8-14-01 3:08 PM Tu

Augh. 6:01 PM. Ugh. I typed fifteen minutes at Wilshire Hill this morning. Read some more Lord Jim. Went home for a bit. Had a smoke. Drove up to LACMA. Found a metered spot on Ogden. Or is it Nash? Jogged through the Winslow Homer exhibit, intensely distracted. I don’t remember a thing. I was expecting it to be morally facile and a poor match for the moral complication which has been preoccupying me with my wife and daughter having been away so long now. This amid the optimsm of children playing wildly, sailing happily. In one painting, though, boys eat watermelon in a field, a stolen melon it seems, two of the boys are black, one pinkish, and one of the black boys stares over his shoulder nervously, fear writ on his face. When I got home, I got a BBQ going. Fucked it all up. Pork, burnt on the outside, raw in the middle. I chewed most of the grease out of each piece and gave mouthfuls to Lulu. Talked to my stepfather, my half-sister, my mother, my wife, and my grandmother. Omar and I were going to go out tonight, but he pussed. I don’t know what I’ll do now.  I should clean the house and get a good night’s sleep. We’ll see. I’ve also got to call Getoff when I get home. I’m at LA High. I showed my class how to play Scrabble and Monopoly. I’d have liked to have invited a few of them back to my place to keep playing, but I guessed that wouldn’t be kosher. I have to work eight to twelve twenty again tomorrow. I haven’t been teaching them crap lately. I just tell them to write in their journals or write a book report or rad a book and Mrs. Manson attacks them fi they do not. Sometimes we watch videos. I’ll have to make sure the place is presentable before eI go to night school because there won’t be any time after that.

Seattle 8-97