5:45 PM 3/11/98 W
I'm at a desk in one of the empty evening classrooms. It's still light outside. Kids were skateboarding in the parking lot. My class begins in about seven minutes. I drove to school tonight. I was--Tracy, the teacher next door, came into the room singing about a nightingale. She started playing the piano. Sheryl walked in now, too. They're talking. I don't know what about. Something about getting numbers for downloading that I don't understand. The page is a little orange now, my hands look a little Flemish neo-classical in the light coming through the window. I still imagine dread possibilities of last journal's loss: terminations and public humiliations. What else? ...stop by the nursery some day, the pawn shop... Ate donuts today, most of a jelly and parts of a fritter. I shared with my class. I collapsed in on myself and lost Catherine the other night. Of that I'm sure. I wasn't hired. I blew the interview. I'm too embarrassed to do call-backs. I'll put some phrases on the board. I guess I better get over there. It's after six. Sheryl and Tracy are still talking, though, with Jim, who has now arrived, and they haven't started teaching yet. What about doing something after class tonight? Naw. Treadmill. Read. Write. Paint. Practice. Go to bed. Mike said Palm Springs was awesome. I'm thirsty. I smoked some after school today. I was painting a pile of rocks. It wasn't easy. It took a while. An hour or so. It looks amateurish. A lady blabs next door now in Spanish. Jim still hasn't started teaching. After class tonight, I will...what? Read. Tread and read. Have a Harvest Burger. That Lucia inflames me. Au. What else? Back straight. I need a shave. There's a button missing off this shirt. What else? The janitor popped. He told me Tone-Loc was here. What else? Talentless. The pawn shop. The nursery. Three hundred bucks at Aaron's Art Mart. What's up with Shirelle and her birthday? Do I call? Do I call Cathy? Dizzy's been after me lately. I'm ten minutes late now. I have to write a letter to Idaho.
I'm at a desk in one of the empty evening classrooms. It's still light outside. Kids were skateboarding in the parking lot. My class begins in about seven minutes. I drove to school tonight. I was--Tracy, the teacher next door, came into the room singing about a nightingale. She started playing the piano. Sheryl walked in now, too. They're talking. I don't know what about. Something about getting numbers for downloading that I don't understand. The page is a little orange now, my hands look a little Flemish neo-classical in the light coming through the window. I still imagine dread possibilities of last journal's loss: terminations and public humiliations. What else? ...stop by the nursery some day, the pawn shop... Ate donuts today, most of a jelly and parts of a fritter. I shared with my class. I collapsed in on myself and lost Catherine the other night. Of that I'm sure. I wasn't hired. I blew the interview. I'm too embarrassed to do call-backs. I'll put some phrases on the board. I guess I better get over there. It's after six. Sheryl and Tracy are still talking, though, with Jim, who has now arrived, and they haven't started teaching yet. What about doing something after class tonight? Naw. Treadmill. Read. Write. Paint. Practice. Go to bed. Mike said Palm Springs was awesome. I'm thirsty. I smoked some after school today. I was painting a pile of rocks. It wasn't easy. It took a while. An hour or so. It looks amateurish. A lady blabs next door now in Spanish. Jim still hasn't started teaching. After class tonight, I will...what? Read. Tread and read. Have a Harvest Burger. That Lucia inflames me. Au. What else? Back straight. I need a shave. There's a button missing off this shirt. What else? The janitor popped. He told me Tone-Loc was here. What else? Talentless. The pawn shop. The nursery. Three hundred bucks at Aaron's Art Mart. What's up with Shirelle and her birthday? Do I call? Do I call Cathy? Dizzy's been after me lately. I'm ten minutes late now. I have to write a letter to Idaho.
Labels: Lowlife LA Literature
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