10:59 AM M 6-14-99
I feel miserable today.  I'm sore and scraped and sunburned after our fourteen-inning loss yesterday, and I got a cold or allergies that have my eyes dry as the Mojave and my nose flowing like the Mississippi.  I think I sprained my left shoulder.  We're out of Kleenex.  It's hot today.  I've got to get lunch for Horowicz today.  I'm sure I'll be a thoroughly disgusting lunch companion.  I've got to buy books and chalk at LACAS today.  Tom Waits is at the Wiltern tonight.  Wish I could go.  I read chapter nine of John this morning.  It had the story of the adulterous woman and one of my favorite lines:  "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone."  I have read six more chapters when I get home.  I've got to read some more Idiot today.  I dreamed all night that we were still playing that miserable baseball game.  Goldcastle came over to drink beer and watch tv.  I called Kronos.  I called the Bahamas.  I've got a confirmation number.  They're going to FedEx the airfare.  I asked how the weather would be.  She said, "Well, that's peak hurricane season."  I've got some clerical work on my desk here to do.  A book inventory.  I have to decide which of these kids have earned end-of-the-year awards.  I honestly can't think of who deserves an award in this class.  What else?  It's almost lunch time.  [cartoonish pencil sketches of how I imagine Rogozhin and Myshkin look]