3-27 Th 12:20 PM
I didn't do any typing yesterday, thanks to Shirelle. I left school feeling pretty good. I took the lid off the LeBaron and rushed through the cool air. Sax and piano complemented the drive. I finished ASK THE DUST. I drew many parallels between Camille and Shirelle. I read both papers, or I was halfway through the LA Times when Shirelle showed up two hours early. It would be tedious to illustrate the scope and depth of her selfish idiocy. I paid thirty bucks for Thai food she ordered. We ate it. We went to bed. Some guy paged her. I couldn't stand any more of her lies. I went downstairs to get extra blankets. She suspected I would sleep on the couch, and so she packed up and left. I followed her down the stairs and locked the door behind her and shut off the light.
Maybe I'll go out drinking tonight, see if I find a female who is not deceitful at heart. Definitely I'll do some typing. I thought of a pot shop stop, but it will have to be tomorrow at the earliest. I started reading YOUTH IN REVOLT by CD Payne. Sort of a Jim Crack thing, but more simply stated. I've got to treadmill tonight. I've skipped the last three days because of depression.

Without saying anything, she went back downstairs, went out, got in her car and drove away.

3-25 Tu 10:41 AM
3-26 W 11:20 AM
I couldn't write yesterday. I was too depressed. I didn't write a word. I wanted cheeseburgers. I felt my back pocket's emptiness. I had forgotten my wallet in the morning. I dismissed the kids to lunch early and walked up to Victor's class. I asked if I could borrow five or ten dollars. He didn't have it. I saw Jane Naterelli. I told her I had an embarrassing favor to ask. I asked for five dollars. She said, "No," but she was joking. Shirley Spalla handed me a five. I don't know how she knew. She must have overheard. Jane gave me five, too. I drove up to Jack in the Box and spent it all on cheeseburger. I didn't think while I ate. I was lost. I had no ground. I couldn't care about anything. Nothing mattered. I drove back, my stomach working on the pit of grease in my gut.
I didn't read a word either. After our staff meeting I drove home with only the rattling labor of the engine in my head. I tried to read the LA Times when I got home, but it was no good. There was a message on the machine from Shirelle. She misses me; she loves me, it says. I suspect the depth of her feeling. I paged her. She didn't call back. I went to my bed an planted my face in my pillow.
My mom called. She wanted to know about the car. She wasn't too enthused about giving the car to Shirelle. I said I hadn't heard from Shirelle in a week. There was beep. It was the other line. It was Shirelle. She was going to come over when she got off work at Paramount. My edge was so jagged. I asked Johnny if he would give me a ride somewhere to get a drink. We went to Tom Bergin's. I drank an Irish coffee and a Jameson's and a Harp. I told Johnny he was a true artist and spiritualist, unconcerned with material matters, like Van Gogh was. As long as he had enough to subsist on and could draw and reflect on Christ, he had all he needed. I said I was envious, that I often thought about quitting my job and trying to make my living as a writer, but my debts. My $15,000 gambling and alcohol and traveling debts. We went home. Shirelle knocked. I said she looked nice when she walked in and gave her a short kiss. I offered her something to eat or drink, but she wasn't happy with the selection: no alcohol. She said she was tired. Said there was always work and parties. I said she could shower and rest at the house if she wanted. Without saying anything, she went back downstairs, went out, got in her car and drove away.

3-24 M 7:31 AM
All I've done since leaving off here last night is sleep and wake up and get ready for school and here i am at my class. I read a couple pages of Ask the Dust. Arturo went down to the Columbia Buffet to flaunt his story money in front of Camilla. I woke up at 5:40, before the alarm went off. I thought about getting a head start on the day, but went back to sleep for twenty minutes instead, when the alarm went off, and even then I lay there a while before getting out of bed to shower. I washed my hair and brushed my teeth in the shower. I left the shampoo on my head while I brushed me teeth, letting the Head and Shoulders go to work on my scalp. Then I rinsed and turned off the water and stepped out and dried off and dressed. I ate Cheerios and read the front section of the NY Times. The Israelis' treatment of the Palestinians really bothers me. The opressed become the opressors. I couldn't find my belt this morning. Kayo is supposed to come to my class. Afterward I'm going to guide him to the District Office to see about getting him hired as a teacher. There's kid knocking on the door. Carmina needs me to install MSWord on her computer. I have to post a sign up sheet for the compter training that is in two weeks. It's overcast today. I guess I better skip lunch today. What else? My LA Times weren't waiting for me at school today. I'm a disorganized slob. I haven't seen Shirelle in over a week. I have stinky rotten farts. I have a styrofoam cup with coffee in it. I haven't been able to get online these last few days. Last night it gave me some message about resetting the parameter RAM, which I did, but it kept giving me the same message. I didn't wash my cars this weekend like I had planned. What else? Does my life suck? Am I a dumb-ass? Will I ever have love and a family? Why am I tired all the time? Should I wait 'til Friday to visit the pot shop? Should I give it up altogether? Why are Jeff and Pablo emotional wrecks? I wish I could call Sanyo. What if I did? I better get up to the playground and bring the kids down. What else? Two more lines and I can stop. Here we are.

3-23 Su 9:55 PM

What is there? A child's voice from the street comes in through the closed window.

Why do I feel like such a geek-ass dork-boy?

What are we going to do at school tomorrow? I've got to meet with Kayo after school tomorrow.

I've been wanting to learn how to get by on six hours of sleep a night. I'm out of it right now. It just feels like a hassle to have to do all this writing. And I'm not even close to being done. What else? My vision is blurred. The same few little thoughts keep echoing around in my head. I truly cannot think right now. I'm that high and tired? Rochelle talked about a guy with a coi fish tattoo. I made fun of coi. I said they were bottom dwellers, big, bloated, scum-sucking, shit-eaters. I was wearing my trout slippers. I said, "Now a trout! That's a fish. They're hunters, sleek, they leap from the water. Coi don't do any leaping. Coi are so dumb, you can catch them in your bare hands and put them into what amounts to not much more than a puddle of a pond in upper middle class landscaped backyards. A trout would die if you subjected it to those confines. It needs the m

This Stupid Pencil Has Nothing But Mindless Trivia to Drivel on About

March 22 Sat 12:30 PM
Doh! I forgot I hadn't finished this yesterday. I'm so ashamed. I hate this pencil. It's a Berol EAGLE USA HB 2 and the lead is much too soft. I'm boiling some water right now so I can steam open the envelope I sealed to send the registration for grandma's Chrysler to the DMV. I woke up this morning and my first thought was I realized I hadn't put the check in the envelope. I owe God for that one, I'd say. I ate some leftover chicken and mojos from Shakey's last night and a bowl of apple sauce and drank a soapy cup of coffee for breakfast. I'm about to partake of a glass of wine I poured and didn't finish before going to sleep last night. I've got to put one sentence to Jim. I need manila envelopes. I've got to get some new duds. Maybe when I get paid next month. The clock on the wall's batteries ran out one five minutes to five and thirty-seven seconds, though AM or PM, we shall never know, nor the date.
I'll have a short puff when I'm done here and do my typing. I've got to wash my cars before Monday. I'm going to Hermosa Beach for a while later this afternoon. A little KLON jazz laigherns the room.
I wonder if I'll get on that sorry treadmill today. Mebbe during the UCLA game.
John Bayless is doing one of Van Gogh's peasants in colored pencil on the couch by the living room window. I'll call Kathleen when I'm done. Charlie Parker's blowing in from the window. The bird chirps. What else? I should break this stupid pencil. It doesn't write well at all, and has nothing but mindless personal trivia to drivel on about. I read a couple more chapters of Ask the Dust this morning. People had recommended it to me as something perverse. I don't understand this reckoning. It's really quite touching and gentle.
I imagined a love letter to Sanyo. The best truest love letters are composed for people to whom we can never send them. Mebbe it's just me. That bird can blow! I've got one more load of laundry to throw in here, and then I should be good for a week or so. My clothes don't come out much cleaner, and they're all wrinkly.

2-21-F 12:19 PM
On the pot in the faculty restroom. The boys are playing soccer on the playground. The girls stayed in the class with Mr. Acevedo to use the computer and write on the chalkboard. Mario Moreno and Vitorio Ledezma and I went to Lenchita's for burritos. Vitorio's wife left him for a young man. When he sees her with hickeys on her neck, he wants to beat her.
One day I'll have to swear off the "what else?"'s. Or maybe it's a great driving question. We played Dragon's Lair after lunch. I finished both Times today. When I'm done here, I'll try to get Sandi Ojeda's printer going again. When I get home, I'll tread, then I'll puff, then I'll type, then I'll call Catherine Howrad, then I'll prepare that package for Skye Lerner, then I'll play my guitar, then I'll read, then I'll write some letters. Then I'll go to bed. Tomorrow I'll wash the cars. Sunday I'll ride a horse at Griffith Park with Getoff and his brother, Erik. I don't have to teach night school next week because we're on spring break. No such luck at day school, though.