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2001-07-24 | 10:14 a.m.

Today I'm meeting a friend for lunch. Emma. She's British. She moved to New York and now she's back, visiting for a week. I like her very much. She writes book reviews. She's pretty shy, but I get along well with shy people, and we always have a lot to talk about.

So why am I dreading it?

I guess it's just the hassle of details: taking the kids to my Mom's (who, every time I call her goes "unh!" right after I say hello, to remind me that she is in pain from putting her back out last week, but I can't accuse her of being a drama queen because 1) she did put her back out, and 2) she has absolutely no conscious awareness of herself as a drama queen, and never will); debating whether I should spare my mother the trauma of having all three kids and take Felony with me, even though it will disrupt lunch because she is the pickiest eater of the three and the least able to entertain herself (which is why I would take her to begin with---though she is also the more sophisticated one, who would love to eavesdrop on an adult conversation as I used to do on a daily basis when I was a kid); worrying about what I am not doing for Birgit while I am yukking it up with Emma, when I am supposed to have so much done in time for the author's arrival tomorrow; and just generally fretting over the drive to Berkeley, getting money out of the bank, asking myself what do I have to wear that's clean, and damn I wish I could buy my new summer shoes now, since the summer's almost over, and so on. We are so broke.

I got a letter a couple of days ago from the IRS saying I should expect a $300 check. I told Duff, "I'll never see this money." Sure enough, my student loans ate it. I have a payment plan but almost a third of my payment goes toward administrative fees. The rest goes toward interest, except about four or five dollars, which goes toward the principal. At this rate, I will never pay off the loan if I live to be 200 years old. But at least I am paying. Which is hard, considering I have no income. Duff has to pay it, which is demoralizing all the way around. I set up the payment plan shortly before my job was pulled out from under me. But they can't say I'm not trying. If I sell a screenplay, I will send them a lump sum. (Hold me to this statement, please.) Does that sound like pie in the sky? I just have to make it happen, then. I don't want to be the pie lady.

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