2-6-99 Sa 12:49 PM
Bob's. I didn't write yesterday, did I? I went up to John Burroughs this morning to watch some of the chess tournament. I was too late to play. It was fun watching the rated players slam their pieces down in a flurry of action late in the game. Some guys played roller hockey on the playground, too. A Saturday of diversions. What else? Should I get married? I have to make up some kind of learning centers for school. My waitress has been less than attentive. Conversation has been a burden lately. Whatever? What else? Thing brought home that [pencil sketch of a coffee mug] movie "Rushmore" last night. I have a bunch of Blockbuster coupons. I'm a buffoon. I'm an idiot. I ate too much. There's nothing to me. I exist only to trudge through my fate. Back and forth and back and forth I go. The Bob's crowd is thinning out. The left over fries look massacred in their puddles of smeared ketchup. Today's Senoritavilla's birthday. It's none of my concern, though, right? Elmer had the personality with Loren at Q's. I was too drunk. Could barely contain how fierce I felt. The asshole in me was bubbling just under the surface. Indifference was my best visible option.
"Actually, I 'm wondering if you'd let me try guinea-piggin' myself with you."
What else? My rib is still sore. I wonder if Adam felt this way. Our game's at eight tomorrow. I've got to keep it cool tonight. What else? I wish I could go golfing today. Maybe Thing will take me to Rancho Park. What else? One more page. I've got to go home and type a page. I suffer from poor judgment. I'm an oddball. What on God's green Earth next? Wanda and Hyna's mom gave Tar Baby tepid reviews. I could go for a good fuck right now. I wish there was some way to act out this duality. I feel like I was in an alcoholic stupor yesterday, but all I can think for today is more of the same. Craving some fresh pussy. Maybe I should become a swinger. Drop this sexual prude thing. Whatever. Chicks. Ugh. Too bad I never sent that Bayless story. I met the real estate agent this morning. She was showing the place to some Chinese-looking buyers. Ugh. I told Thing I felt like a dust-bowl Okie being kicked off the farm.
Bob's. I didn't write yesterday, did I? I went up to John Burroughs this morning to watch some of the chess tournament. I was too late to play. It was fun watching the rated players slam their pieces down in a flurry of action late in the game. Some guys played roller hockey on the playground, too. A Saturday of diversions. What else? Should I get married? I have to make up some kind of learning centers for school. My waitress has been less than attentive. Conversation has been a burden lately. Whatever? What else? Thing brought home that [pencil sketch of a coffee mug] movie "Rushmore" last night. I have a bunch of Blockbuster coupons. I'm a buffoon. I'm an idiot. I ate too much. There's nothing to me. I exist only to trudge through my fate. Back and forth and back and forth I go. The Bob's crowd is thinning out. The left over fries look massacred in their puddles of smeared ketchup. Today's Senoritavilla's birthday. It's none of my concern, though, right? Elmer had the personality with Loren at Q's. I was too drunk. Could barely contain how fierce I felt. The asshole in me was bubbling just under the surface. Indifference was my best visible option.
"Actually, I 'm wondering if you'd let me try guinea-piggin' myself with you."
What else? My rib is still sore. I wonder if Adam felt this way. Our game's at eight tomorrow. I've got to keep it cool tonight. What else? I wish I could go golfing today. Maybe Thing will take me to Rancho Park. What else? One more page. I've got to go home and type a page. I suffer from poor judgment. I'm an oddball. What on God's green Earth next? Wanda and Hyna's mom gave Tar Baby tepid reviews. I could go for a good fuck right now. I wish there was some way to act out this duality. I feel like I was in an alcoholic stupor yesterday, but all I can think for today is more of the same. Craving some fresh pussy. Maybe I should become a swinger. Drop this sexual prude thing. Whatever. Chicks. Ugh. Too bad I never sent that Bayless story. I met the real estate agent this morning. She was showing the place to some Chinese-looking buyers. Ugh. I told Thing I felt like a dust-bowl Okie being kicked off the farm.
posted by johnz at 4:19 PM
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