December 30, 1985 10:03 am

Several things are not going according to plan and must be resolved.

First, if I'm going to stop smoking I have to make some effort. I can just DO it tomorrow at midnight.

We started talking about the French yesterday . . . how they seem to be "late" in most things they take a fashion to yet when they do they claim to have invented it. I wondered whether their watching old American movies with French dubbing may have something to do with it . . . after all, they know cowboys, gangsters and Jerry Lewis with a French accent. And, as Matt said, the French make lousy linguists because their language is so orally physical . . . they can never speak another language without an accent. He said that speaking French can actually be physically tiring in a way that English isn't. He also complained about how "lazy" Americans were in the way they spoke, how endings are dropped, vowels slurred. A very low blow to strike at provincial speech, at least to me and a sign that he feels inadequate. But a very knowledgeable man he is. We all sunk into latent Irishness at the meal.

Bob put all of Richard Howard's books out in plain sight yesterday. Suzanna and I talked about our fascination with "that kind of person," a person who is born with certain advantages combined with a social grace some people just have. Lowly plebeians like us have a difficult time competing . . . so why compete?

Wednesday will usher in a new session of seriousness on my part. I'll go into training to be able to do the work I want to do. Didn't I do the same thing last year? I got work done. Of course I don't have a hernia to deal with this winter and as far as I know I don't have AIDS, but there are so many other death-dealing blows I can take advantage of out there.

Didn't hear from Jess after Saturday night (or my $60). There was an invite to dinner Saturday night that I hope doesn't come through. I don't particularly want to meet his JR, who has promised him a hustler New Year's Eve.

Have a title, THE NUT, running through my mind. Came up while watching a report on Athol Fugard and South Africa which led me to think about the lives of people either fluttering at loose ends like threads in the wind, or tied up like a gordian knot tight and impenetrable, like a nut. A book, a play, a painting . . . a little bit of all of that plus something more . . . THE NUT -- The movie!

Having my journals together in a new binder makes them seem more real, also my writing. I should go to the stationer and buy more of them. They look so good sitting on the shelf. Also have to do mail.