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.
3-26 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.
posted by johnz at 9:18 PM
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