21 May 1989
Sunday

Friday my test came back negative. "My Test" -- as if I owned it somehow, as if it was something that was singular me and no one else.

I guess I might as well starting writing this journal again since I have a better chance of outliving everyone else I know.

What a horrible two weeks. Three, really, when you count the time it took to get the appointment at the center. You're left hanging for two weeks not knowing what the rest of your life will be -- whether you'll have to spend all of our time (and money) keeping yourself alive. But then I guess you do that anyway.

Rearranged the apartment over the weekend because I bought a bed and didn't have anywhere to put it. Should be throwing things out or at least putting them in storage. Almost straight so I can get down to business on the paintings I'm working on so Marlyse Black will have something to look at when she comes at the end of the month.

Simon is in LA doing god knows what and will be back Tuesday. Yesterday I went down to the space for the usual lunch but David was late and no food got bought so no lunch. That was OK. I came back and moved things around and drank beer and fell asleep.

Later that night I saw Paul and Mark at the bar, all set to go to Australia. Paul was getting over having his mother visit. She went to Simon's and liked the Bleckner but didn't like mine (a grain elevator). They went to Lennon Weinberg and she liked the Fishman's and may buy something on paper. Mark said he "niced" her to death so now she likes Mark more than her own son.

My beard has left the scruffy stage and now just looks thin so I shaved my neck to give it some shape but I don't know.

I'm going to work on two drawings tonight, a gate and a canyon. I'll go to bed early and go to the gym in the morning before it gets too hot. ACT UP tomorrow night.

I like the way things are arranged now: write in one of the middle rooms, sleep in the other and use the front for painting. The kitchen is now for storage. I don't need to eat anyway.