1-24-99 10:01 PM Su
I just rode my bike up here to Shirelle's. It was raining a little. My ears are frozen and the cold air gave me a headache. I stunk up the field at my baseball game. Struck out three times, grounded out, made some shitty errors. Definite goat of the game, but we won. It was a nail-biter. At one point, we were down ten to two, but we came back and won fourteen to thirteen, scoring the winning run with two out in the ninth on Mariachi's bases-loaded single. When we got home, I went to the store and bought a newspaper--which I haven't read yet--and four gallons of water. Then I went to the liquor store and bought a six pack and a couple of nudie books. Then I drove through McDonald's. I beat off, ate my burger, and went to sleep. I woke up a couple hours later. Wrote a little. Added some to Jim-probably lame. And that's it. Here I am. Shirellle's watching the Golden Globes. Yadda yadda yadda. What else? We're supposed to go to some opera at the Dorothy Chandler tomorrow night. I'll have to take another sick day at work. I still have to write the Bahamas letter. What else? I keep thinking of how bad my game sucked today. Ugh. What else? "The Practice" just won for best TV drama. These shows always trip me out. I'm not that creative? Not that smart? Am I cursed? Do I have a jinx? How can I suck at EVERYTHING? I've got to read some Volcano still. I typed fifteen minutes this morning. I read the first seven chapters of the Book of Amos. Destruction heaped upon the Jews. Ugh. Ack. Ick. Shit. Fuck. Why don't I think of anything? I want to see "Shakespeare in Love." I should have [fluid-line black ink impression of a ball past a batter heading to the glove of a catcher in front of an umpire] I should have watched "Little Voice." Another lost weekend goes down the pipes.
I just rode my bike up here to Shirelle's. It was raining a little. My ears are frozen and the cold air gave me a headache. I stunk up the field at my baseball game. Struck out three times, grounded out, made some shitty errors. Definite goat of the game, but we won. It was a nail-biter. At one point, we were down ten to two, but we came back and won fourteen to thirteen, scoring the winning run with two out in the ninth on Mariachi's bases-loaded single. When we got home, I went to the store and bought a newspaper--which I haven't read yet--and four gallons of water. Then I went to the liquor store and bought a six pack and a couple of nudie books. Then I drove through McDonald's. I beat off, ate my burger, and went to sleep. I woke up a couple hours later. Wrote a little. Added some to Jim-probably lame. And that's it. Here I am. Shirellle's watching the Golden Globes. Yadda yadda yadda. What else? We're supposed to go to some opera at the Dorothy Chandler tomorrow night. I'll have to take another sick day at work. I still have to write the Bahamas letter. What else? I keep thinking of how bad my game sucked today. Ugh. What else? "The Practice" just won for best TV drama. These shows always trip me out. I'm not that creative? Not that smart? Am I cursed? Do I have a jinx? How can I suck at EVERYTHING? I've got to read some Volcano still. I typed fifteen minutes this morning. I read the first seven chapters of the Book of Amos. Destruction heaped upon the Jews. Ugh. Ack. Ick. Shit. Fuck. Why don't I think of anything? I want to see "Shakespeare in Love." I should have [fluid-line black ink impression of a ball past a batter heading to the glove of a catcher in front of an umpire] I should have watched "Little Voice." Another lost weekend goes down the pipes.
Labels: Lowlife LA Literature
posted by johnz at 9:43 PM
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