W 3-17-99 12:39 PM Yeah yeah yeah. Dreary and cold today. Got a bunch more conferences. I'm trying to decide whether or not to take the night off and go out drinking for St. Pat's. I typed fifteen minutes this morning. It wasn't easy. I rode my-wobbly-tired bike to school. The rim's bent from all the curb hopping you have to do in this city.
Th 3-18-99 7:00 PM
I'm at night school. I'm tired. I went out to Dublin's last night with the G.I.P. I got drunk. I didn't have much of a hangover, though. I read the paper. I've been having a lot of trouble with the crossword lately. Did I type this morning? I think I did. I went to JITB for lunch. Ugh. Had a couple more conferences. I watched the rest of "Henry Fool." It was pretty ok. Good enough for me. I read another scene in Twelfth Night. I have to tend to my laundry when I get home. I have to wash my linens. I made some fish. Mr. Martinez said there's a place on Hudson I can rent. What about this dirt-bike-riding thing? It's supposed to rain this weekend. My students are planning a party for next week. They asked me to leave the room so they can talk about it. That can only mean they're taking up a collection to buy me a gift.
3-19-99 F 1:35 PM
It's been ten days since I last wrote three pages in one sitting, and I doubt I'll live up to that goal this time either. I didn't type this morning. I read the paper. I'm done with my conferences. I only had two no-shows. Tim's supposed to pick me up after school today to go motorcycle riding out in the desert. It's supposed to rain. I'm not sure I want to go. We may stop for a drink at El Cholo before we head out. Shirelle's upset that I'm going. I was playing video games with Antown until he started getting too rude and I threw him out. I went up to Flame Chicken with Florelle. We talked about Sergio and Shirelle. Blah blah blah. Shirelle has been making an issue of my indifference. "Why are you so indifferent?" she kept asking. I haven't read any "Twelfth Night" yet today. I should have left an hour ago to type. Antown's waiting outside, sucking his thumb. I wish I'd have finished that play today. I wonder why Salvador never can push in his chair. I still haven't attended to my email. Can't find my little notebook. Geez, what else? How do I know whether or not to move in with Shirelle? What else? This is so frustrating and disheartening and disgusting not to have anything to say. A writer with nothing to write. If I had the balls to renounce my status as a cog in the machine, would I have more to say? Quit the Cosmodemonic Telegraph Company? Oh, where, O where is that "Jeopardy" check? Oh where, O where can it be? What else? What else? [red ink line drawing of Schoolhouse Rock "Interjections" cheerleader with a word bubble reading "Yeah!"] Nothing. Nothing. Vile fucking emptiness and despair. Nothing matters. Indifference. It's true. I am indifferent. Why? What difference does my existence make? Millions could step in and take my place. I'm nothing.
Th 3-18-99 7:00 PM
I'm at night school. I'm tired. I went out to Dublin's last night with the G.I.P. I got drunk. I didn't have much of a hangover, though. I read the paper. I've been having a lot of trouble with the crossword lately. Did I type this morning? I think I did. I went to JITB for lunch. Ugh. Had a couple more conferences. I watched the rest of "Henry Fool." It was pretty ok. Good enough for me. I read another scene in Twelfth Night. I have to tend to my laundry when I get home. I have to wash my linens. I made some fish. Mr. Martinez said there's a place on Hudson I can rent. What about this dirt-bike-riding thing? It's supposed to rain this weekend. My students are planning a party for next week. They asked me to leave the room so they can talk about it. That can only mean they're taking up a collection to buy me a gift.
3-19-99 F 1:35 PM
It's been ten days since I last wrote three pages in one sitting, and I doubt I'll live up to that goal this time either. I didn't type this morning. I read the paper. I'm done with my conferences. I only had two no-shows. Tim's supposed to pick me up after school today to go motorcycle riding out in the desert. It's supposed to rain. I'm not sure I want to go. We may stop for a drink at El Cholo before we head out. Shirelle's upset that I'm going. I was playing video games with Antown until he started getting too rude and I threw him out. I went up to Flame Chicken with Florelle. We talked about Sergio and Shirelle. Blah blah blah. Shirelle has been making an issue of my indifference. "Why are you so indifferent?" she kept asking. I haven't read any "Twelfth Night" yet today. I should have left an hour ago to type. Antown's waiting outside, sucking his thumb. I wish I'd have finished that play today. I wonder why Salvador never can push in his chair. I still haven't attended to my email. Can't find my little notebook. Geez, what else? How do I know whether or not to move in with Shirelle? What else? This is so frustrating and disheartening and disgusting not to have anything to say. A writer with nothing to write. If I had the balls to renounce my status as a cog in the machine, would I have more to say? Quit the Cosmodemonic Telegraph Company? Oh, where, O where is that "Jeopardy" check? Oh where, O where can it be? What else? What else? [red ink line drawing of Schoolhouse Rock "Interjections" cheerleader with a word bubble reading "Yeah!"] Nothing. Nothing. Vile fucking emptiness and despair. Nothing matters. Indifference. It's true. I am indifferent. Why? What difference does my existence make? Millions could step in and take my place. I'm nothing.
posted by johnz at 10:09 AM
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