4-1 Tu 8:3o AM
If I hadn't been so fucking stupid and drunk and stoned and careless all those years after high school, I might really be somewhere now. If only I had listened to my asshole father. I might have some profession I could respect. It's not that exactly, though. I respect teaching children, but I was capable of more, but when the time came to prove it, I wasn't mature enough. I was carrying-on like an ass, wrecking things and scaring the people I loved. Now I work for people I can't stand when I should be finishing up a PHD on scholarship somewhere.
It's not too late. First thing I do: I work my ass off for a few years and go from 15g in debt to 15 in the black. I think a professional woman is integral. I'll work until she finishes her doctorate, then she works while I finish mine. Then I work while she nurses our baby. Something like that. Can I get that far in ten years?
I dreamt of her last night. I have the fleetingest memory of her image only. I can't see what happened. I woke up at 4:25 AM and again an hour later. Each time I said, why not get up now? Why not get an early start? But I answered, just sleep twenty minutes more. Get your rest. I fell back to a deep sleep. When the alarm went off at six, I could barely move. My alpha waves had turned back to beta waves. I could have slept another three hours or so. I laid there for 15 minutes, the inane chatter on the radio going through my ears. I managed to get to the shower, but I felt drugged. I got dressed, but I sat on the end of the bed, unmoving for twenty minutes.
The kids are looking up a list of words in the dictionary. Oddly enough, it is something they seem to enjoy. I'm glad of that.
Baseball season starts today. I was supposed to go to the opening game at Dodger Stadium, but I got buttfucked by some totally unnecessary, state-mandated training.
What else? I've got to stop by the credit union and deposit this forty dollar check. I've got to cancel my subscription to the New York Times. I've got to inform the manic, Jesus freak on my couch, whose chick is digging him and whose about to be dumped, the bum, to pay up or move on. I played a little guitar before bed last night. I need a new nine-volt battery for my tuner. I gave the Jesus Freak ten bucks to bring back a book of stamps and some double-A batteries for the clock in the kitchen, but even with the batteries in it now, it still will not tick nor tock. I got a bran muffin and a quarter pint of orange juice and twelve ounces of coffee from the cafeteria. Sandi Olguera and Shelly Kumaus said I should have gone to the game. Roy said the best bilingual teachers would have to teach kindergarten and first grade next year. I said I would quit first. I said being bilingual shouldn't LIMIT what I can do. I've got to call Tech Ed again today. I'll look in my bag for the number. I have to poop. I have to work tonight. Last night's class turned out ok. Emmanuel says, "How much did you write today?" I show him these three pages. I say, "How much did you write today?" He says, "None." I say, "You'll never be as smart as I am." He said, "You're a teacher; You're supposed to be smarter than everyone." I said, "No."

3-31-97

I'm bummed. I am a slave. Nobody cares. We're born to be fucked. The Devil is winning. Evil rules. Armageddon approaches. Happiness is the illusion few can afford. Ignorance is the only way out. For me it's too late.

Sounds like a suicide note. I want to live, though. I want to make good, despite the odds. I think the opportunity for a lengthy, mostly happy life still exists for me. These years coming will be the test. Next year I turn thirty and will have no debt. Less than two years after that we go into the new millenium, and I will have a woman to love and trust for the rest of my life.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. And I'll write best-selling, internationally-acclaimed, Nobel-Prize-winning novels, recognized for their deep humanitarian insights.

What else? My mouth tastes like old coffee. I'll skip lunch today, but I want to go talk in the lounge to find out about the ramifications of missing the Early Literacy Certification Training Module One, Component One: Another Big Giant Bureaucratic Fuckaround.

Sandra brought her Game Boy to school. I was playing. There's no way to make up tomorrow's training, so I'll have to miss the Dodger game.

Estamos leyendo del agua, los que estan leyendo, pero hay muchos que prefieren aprender nada. Mi actitud es tan negativo hoy. Alas, how can I save my psyche? It looks so hopeless. Why do I feel this way? Is it because I've been drinking and smoking so much? Because I got no love? Because the world sucks? Is it because of the Hale-Bopp comet?

Yesenia reads beautifully. I ate a BBQ chicken filet sandwich and salad with ranch dressing, green beans, and an apple from the school cafeteria. Karla reads pretty good. There's still half an hour until we can go outside for softball.

What else? Sandra reads aloud well. If I ask any questions, though, no one can answer well.
I definitely have to look for work at another school. I can't stand this place anymore. Life is not supposed to be this way. How did life get to be so unnatural?  I want to put my head through the wall, my fist through the glass. I want these kids to think.
When I get home, I'll do my desk. I'll call Paul. I'll go to the LACAS office and pay for the books. What kind of lesson will I do tonight? If only I hadn't fucked around so much in college, I might be teaching something substantial somewhere.

An Ass by the Body for Travelers to Trip on

3-3- Su 9:10 AM
There's a black cat on the sidewalk in front of me. I saw a patch of white on his chest, so I shall fear no evil. I'm writing as I walk up to the Bob's Big Boy on Wilshire. I read the front page of the Times while I walked. I'm going with the Gip to the Dodger/Angel game in Anaheim today.
9:40 PM
Shirelle never called back. I was mean to her on the phone when she called this morning. I could eat right now, but I ate so much this morning. I've got to do some shopping soon. In the Bible today was a story about a guy who bore false witness against another guy, told the other guy that the Lord had come to him and said that he should return with him which was contrary to what God had said to the one guy, so God had a lion eat the guy who believed the other guy's lie instead of God's word, and had a lion and an ass stay by the body for travelers to trip on.
Should I call Shirelle? I've got to go to bed soon. I hope I do a good job teaching tomorrow. Between classes I'll clean my desk and do some accounting. I haven't written in cursive for a while. Que mas? Estoy desfeliz. Estoy confundido. Estoy trippando en la diferencia en el degrado de permanencia en las formas de "ser" and "estar". Dormi dos horas cuando regresamos del juego. Mi casa en Tujunga--Tengo que buscar un trabajo alla tambien. Sera un dolor viajar a trabajo to commutir, no? desde alla todos los dias y a ir a escuela en Ucla o algo, tambien sera dificil. Debo llamarla? Ella no vendra. Nuestra amistad esta acabado. Manana, despues de clase, voy a hacer mis compras, a shoppear, en el Supermercado. Casi terminado. Mi vida chupa. Sere feliz cuando he pagado mis bills de credito. Tres lineas mas. Una oracion larga para parar. Ole! Es todo.

Comets as God Sperm

3-29
Twenty dollar incense and a free bag of weed. The light made diamonds. John said, "That's a really powerful smell." He was sniffing my marijuana. The Gip was treating spring training like it was the World Series. "The Virgin Guadalupe," says Nicandro, from class, who's on the phone. Gustavo Padilla fearin' crime. He's still on the line, but I can't think of anything to say. I called the GIP, anxious to go out, but now I've lost my gusto.
Charlamos. Como platicar. Yo estaba par atras.
He said if I got a brainstorm to call him. I said, "It's the doldrums." Doll drums. What the fuck. Thing and his afraid and pissed-off girlfriend just bailed. John said Thing ironed her shirt for her. I didn't notice. Things have grounded to an utter halt. Unemployability. Sincerity is bunk. I guess I'll just ramble through this. Finish it and get to bed. It's not going to be easy. There's a TV tray set up with a couple of bottles of Lite, a Camel cigarette matchbox, some stems, a little bag, foil-wrapped incense, and two remotes. John's burning hard on the couch. Comets as God sperm. Ugh. This is degenerative. I feel tired. Sapped. Bummed. It's good I'm staying in. Not a damn thing. I hear footsteps downstairs. You can hear the buzz of the helicopters. Long way to go still. When Roy came into my class the other day, I had just put my feet up. What the heck is plastic? I think I'll go look at a house in Tujunga tomorrow. Altered gravitational pull. Study the heavens. What's heaven? It's good I'm getting air tonight. What else? I haven't really eaten yet tonight. Let's see. I ate that pork with some tortillas and two PB and Js. No cereal. No fruit. Someone is playing music downstairs. Crap, I feel so beat right now. What'll I eat? Or should I just go to bed without eating? There's chick music down there, and I heard talking which usually involves a second party. What else? Should I go to the bottom of this page? Or the next? It was hard just to get to here.

3-28
Doh! I didn't finish these three pages last night. I'm lying in bed right now, burnt out, but unable to sleep. I wanted to take a nap before going out on the prowl. I think I was still drunk when I got to school. There were only nine kids today because it's Good Friday. I let them do whatever they wanted. They put in videos and did games on the computer and painted and build things with interlocking cubes. I was too drunk to read the paper at first, but I did kind of get started on it after ten for a while. I dozed off a bit. At lunch I drove to Taco Bell. First I went to the bank. I got paid today. My gross was almost $4,000.oo this month. On the way home I stopped at the pot shop. I haven't smoked any. My lungs are still tarred from the Camels I smoked at Dublin's Whiskey Bar last night. We had a crazy Korean cab driver, all enthused about Guatemala, laughing that I was a teacher. On the way back, we had a Ukrainian better suited for bodyguard work. What will I do tonight? Just sleep? Nah. The Derby, mebbe? What else? What else? Youth in Revolt does not measure up to Fante. My legs shake fanatically. I shake them. Letting my Parkinson's do its thing. I've got to call the Gip and make sure he hasn't killed himself to join the UFO behind the Hale-Bopp comet. I still haven't seen the thing. I need new clothes. How can I be so tired and filled with static energy? What else? I jacked twice today. Once in the ____ at ______. Que mas? Treadmill? Fuck. I wish there was a pill you could take that makes you feel like you've just awakened from a refreshing three-hour nap. I'll check my e-mail after this. Maybe I ought to dump the whole nap idea. Maybe I should just get high.