Theft by Finding: Diaries 1977-2002

by David Sedaris

tunnel. The early years, 1977 to 1983, were the bleakest. I was writing my diaries by hand back then. The letters were small and, fueled by meth, a typical entry would go on for pages—solid walls of words, and every last one of them complete bullshit.

though. In order to record your life, you sort of need to live it. Not at your desk, but beyond it. Out in the world where it’s so beautiful and complex and painful that sometimes you just need to sit down and write about it.

I gave away all my meth yesterday. It’s either give it up or become an addict and lose all my hair and teeth. I never sleep or eat anymore. I never leave my apartment.

I’ve got $12, no job, and unpaid rent. I’m depressed, I’m broke, and soon I’ll be out of drugs. I feel so sleazy and cheap. Still, I have two sculptures in the art museum.

Woman: You sound like some kind of faggot to me.

even though this is the 80s im getting that 90s hankerchief code undercover gay vibe

mentioned the importance of keeping a diary. It was valuable, she said, because after a while you’d stop being forced and pretentious and become honest and unafraid of your thoughts.

robably applies to prolifically making music too huh

When Brian, the premature ejaculator, phoned in,

As he said this, I heard three clicks—one lock after another being secured. That’s how interested she was.

ahhh his humor is coming out. the stories are becoming tighter

She told the class that she herself is a lesbian and that none of us could relate because we’re all afraid to confront our gayness. People in the class looked at one another, not knowing what to say. The women weren’t too keen to learn they were all insecure lesbians masquerading as heterosexuals. T. criticized people who think realism is using the word shit. She went on and on until someone told her to shut up. Then she put her head on her desk and fell asleep. She even snored.

Tiffany has moved in with a piano player named Mike.

since this is a diary he doesnt remind you of stuff like how tiff is the sister

Don introduced himself on the first day as a poet, a filmmaker, a painter, and a photographer. I might say, “I paint. I take pictures, I try to write, et cetera,” but would never in a thousand years use those titles for myself the way he does.

also interesting sedaris spends so much time pursuing visual art at first. decade plus. when its his writing that hes known for

The woman who lives on Dakin considered this. She tore her chicken from the bone with her fingers. I enjoyed her company, and I think she enjoyed mine, but we never introduced ourselves.

sometimes you dont have to

What I like about Montrose Beach is that all the loud music is in another language.

Walking to the L, I passed two men on Leland, both of them fully grown.

this is a great description

I remember what went on last night. At one point, Rob showed me his computer and explained that you can plug one into a telephone jack.

internet??.

On All My Children, Erica is being stalked by a dwarf. For a long time they just showed a hand that would draft ugly letters to her and turn off the local news whenever she appeared. I get the feeling I’m supposed to know who this person is, but I’ve been watching regularly for only four years so I’m at a loss.

LOL

At the IHOP I go through phases of sitting in different booths. I can look at the one in the very back and think, I remember those days. I recall sitting near the front where I could hear people on the pay phone. Each phase lasts about six months. I always stay at the IHOP long enough to smoke three cigarettes. I never have four.

At five I met with Lily, who paid me to help her carry a ladder. We picked it up on Canal Street, at the loft of a guy named Hugh and his two roommates, Scott and Leslie. Their place was spacious and homey, like a log cabin. Hugh had a wet bar in the shape of a tree stump. Leslie was making an apple pie and they were listening to All Things Considered. Hugh is handsome, a nice guy. Gay.

On Friday night I met Lily on Jane Street and we carried the ladder back to Hugh’s place on Canal. I was excited to be there and decided to have a crush on him.

This afternoon I sat in the eighth-floor SantaLand office at Macy’s and was told, “Congratulations, Mr. Sedaris. You are an elf.” I return tomorrow at nine thirty for my training schedule,

The kid was small but sophisticated. “I’ve got more toys than that. To tell you the truth,” he said, “I’m very spoiled.”

I’m down to $190 and am starting to panic. In this situation, I have no business buying pot, but that’s what I did. Scotch too.

November 1, 1991 New York Hugh and I moved into our new apartment last night,

It seems important that no one ever repays her, that the other person is always in her debt. Last week she accepted a few flashlight batteries but that was a first.

Both times I was accused, I was dressed for cleaning apartments, wearing shabby clothing and smelling like Ajax, or Apex, I guess they’d call it. Does this mean I should wear a suit when running out for supplies and change back into my rags after returning to work? Of course, this is nothing. If I were black, I’d get this several times a day. And I’d be really angry all the time.

How odd it was to have my experiences recounted in these voices. What were you doing while I was wandering the maze or having nickels thrown at me? I’d wonder, looking at someone in a hooded Gang Starr sweatshirt. And what was I doing when you got that teardrop tattooed on your cheek? It took well over an hour to complete the reading. Don congratulated the group on a job well done, then folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. “All right,” he said. “So, if you could meet the person who wrote this, what would you ask?” The guy next to Eddie put up his hand. “I’d ax, Yo, is you a faggot or what?”

haha this is always great, lit clashes

December 24, 1992 Raleigh Yesterday morning my story aired on NPR’s Morning Edition. Ira and I had been on the phone the night before, trying to decide which cuts to make.

wow this is the day!

Other people’s pain is uninteresting. My own, though, is spellbinding.

I got the idea it’s possible to spend all day in the welfare office without being asked any questions.

this segment is horrific and fascinating

Amy’s New Year’s resolution is to make more Asian friends. She hopes to find them at community meetings and small restaurants. I think that’s great, to have a goal.

I did a reading at a gay bookstore called a Brother’s Touch. It was what I’d feared it might be, lots of rainbow-striped flags and wind socks. My mike was set up in the magazine section, so behind me were pictures of all sorts of men, some in jockstraps, some with gags that looked like Ping-Pong balls in their mouths. What killed me, though, was the incense, which was coconut, I think.

she’d like a picture of me either wearing a towel or peeking out from behind my shower curtain. This is what happens when you choose the title Naked over, say, Quiet Dignity.

so hes writing his books now? but not talking about it

Luke was like a parody of a stoner. I think that’s what I liked about him. I’d hate it if the person selling me pot in the middle of the day was super-articulate. That would make me feel like even more of a loser.

as I listened I thought of the coming year in France and wondered when I’d next understand everything a stranger was saying to me. The New York class helped some. At de Gaulle

since it’s a diary he doesnt owe us any exposition, prior to this he was taking some french class but this is the reason why. it’s kinda good that way

He applied the Band-Aid, cleaned the bloody knife, and went back to making lunch while I watched from the doorway, hoping he might stab himself again so I could return to the store with both the reflexive verb “to cut of oneself” and the proper word for Band-Aid.

This led to an explanation of the difference between nouveau and neuf. The former is apparently new to you, while the latter is factory-fresh.

The information desk at the Louvre is also on strike, demanding

this whole last 20 pages haas been one french strike after another, it’s amazing

would have liked to thank her, but everything feels different since my article (“Me Talk Pretty One Day”) came out in Esquire.

he barely talks about his writing — or maybe he does a lot but he edits it out of this collection so not to be redundant

May 17, 1999 Berlin, Germany I flew from Paris on Air France

yeah thisis super weird, he doesnt explain why hes in germany. again totally cool bc it’s diary excerpts, but an interesting reading exoerience.

While eating, I learned that under German law, Gerd is forbidden to continue selling my book under its current title, Nackt.

a whole book comes out and he doesnt talk about it

collect $200,000. “Can you beat that!” she said. Realtors can no longer advertise that a house is located within walking distance of a school—it’s unfair to childless couples. Family room offends the singles, and master bedroom smacks of slavery.

I started on the new play, knowing that what I’ve written will probably be thrown out by next week. Whenever I have nothing to say, I wind up with two characters talking over one another.

After paying, Hugh, Dario, and I went to buy a few things at the market. It was noticed that my bike light didn’t work and Hugh told me no less than fifteen times that I had to take it back and have the guy fix it. When he started in for the sixteenth time I said, “OK, you can stop talking now.” This doesn’t mean “shut up,” exactly—well, yes, I guess it does.

also his diary isnt like sentimental. i felt sad today or i felt angry blah b,ah also no personal stories about hugh irntheir partnered lfe

the only souvenir of my vacation will be the scrapes and bruises I sustained during last night’s bike accident.

im actually beginning to love this it’s like piecing together a story, detectjve style. he did t talk about this bike accudent at all. and in real life theres no promise of a narrative arc or drama, so this thing just happened, so what.

were followed

Yosef called yesterday afternoon, asking if I’d found the time to read his screenplay. I told him I hadn’t and he said, “Well, I read your book and hated it.” He translated my laugh as “Tell me more, please,” and went on to offer a detailed critique of Barrel Fever.

I was on the second leg of my trip to Raleigh, standing in the bathroom, when I noticed how old I looked. The lights were fairly harsh, and I studied myself as I simultaneously peed all over the floor.

I finished An Obedient Father by Akhil Sharma.

this might be the first book hes ever mentioned reading or finishing