6-3-99 11:42 AM Th
I'm tired.  I'm at Papa Rico's.  I've got three slices of cardboard and a glass of lemonade.  I already read the newspaper.  I worked on Jim some a little after work and a nap yesterday.  I typed fifteen minutes this morning.  I think I'm on page sixty-nine now.  This is a little red-tablecloth joint.  The proprietors are Korean or maybe Chinese.  We're going to watch "Small Soldiers" after lunch today.  Too bad we have music.  What else?  I finished my three slices of pizza.  I'm still hungry.  An inflatable green frog hangs from the ceiling.  Must be to promote Budweiser.            I'm back at class now.  My mind is utterly empty.  My throat has been a little sore lately.  I wonder if I have throat cancer.  I have read up to chapter eleven in The Idiot.  Rogozhin shows up at Ganya's place drunk with a mob while Nastassya Fillipovna is there.  He insults Ganya by saying he could pay him not to marry Fillipovna.  Then Fillipovna whispers to Alexandrovna that she, Fillipovna, is not what she seems.  [blue ink sketch of Dostoevsky]          Now we're at music.  Music is written on a staff.  If there's a treble clef, then we have to hit the high notes, the right side of the piano.  Whatever.  I'm exhausted.  I can't think.  A little girl from Ms. Harrington's class is fascinated by what I'm doing.  Whatever.  What else?  The Cardinals are on in Florida this afternoon.  The lady from MOCA is coming to Pio Pico [photograph through blinds on Keniston] tonight.  I think I said I would be there at five thirty.  I haven't ridden my bike to Pio Pico in the last week.  No wonder I'm so soft in the middle.  I have to call Mariachi and Idaho when I get home.  I have to fart.  I'm sick of this crap.  Steindiner was on me about our grade-level project.