1-29-00 Sa 4:07 PM
I'm hungry.  Rochelle and I are sitting in Fantastic Sam's hair salon on Crescent Heights and Third.  I have some sort of post-inebriation neurological disorder.  I have very little in the way of psycho-motor control today.  I drove down to the corner and got a newspaper after I had typed for fifteen minutes.  I finished Book One of Paradise Lost.  I still have to write my grandmother and send the keys back to the St. Charles.  Maybe we'll go to Every Picture Tells a Story.  I told Rochelle I couldn't get my haircut at any place that didn't have a barber pole in front of it, but she wasn't having it.  We've got to go to Pasadena tonight.  I'm hungry.  I'm shaky.  What else?  Rochelle has been on her period now for a week.  It's making her a little bit testy.  5:23  Rochelle decided she didn't want to get her haircut at Fantastic Sam's after all, so we left.  We went to Carl's Jr.  An epidemic of shitheadism grips Los Angeles today.  Whatever.  I struck out on "Millionaire."  What else?  Artie Passage called.  He and his wife are coming up her to watch the Super Bowl tomorrow.  My mom and sisters might come, too.  What else?  God, I feel so weak.  I'm home now.  I'm lying across my bed writing in this journal which is on the floor.  I'm not going to read McCain.  It's already time to go.  Blah blah.  Rochelle says I have a gift.  She says I'm talented.  She says she's biased because she loves me.  You would think I was hammered right now this penmanship is so sloppy but I haven't had a drink today.  I did so much damage last night, though, that this is how I'm writing today.  [Illegible] should try to get up to Pablo's before the Gonzalez's.