5-29-99 Sa 8:16 PM
I'm in the living room at home here on Hudson.  Shirelle's friend Joe is visiting.  I'm tired.  I went down to the market and dropped two hundred dollars on groceries.  I've had indigestion all day.  Tim invited us to a party in Tujunga, but I'm burning too hard to go.  I've got to move on to my third-person.  I'm in the bathroom now.  I'm taking my fourth shit of the day.  An exceptionally loose and stinky one. It burns: evidence it's that late-night taco stand visit coming back to haunt me.  What else?  Shirelle put on my John Coltrane tape.  There's a toy hamburger, bun and lettuce, on the tub, and a wind-up toy spider and Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.  I need some Metamucil or something.  The Angels and Royals are in the middle of the seventh.  Joe says his fraternity brothers made him run the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art in his underwear.  He went to Temple.  What else?  Joe left.  [a line sketch in pencil of an elegant woman on a staircase]  Shirelle wants to go to Blockbuster.  Maybe we'll go to Hollywood Video.  I forgot what my third-person is supposed to be.  I see where I accidentally skipped two pages in this journal a few pages ago.  Maybe I can do some water colors there.  Gil's hand got chewed up in a meat grinder when he was a kid.  I hadn't noticed before yesterday when we were talking about why the navy rejected us.  Steve Sparks needs two outs for his first career shutout.  He's a knuckleballer.  There are guys on second and third.  I wonder how Hahvahd did today.  Now Shirelle doesn't want to go out for a video.  "Yuh better not be eating my ice cream," she says.  "I don't want to have to beat you tonight."  It sounds like something she heard growing up.