that if it was “persistent” and “constant” to contact him again. I am going to message him again this morn. It’s been a full week, just over. The panic attack struck last Tuesday night. Today is Wed afternoon.
I Googled the tingling in arm etc. (It’s also sometimes, but less often, in legs.) And it said it could be a sign of all kinds of things, but that likely it’s just anxiety basically, and/or a pinched nerve, etc. I dunno. From my research and what the doc said I don’t think it’s related to Covid-stroke or heart attack…those that can be one sign/symptom. (But the other symptoms don’t generally add up.) I’m probably over worried..but I’ll message the doc and call Dr. Burgos and also I’m going to email Rick as well…and maybe Andreas. Anyway. Yeah. It’s a little unsettling. There’s no pain…it’s just the random tingling.
But of course with my heightened general anxiety and my OCD…who knows if this is mostly or all just psychosomatic or in my head, or if it’s real…and if it is real…is it a sign of something bigger/something to be concerned about…or is it just general anxiety or a panic disorder? That’s the question. So I’ll check in. Also when I looked at my left arm this morn I have to admit it looked sort of maybe kind of slightly swollen. I compared arms in the mirror; to me the left one looked slightly bloated/swelled/bigger than the right. But again: It’s honestly hard to say if that’s true or if it’s in my head. Checking in with docs and friends and maybe mom will help. I’ll do it once done writing.
Something interesting happened when I walked outside half hour or so ago. On my street—130th—walking slowly towards Lenox, I heard three women talking. Two white women and a black woman. The two white women were standing on the sidewalk near a fence. One wore a mask and one didn’t. They were in their early 60s I’d guess. The one not wearing a mask wore a red sweater and was rifling through a purple leather purse. The black woman stood on the street and was telling the non-masked white woman that she should be wearing a mask. I slowed my pace and listened, craning my neck back.
“You should be wearing a mask,” the black lady said. “This affects everyone.”