Time Slaves

Mon. 3-11-96
Here we go. Time to write. I've been wandering these rooms in a daze unable to find my way for the last hour. I wrote a couple of paragraphs to justify my appointment as a teacher for the beginning of my portfolio. It needs another day or two of work.
Finished that Einstein's Dreams. I was sort of irritated by its structure though I admired Lightman's "languid" prose. It was easy reading the different incarnations of the town of Berne. It was vivid enough to walk the streets and river bank in view of the Alps, but there was no plot nor character and I resented the simplicity of setting scene only. The most compelling vision offered was that of the clock worshippers, who had previously measured time by the sky and the stars and the seasons, until a clock was invented in a small Italian town, and time was forever quantified, rigidly ticking away, finally enslaving the people into worship.
Next I'll read The Razor's Edge, continue the annoyance of The Art and Craft of Novel Writing and read the second inning of The Complete Baseball Book. Could this stuff be written in that teacher journal I have to turn in?
My sunglasses have evaporated.
I was stupid enough to put my lidded styrofoam cup full of coffee in my bag and let one of the kids carry it and it leaked coffee all over my books and CD ROMS and the papers I have to put in my portfolio.
I began that videotape I have to make of me teaching my class. It went well, though not spectacularly.
There's a lot of paper piled up on this desk here.
Last night at Mark's I lost another chess game. What a treat to play chess three days in a row, though! Jeopardy! is on now. Tomorrow I'll write cursive.
Fuck a duck Chuck.
Shirelle just came in and offered to cook me some spaghetti and then went to bed.
I've broken two watchbands. I don't know how. They just break off my wrist. Reminds me of the Lightman story, like maybe my spirit's rebellion is too big to remain within manmade time constraints.
What the hell else? My grandparents offered me a treadmill. I could walk while I read and watch Jeopardy! One of these weekends I'll fish Perris Lake.

Ho-Hum. Jersey Bayless Freaked Out

Sun. 3/10/96
Maybe if I hurry I can do these three pages before it's time to go to Pasadena for dinner with Peachtree. I should have turned down the invitation. I have much to do if I'm to be real; especially I need to begin assembling my portfolio for next Thursday. I haven't any confident vision for it yet. But I refuse to think about it today. I spent five hours yesterday on that class.
Yesterday Migs and I went to Aadco Rentals on Venice and Arlington to see about some tables and chairs for the party. Last night I stayed in. Didn't spend a cent. Ate two bagels with cream cheese and a raw carrot with dip, two chicken legs, baked beans, and two slices of toast. Ron beat me at chess. I played Pelee on Friday and I won that game. The momentum swings so rapidly in chess.
I should have gotten an IBM, whatever a PC.
Got a letter from Bayless in Jersey, says he freaked out and spent about six days in the hospital with "major paranoia". He's trying now to turn his life and will over to God and Jesus Christ.
In two weeks I'm supposed to go to Vegas. Yikes. I think I'll leave my ATM and credit cards at home.
Urgh. I'm reading this book by physicist Alan Lightman of M.I.T, a collection of vignettes dreamt by Einstein in which the town of Berne, Switzerland is imagined under the influence of different perspectives of time. A best seller. Ha!
What the hell else? The Dodger /Expo exposition game was rained out. I was too sleepy to remember what inning the game was called, so I don't know if it counted in the Grapefruit standings, but I think they were winning. Piazza hit a two-run homerun.
I wish I could just get drunk and write epic novels. I'm about ninety nine percent mundane, though. I'm broke. No dough. I hate my computer. We're going to have to develop a better relationship, it and I, ( or is it me?) if anything significant is to be produced.

Not Your Typical Night at Home Trying to Write in Your Lame Journal

Wed 3-6-96
I thought yesterday was the sixth, all day, but I see that I was wrong, unless I'm wrong again. Shirelle and I are talking about splitting an ice cream sandwich. She's watching one of these lurid TV movies--

I met my dealer at Sunset and Crescent Heights today. I'm a lot happier and dumber now. Is dumbness a prerequisite of happiness? It was a cool bright morning that got warm in the afternoon. LA was really showing off out there.

Jimmy hit his twin and made her cry. I'd never heard of twins beating on each other before. 'Course they're just fraternal, not identical.

Got the runaround from tech support in Sillycon Valley about this Myst game. Ah, I don't wanna go into it. Already E-mailed the whole exasperating episode to Seedy-O.

My uncle sent that copy of Miracle Mile I sent him to my mom. How embarrassing. She said she's going to be laid off from her job--

It's 11:00 at night. The doorbell just rang. I went downstairs and looked through the peephole. Two cops stood there!! Yipes!! The weed. I'm goin down. WhadoIdo? I got no choice but to open the door. I raised my eyebrows blinking at them. They wanted the Swamp Thing. I was afraid I exhaled a little too hard. Looked like smoke came out. You know what kind. They didn't seem to notice. "He's not here," I said as helpfully as possible. Wha'dhedo? I'm wondering. "Do you know when he'll be back?"
"He comes and goes." I hoped to sound helpful, trying to not to wince at how unhelpful what I'd just said was.
One of them handed me a business card. "Have him call," he said.
"Or come in," said the other. They backed off the porch and I closed the door.
Whew!

Set the alram for 5:20. Not getting enough exercise. Don't feel bad tonight, though. Chell's kissing my dick right now. I ate some cereal and coffee cake this morning. That feels good. I'm tired. I was minding my own business. Martinez came up this afternoon and we talked about how the Angels and the Dodgers were going to win their divisons. I said I'd put money on them when I go to Vegas in two weeks. We talked about getting a green light for the St. Paddy's party and a cake and some lawn furniture. Miguel read aloud the Rolling Stone article about Jennifer Aniston, the one where she's on the cover, lying on her belly naked, showing her hot ass and other luscious curves. MMMM Santa Roaslia! I've got something in my eye. Last page then I can stop. Shell's stroking now. I don't know how much longer I can hold out. She'll be pissed if I don't do her before I let go.

Tomorrow I've got to do our group music presentation, and a music material inventory and a practice log.

Dole has taken the lead in the Republican Primaries. He had looked so defeated in january. The rest of the field is pretty weak, though. Forbes just plain old looks weird and Buchanan is straight up scary.

I can't take it anymore. I gotta stop--

Tu 3-5-96
I'm a loser baby so why don't you kill me.

We were talking about nightmares at school today. The kids left their hands in the air for long minutes waiting to be called on. One girl said she had a dream that I yelled at her (Might not have been a dream). Another one said she was having a dream that someone was trying to hurt me. "Was that a good dream or a bad dream?" I asked.
"A bad dream," she said.
The twins said they have the same dream about helping a blue-eyed girl with a broken leg and bringing her home and she attacks their family. Weird.
Adrian made a bird house. Did a pretty impressive job, I must say. It has a porch and a chimney and eaves. We put it up in the tree in front of the the classroom. I wish I knew what kind of tree it was.

No buds. Got paid yesterday. Paid my bills today. Now I'm broke. The f*cking Myst game on the computer doesn't work now. Had a new fan clutch put on the truck. $256. At least it shouldn't overheat anymore.

Mr. Holland's Opus was alright, if a little syrupy. The constraint on his time, the constant detours away from his dreams, these things hit home. A tear rolled down my cheek, or would have if I hadn't wiped it away, when he and his son reconciled.

Michelle cooked ribs and baked potatoes and baked beans and corn on the cob and blueberry muffins tonight. Yesterday we ate Japanese for lunch. This morning I accidentally ate a double bacon cheeseburger with mayo.

I wonder when I'll be happy again. This has lasted for several weeks now. I really hate class on Saturday. I'm so no-comment these days. What happened to the rabble rouser I used to be? Halfway down 27th Street it all dissolved. No base, the litmus turned red. I fell. I've been that way ever since. Life does me, now. Not me it. Weak. Ko--"Man, you should throw that thing out," he said about this journal full of shit.

Angst. I've got angst in my pants. Bebopalula. Who gives a shit?

I've got to do the homework for my music class tomorrow. An inventory of music materials, a list of practice times, etc.

Identity Crises Before IHOP

Mon. March 5, 96
Missed another couple of days in this journal. Aggravted lately. Don't know what it is exactly. Don't know what I want, don't want to write. Clearly the words I put down are a shameful.

My old friend Mariachi has been talking for years and years since we were kids about wanting to teach high school history and coach high school baseball, and that's what he does. He coached his first game as varsity head coach the other day. I'm happy for him. He also ran in the LA Marathon yesterday.

I have no such determination nor conviction for anything.

I went to the CSUN baseball game yesterday. The Matadors beat Fresno State 29 to 3 setting an NCAA record for homeruns in a game with 13. I sat in the stands and half watched the game from within my little angst-filled world and spoke not a word. I have no character. Don't know who I am or what I'm supposed to be. I had leadership abilities once upon a time, but I've handed over the reins to drugs and alcohol and the cart has tipped; I don't know where I'm going. I just go to work every day. I don't know if it's the drugs and booze that have made me such a nothing. That might just be what I am, intrisically. What I'm born to be. The old man sensed it.
Pathetic.
Went to one of my kids' softball games cuz I told her I would. Glory, great kid. I felt awkward there, like I didn't belong.

Haven't been reading much.

Things at IHOP on Sunset were weird at 4 AM. All the after hours party people haunting the place were still drunk. I was waiting for my change so I could leave while three gangbang-looking brothers sat, two passed out, heads on the table. One stayed that way even after his food arrived. Two girls walked out and one tapped on the window with his bling ring trying to get the girls' attention, and this smarmy security guard with a wannabe wiseguy complex, straight outta the 50's with a molded rock idol pompadour curl strolled over chewing a toothpick asking the gangbang brother what for he was tapping the glass like that. The brother said he was tapping after the girls and the guard said, "Those girls? You don't want to do that. Those girls were ugly." Two more brothers a booth over began to complain loudly that their food was taking too long and told the waitress she needed to go back to IHOP school. The guard ambled over as the brothers were talking about a heart attack. "What heart attack?" said the guard.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't talking to you," said one of the brothers. The waitress came with the change. Then the passed-out brother came to, stirred, and pointed at the guard's black heeled cowboy boots and started laughing loudly, "Look at the nigga's boots." He howled and howled and I walked out.

Fri - 3-1-96 -

The fraction of me that is always pissed get a little bigger, surges to a bubble just below the surface and fianlly recedes, but not as far.

I can't even think I'm so disgusted with the way people drive. It's got to be my own --unreasonable? too reasonable-- impatience.

I don't understand love. I understand pain better. Smart guy like me.

All tripped out uhhuhuh. Too much of a tripper. Sad sorry ass tripper muffhugger. Pocahontas married the first tobacco baron, Rolfe. Can't think. Brzzt! ovaries 3 pg. dDoor slams. Bummed is it? Spoze tuh go tuh class tomorrow, Saturday, which sucks, the car needs work, the idle to be adjusted, as do I. spozd to see one of my students Little League games tomorrow Glory said a girl called her a tomboy. I said, "That just means you're a good athlete."

Agh Shirelle just said, "I'm off my period now." Then she said she wanted to come to a baseball game I may go see this afternoon. I didn't egzackly want to spend the game with her chattering in my ear expecting me to chatter back; I just wanted to chill and watch the game and not think about anything else. She would never allow such a thing. She sensed that I didn't want her to come and she got pissed and I got pissed. Now she's in her room listening to Alanis Morissette, the queen of pissed off bitches. Oh, the petty vindictiveness of it all. I put on the Beastie Boys to out-obnoxious her. She was making us supper which she went to the market for while I stayed heer doing my selfish little trip. Raspy sigh. I'm a dick.

Got paid today. $1353. Ain't much.

So I may have to go out with Sra. Bacchus and her Chilean sister and who knows what. We'll the bottom of the third page is in sight, not counting yesterday's failure. I'm a loser, baby.

Got to the next world in Myst. Dodgers won 1st pre-season game 10-1

Kids Scattered into the Trees

Th 2/29/96 Leap Year Day

It's already 8:38. I gotta/need to hit the hay soon. Had to go to that goddam class and they've sprung a bunch of tedious, time-consuming new paperwork on us and a slew o' new Saturday classes and I have been filled with resentment by it.

Shirelle went out for chicken wings just now.


As soon as we got off the bus at the tarpits, kids scattered into the trees.