1-10-98 10:51 AM Sa
Dismal.  No-girl dismalness.  The day yawns ahead.  Should I go drip another couple of hundred dollars in the hopes that painting supplies will help to get it off my chest?  How about a new camcorder?  Here's my guitar right next to me.  There are three fingers of Turning Leaf cabernet sauvignon 1995 left in the bottle on the coffee table.  There's a mug of fresh coffee, too, and some roaches.  I took a swig.  And another swig.  Should I just write and wait for Shirelle to call?  We'll only hurt each other.  The floor needs vacuuming.  I read to page thirty in Tropic of Capricorn.  I can type all day, but I know it will be very difficult.  Life without love, is that what it's about?  While I was crossing the street today on the way to buy a newspaper in the wet morning, down at the three-way intersection of Pico askew with San Vicente and Keniston and Venice, where you have to cross the street six times to get all the way over, I was thinking how Shirelle's most natural tendency is toward chaos.  My life will always be like this.  Happiness is a carrot on a stick.  Even if you get it, though, you don't believe it, and throw it away.  Have I ever taken a longer time to fill a journal?  You need to be able to withstand the horrible things you will say to each other.  Feel like I don't know her anymore.  Feel alone.  I would rather be hers.  Thing made margaritas.  How to get more out of life.  We've just come from dropping fifty bucks on my credit card at Dublin.  It's Saturday night.  I have to go to work Monday.  Internalize.  Over-analyze.  Here come the negative creeps.  The girl is supposed to call tonight.