3:45 PM W 9-1-99
I lost my last journal, number 39, in Atlanta on the way to the Bahamas, so I didn't get to write during my little week-long adventure.  I got to be in Hurricane Dennis, caught lots of fish, partied with the locals in clubs where the roofs leaked hurricane rain and the girls vied to dance under the falling water, took X and snorkeled drunk (lucky I didn't drown) on some minor offshore reef before a BBQ/limbo party on a secluded white sand beach. Now I'm back and it all seems like a dream I had last night. I went by Wilshire Hill this morning and straightened out my room. I'll go back for a few hours tomorrow to get paper and set up bulletin boards and crap. Ugh. I'm at a restaurant called Ca' Brea. I had beers and saffron lobster pasta.  The place has closed and I'm sitting at the bar by myself. I just finished reading the Times and La Opinion.  I guess I'll grill some more of that bonita and yellow tail I brought back from the Bahamas for a late dinner tonight. Shirelle fried some with potatoes last night and we ate it with Kalik beer and rum with ice and molasses. Five days 'til school starts. I've got to call my dad and Dr. Jorlitzky when I get back to the house. Read some Caribbean and do a third-person page. I'm so bummed about losing that journal. I already typed about it during my fifteen minutes this morning. I've lost four of my best journals: the jail journal, the east coast journal, the broke-up journal, and now the Bahamas journal.  I took my film down to Sav-On but can't pick it up 'til after three tomorrow. This place is crawling with flies. I brought back itchy Bahamian sand fly bites on my feet and ankles. I can't believe it's four o'clock already. I wonder if I'll go out tonight. I'll see if I have any messages when I get home. What else? Funky paintings hang in this place. We need a new bed. I typed up a new resume and cover letter for Shirelle to hopefully interview Steven Bochco in this new Vivica Fox drama on CBS. Jim Crack is lame.