Skip It

5-12 7:30 PM M

I'm in night school class. I'm teaching the present tense. They have an exercise to work on for fifteen minutes. It's getting that twilight glow outside. With the kids today, we cleaned out the class and turned in our books, so I didn't get to read the paper or do my journal entry. I read the paper at my desk at home after I replied to email. I didn't quite have time to get through the crossword, though, because the Pepper came over flush from his Tombstone trip with a boner to show one of those cheezy black and white oulaw pictures he posed for. "Can't you get those at Knott's Berry Farm," I said, and he told me to shut up. He's going to talk to Danny about delivering Rawler's pool table to our house. When I was signing in at school today there was an envelope with my name on it. I opened it and lo and behold, it was check for two hundred and forty-six bucks! Maybe I can get a stereo for the car with it. I don't know what the check is for. What else? I still haven't cleaned off my desk. I still have my fifteen minutes and one page to do. Am at an impasse with Jim. The girl characters loom horrifically.

There was an article in the paper about the coincidental release of new works by Pynchon, Roth, Bellow, and Mailer. It questioned their import in the radical nineties as if every new age wasn't considered radical. It supposed the "Great American Novel" is acutally impossible to write.