3-13 Th
We did, but she was high and tired, and it wasn't that fun. It feels over. My life doesn't seem like my own lately. Lately--how rare it is when it does. I'm in my night school class right now. They're working on a worksheet. When I get to the bottom of this page, we'll go over the worksheet. I feel like I'm wasting my life. I never work on stories anymore. Today we had a minimum day at school. I still didn't finish the newspaper because busybody Rosa called for a meeting that accomplished nothing other than she got to hear herself talk. I napped on the couch this afternoon. At school today, the girls tempted the boys to chase them. The boys obliged. Levi caught Sandra and knocked her head against the wall. Jackie grabbed him around the throat and choked him in vengeance. Mr. Seeger came to class and lectured us. I put their play areas on the board. I have to remember to bring my tax info, what little I have, to Jose Smith, CPA, after school. I have to remember that Ishi video.
Home now, burning, bombarded by others, false dialogs, spin cycles invading my brain. Bless my soul. Bless Shirelle's soul. Bless Thing's and Glen's and Johnny's souls. And our bodies, too. Thanks. What else? Trying to get online. O for one so far. Violence and crime glorified. So what. I hear the short quick wheeze of the dying. The rise and fall of the dying's chest. It takes longer than we think. What else? Got to type after this. The fuckin tv. a rusted nasty nail, a screw with candy stuck around it from working with her dad. Try not to feed too much sweets to the little one. There's a CAT IN THE HAT BEGINNERS DICTIONARY on the floor here. It's in English and Spanish. "The Jetsons" came on. Sven says, "Oh! Let's watch this." Then he said something about the Munsters, and now there's some fucking rescue 911 emergency procedure documentary surgery show on. Shirelle called. She'll be here around three tomorrow to spend my money. I ate an Italian sausage sandwich.
We did, but she was high and tired, and it wasn't that fun. It feels over. My life doesn't seem like my own lately. Lately--how rare it is when it does. I'm in my night school class right now. They're working on a worksheet. When I get to the bottom of this page, we'll go over the worksheet. I feel like I'm wasting my life. I never work on stories anymore. Today we had a minimum day at school. I still didn't finish the newspaper because busybody Rosa called for a meeting that accomplished nothing other than she got to hear herself talk. I napped on the couch this afternoon. At school today, the girls tempted the boys to chase them. The boys obliged. Levi caught Sandra and knocked her head against the wall. Jackie grabbed him around the throat and choked him in vengeance. Mr. Seeger came to class and lectured us. I put their play areas on the board. I have to remember to bring my tax info, what little I have, to Jose Smith, CPA, after school. I have to remember that Ishi video.
Home now, burning, bombarded by others, false dialogs, spin cycles invading my brain. Bless my soul. Bless Shirelle's soul. Bless Thing's and Glen's and Johnny's souls. And our bodies, too. Thanks. What else? Trying to get online. O for one so far. Violence and crime glorified. So what. I hear the short quick wheeze of the dying. The rise and fall of the dying's chest. It takes longer than we think. What else? Got to type after this. The fuckin tv. a rusted nasty nail, a screw with candy stuck around it from working with her dad. Try not to feed too much sweets to the little one. There's a CAT IN THE HAT BEGINNERS DICTIONARY on the floor here. It's in English and Spanish. "The Jetsons" came on. Sven says, "Oh! Let's watch this." Then he said something about the Munsters, and now there's some fucking rescue 911 emergency procedure documentary surgery show on. Shirelle called. She'll be here around three tomorrow to spend my money. I ate an Italian sausage sandwich.
posted by johnz at 3:35 AM
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