Sunday, May 1st–The big news this evening was of the killing of Osama Bin Laden. I must say, I was surprised at how pleased and excited I was about this, but I would’ve been much more pleased had Michael Vick been killed.
Monday, May 2nd–The Internet today was full of pretentious, self-righteous statements from people I know well, and people I know only online, whining about the killing of Osama Bin Laden, saying how they refused to celebrate over the death of a human being, that he deserved, as a human being, to be treated with a certain level of respect, etc. Often they tried to support their lofty position by including quotes, real or fake, from Gandhi, MLK, or somebody like that. What a bunch of horse shit.
Bin Laden deserved to be killed–not spend the rest of his life in prison contemplating his crimes–but killed. But then again, there’s many people who deserve the same, including the corporate and political shit-heads who are fucking up this country. And let’s not forget people guilt of animal cruelty as well. They deserve to be killed.
Tuesday, May 3rd–
Wednesday, May 4th–
Thursday, May 5th–I learned I’m no longer going to get royalties for my old articles, but I’m eligible for a large one-time pay-out, provided I sign away my rights to those articles in perpetuity. I’m still waiting to find out how much I’ll be offered.
I was encouraged to apply for a job in California. I’m seriously thinking of doing this, though packing, moving, and getting an apartment might be a chore.
Friday, May 6th–I was to have a doctor’s appointment today, but it got moved to next Tuesday the other day because the doctor had a family emergency.
Saturday, May 7th–
Sunday, May 8th–
Monday, May 9th–I wasn’t able to sleep this morning, my eyes were crossed with exhaustion, and I was very stressed out, so I called in and cancelled my 3pm appointment. I then went back to bed and slept like a baby. I finished Christopher Isherwood’s “Christopher and His Kind” and began his “A Meeting by the River.”
We finally got fucking dumpsters at the apartment complex. I’ve been waiting for them for seven years.
Tuesday, May 10th–I went to the doctor. He renewed my cholesterol and thyroid prescriptions. I may have to go back in 6 weeks for a blood test.
As for my allergies–the doctor renewed my nasal spray [fluticasone, I think]. I’d not taken that in a few years, because the MAP people expected me to pick it up way down in Southeast Austin and it was a day-long bus trip and just too much of a pain. He recommended against renewing the Singulair, as it is pricey, and said I should just use an over-the-counter anti-histamine instead. If those two don’t work, the only other option is surgery to remove my nasal polyp.
Regarding my feet–he said I definitely have plantar fasciitis, not anything diabetes-related. He said it happens from being on your feet too much. He said continue with my special inserts. If that doesnt work, I’ll have to go to a podiatrist and get custom-made orthotics. The only other options are cortisone injections, which are painful and expensive, and offer only temporary relief, and something else he said too fast for me to remember. I’m disappointed he wasn’t more helpful about my feet.
I mentioned my hyper-sensitivity to noise and light, but we didn’t discuss it. I didn’t bring up my worsening agoraphobia.
The nurse was pleased I had everything neatly written down on a card and had my old prescription bottles with me.
After this I went to the Arbor to see “Meek’s Cutoff,” then went to HEB and got a few groceries. When I got home I was exhausted from lack of sleep and my feet were killing me. I showered and took a nap from about 7 to 11pm.
Wednesday, May 11th–Leave it to my apartment complex to always fuck something up. I’m glad we finally got dumpsters so we can throw out our garbage like normal people. But the dumpsters are very tall and the lids are huge and heavy and hard to lift up. I barely managed to pry one open Monday night, but some cocksucker put it back down Tuesday. I tried to lift one this morning but couldn’t. I’ll just have to go out there with a broom or mop handle and lift up both later on.
Thursday, May 12th–I slept in, went to Petsmart and bought dog food, and the dollar store, and bought some food and a $1.00 mop so I can use the handle to open up that goddamn dumpster lid. I began sorting magazines with an idea towards throwing them away, and also applied for those two jobs in California. James failed to get me a document I needed for a job application, so I had to send an imperfect one a day late to a prospective employer. This, as well as the humid weather, put me into a huge rage.
Friday, May 13th–James and Nyssa and I got together. We ate at Chuy’s. I bought four cheap books at Half-Price Books. (Though the total was less than $10, it was still an unnecessary expense.) James handed me some stuff before I got out of the car–including a stuffed dolphin and a little bag of licorice. I ate a piece of this candy before going to bed.
Saturday, May 14th–Something–probably that fucking licorice–made me sick. I woke early and had diarrhea for 14 hours, as well as metallic belching, sharp gas pains, and endless farting. Oddly enough, I didn’t vomit. The shitting ended after dark, and though I’d wanted to take a shower, I fell asleep instead, exhausted. [Apparently the candy had been left in an over-heated car for hours.]
Sunday, May 15th–Today I recovered. Before I finally showered I smelled as bad as a homeless person.
Monday, May 16th–I went with James and Nyssa to some meeting of geeks and inventors. I didn’t understand most of what was said, and didn’t like the people or having to stand up, but fortunately, the presentations were over fairly quickly, so while James and Nyssa mingled, I went to the lobby to read. We then went to Fry’s Electronics, and had a nice, leisurely dinner at Opal Divine’s. From there we went to Wal-Mart; I looked around the rather skimpy DVD section, and felt endangered by the thuggish teenagers running amuck there.
Tuesday, May 17th–I went to Costco to fill my prescriptions, went to Barnes and Noble and browsed, then sat for quite awhile in its cafe drinking coffee. I went home, walked Belle, puttered around, tried to sort and toss magazines, and clean up my apartment, but didn’t get much done. The hose on my hand-held vacuum cleaner split open.
Wednesday, May 18th–The day was uneventful. I stayed online a lot and sorted magazines.
Thursday, May 19th–I slept long and heavily. I learned that two of the jobs I applied for are on hold, whatever that means, and that I may have to wait for a time before I can interview. I finished Isherwood’s “A Meeting by the River,” and tossed a bunch of magazines.
Friday, May 20th–
Saturday, May 21st–I moped about the job situation and other problems, and tossed some magazines. This was the sort of day when everything I touched seemed to break or otherwise fuck up.
Sunday, May 22nd–Another day spent watching TV and sorting and tossing magazines.
Monday, May 23rd–Another day spent watching TV and sorting and tossing magazines.
Tuesday, May 24th–Another day spent watching TV and sorting and tossing magazines.
Wednesday, May 25th–I decided to skip a writer’s Meet-Up group meeting this evening. I don’t have much money, and I really don’t have enough money to go to the cafe where the meeting was to be held. I don’t want to get hungry and not have the means to buy anything.
Thursday, May 26th–James and Nyssa came by and took me to dinner. When I got home I checked the mail and found an electrical disconnection notice for June 2nd.
I learned that my money will be cut off in two months. What will I do if I don’t get this job in California?
Friday, May 27th–I told James what he already knew–that if I’m forced out of my apartment and lose–or am about to lose–my possessions, I’ll commit suicide. It’s as simple as that.
I got some of the money for my electrical bill and paid it online. and another electric bill arrived in the mail today.
Saturday, May 28th–I got my monthly checks, as well as a notice from the IRS that I indeed owe them $2,800. I dropped my rent check off, paid part of my electrical bill at Randall’s, deposited a check at my bank, had dinner at Firebowl Cafe, looked at magazines at Barnes and Noble, and bought groceries at HEB. I got home, showered, and watched “Bonnie and Clyde” for the first time since I saw it a the age of three at a drive-in theatre in Houston. Though I’d seen clips of parts of the movie over the years, it was bizarre seeing a scene that I remembered watching in 1967.
This reminds me of a mind-fuck I had a few weeks ago, when James sent me some You Tube clips from “Goldrush Junction,” the Pigeon Forge, Tennessee frontier theme park that later became “Dollywood.” The clips exactly matched my memories of my infamous 1970 trip there.
Sunday, May 29th–I watched TV and tossed magazines.
Monday, May 30th–I slept late, woke tired, wanted to go back to bed, but just puttered and watched TV. I didn’t accomplish much.
Tuesday, May 31st–...There’s so many people I’ll be glad to be rid of.
I think this was the day I finished reading Isherwood’s “Mr. Norris Changes Trains” (aka “The Last of Mr. Norris”) and began his book, “Goodbye to Berlin.”
Wednesday, June 1st–This was an awful, awful day–the sort where I should never have bothered leaving the house. I woke fairly early, went to the UPS Store and bought a stamp, mailed a letter, and made some photo copies, went to Petsmart to buy some dog food, then went to the dollar store in hopes of getting some food for myself, only to find firemen running in the store’s door to check out some smoke which was supposedly pouring out of the vents.
I went back home, Belle went nuts as usual, then I headed back out to go catch a bus downtown. Naturally, that took forever. The weather was hot and miserable and the library was full of vile, stinky people. I checked some books out, made the slog to the bus stop, waited for ages for the bus, then boarded a bus full of more stinky people. I spent most of the ride home with my hanky over my face.
I went to McDonald’s and had a chocolate shake, fries, and two friend apple pies. The place was annoyingly noisy–piped-in music as well as blaring TVs. I went back to the dollar store and got what I wanted, then went home, calmed Belle again, and listened to a message from James. I was sore and hot and sweaty. I took Belle for a walk, then James and Nyssa came by to take me to a quick dinner at Schlotzsky’s.
James was worried because I am not really doing anything to prepare for the upcoming crisis that will befall me in two months. I’m too depressed to function.
A Schlotzsky’s staffer brought James his sandwich and Nyssa some huge salad she’d not ordered. Eventually the attendant returned and gave me something I hadn’t ordered. We pointed out the incorrect orders and the two plates were taken away. Then Nyssa was brought the right order and I was brought nothing. Eventually some woman who stank of kitchen sweat brought me my food, long after James and Nyssa had finished.
I was sore and felt like a solid bruise when I got home. I showered, and napped most of the night. I had started reading Isherwood’s “Prater Violet.” I got up for a few hours, but was still sore and tired, and went back to bed.
Thursday, June 2nd–I read in “Prater Violet” and sorted and tossed magazines. I also made arrangements for the payment of my IRS bill.
Friday, June 3rd–I finished “Prater Violet” and sorted and tossed magazines.
Saturday, June 4th–I read Fante’s “The Brotherhood of the Grape” in one sitting today.
Sunday, June 5th–I continued reading “Goodbye To Berlin” and tossed magazines. I also tried to save some photo and text files on disks, but I’m not sure if I was successful.
Monday, June 6th–I was depressed, broke, and hungry. I looked at LA real estate listings, though I am losing hope of getting a job there. I waited for James to decide if he was coming into town, then gave up and went back to bed, read awhile, got tired, and slept for a few more hours.
Several days ago I saw a photo posted on Tumbler of a tree and a farm house near Willis, Texas. I sent a message to the photographer, asking how he’d happened to be in Willis and adding that I’d gone to high school there. Naturally, he didn’t have the goddamn common courtesy to write me back.
So tonight I dreamt I went back to Willis High School. In the past I used to have recurring nightmares where I’d go back there and discover I’d missed some credit, and all my college and high school credits were cancelled, and I was required to start all over again, from my freshman year of high school. Then I’d wander out of the office as the enormity of this horror dawned on me.
Tonight’s dream was a little different. A few years after I left the school they added on to the building, and now it’s used as a junior high. Well, in the dream the school was very different. I arrived as registration or in-service was in progress. I was apparently going to work at the school, but also take some college classes nearby.
The building was a labyrinth. I kept being handed off from one person to another. For a time I was shown around by some teacher/administrator who was played by character actor Philip Baker Hall. But then later he had to run off to do something.
I also ran into Troy A., a guy I’d gone to high school with. Now in reality, I’ve not seen him for years. I heard that right after we graduated he had a mental breakdown, and went around telling people that Ronald Reagan was the Anti-Christ, because there are six letters each in the names Ronald Wilson Reagan. The last time I saw him I was sitting in a TV room of my dorm at SHSU and he poked his head in a door next to a stairwell. He looked absolutely bonkers, and didn’t seem to recognize me. Nowadays, my mom is friends with him on Facebook, and he’s apparently married with three kids, so I guess in a way he never got over being crazy.
Anyhow, Troy showed me around, and produced my cat Poose (1979-1999). Apparently, instead of Poose living out his days with me, Troy had taken him from me in order to provide him with a good home, because I’d gotten too busy to provide for him. Strangely enough, I was not angry about this, but accepted it like a spineless wimp, saying that I guess it had been the best for Poose, and that was all that mattered. But I started carrying Poose around, slung over my left forearm. This caused problems, since I kept getting handed stacks of papers and such.
The school library had changed. It used to be sunken several steps below the main level of the school, but now it was all on the same level. The low walls that had surrounded it were gone, as were most of the books. I was told they didn’t have much need for books anymore, thanks to the Internet.
I eventually made my way outside, to a narrow, paved courtyard that was between two wings of the building. By this point, I could no longer carry Poose, and I set him down and let him go, though he followed me, walking under the built-in seats and tables that were installed along the wall to my left.
I walked along the long courtyard, and saw some teenagers–a guy with a cheesy moustache and greasy hair, and two girls. He was muttering some explanation about the famous “Variety” headline: “HIX NIX STIX PIX.” I took it upon myself to interrupt and explain it further, its use in the film “Yankee Doodle Dandy,” and what it meant. Then I walked off.
Tuesday, June 7th–I discovered a website for a guy in LA who restores and rents out beautiful vintage apartments. Applicants are expected to write essays if they want to be accepted.
James took me to dinner at Threadgill’s, and I worried that my chance of getting that job I want is getting smaller and smaller. He asked me why I don’t just call and ask, instead of sending e-mails. I said I’m afraid of making a phone call, because I know if I did I’d probably get bad news which would crush my dreams completely.
Wednesday, June 8th–I got up, puttered, but I was still tired, so I went back to bed. I didn’t get much accomplished today.
Thursday, June 9th–The day began with discouraging job news on my e-mail. I went to the bank, got dragged into opening a savings account–though I have no money, went by the dollar store, mailed off some stuff at the UPS Store, went home, finished reading Isherwood’s “Goodbye To Berlin,” had a long, depressing, demoralizing phone conversation which pretty much sapped all my strength, began Huxley’s “Crome Yellow,” watched TV, puttered, and retired depressed.
Friday, June 10th–Puttering, sleeping, and depression.
Saturday, June 11th–Just as I was running out of food for Belle, I got a payment from the company for the rights to those old articles I sold. I went to Petsmart and Petco for food and treats for Belle, had a veggie burger at Elevation Burger, then spent a good deal of time at Barnes and Noble, writing out by hand a long article from a magazine for which I was not ready to pay the price of $15. I then bought groceries at HEB, and returned home hot, sweaty, irritable, and angry.
Sunday, June 12th–Puttering, sleeping, and depression.
Monday, June 13th–I got up, ate, was depressed and tired, went back to bed, skipping a Meet-Up group meeting, then got up and puttered around a bit.
Tuesday, June 14th–I slept, puttered, read, tossed magazines, and so forth.
Wednesday, June 15th–I angrily applied for a number of shitty jobs that I don’t really want to get and finished reading Huxley’s “Crome Yellow.”
Thursday, June 16th/Friday, June 17th–I went to the UPS Store, mailed off some bills, made some photo copies, went to McDonald’s, then took a bus downtown, went to the Library, returned some books, paid towards my fines, and checked out more books, took the bus back, had some fries and a drink at “Five Guys Burgers” (an unpleasantly loud place), went to Barnes and Noble, hand-copied an article from another over-priced magazine (it ran to 21 handwritten pages), then went to HEB and bought some groceries. I got home, hot, sweaty, and angry–as always when I do those sort of activities.
Saturday, June 18th–I puttered, read, applied for several jobs, and watched “The Entertainer” with Laurence Olivier.
Sunday, June 19th–I called my step-father to wish him a happy Father’s Day and started reading Waugh’s “The Loved One.” I watched Part I of Ken Burns’s “Mark Twain.” I didn’t do much else.
Monday, June 20th–I didn’t get much sleep, woke before an alarm I’d sat, then prepared for 12 noon, when I could reserve a page on next year’s Basset Hound calendar for Belle. This has been an important occasion for me for several years. Not only do I have that expense to worry about, I’m also about to lose my blog domain name if I don’t renew it soon. So many goddamn expenses.
I went back to bed, finished “The Loved One,” and napped. I’ve gotten at least three job notices for what turned out to be Internet scams. I am not optimistic about my chances of landing a job anytime soon, and my chances for the California job seem dimmer and dimmer, for some strange reason.
Tuesday, June 21st–I slept late. It rained heavily during the night. Another pointless day out of the way.
Wednesday, June 22nd–I skipped a Meet-Up group meeting to stay home and hide out.
Thursday, June 23rd–I slept, read, and watched TV.
Friday, June 24th–I slept, read, and watched TV.
Saturday, June 25th–This morning I got the impression, from something I’d noticed online, that a friend had been very callous and hurtful to me, and my feelings were badly hurt. I have little hard evidence for jumping to this conclusion, though, and time will tell if I was right. I supposed I am more susceptible to such hysteria due to the stress I’ve been under for so long now.
I went to the bank, then had fries, two apple pies, and a chocolate shake at McDonald’s. I was sorely tempted to physically attack a man who was talking loudly into his cell phone there, or at very least unplug his laptop.
I went to Barnes and Noble, and had planned to hang out, read, do some paperwork, and have coffee, but I was too exhausted, stressed out, upset, and in physical pain and discomfort from walking and being in the unbearable heat, so I bought some magazines and headed home.
I stopped at HEB for some groceries, which, as has been the case lately, proved to be an ordeal. As I struggled to carry my bags of groceries home, I wished I’d taken some of that money that had been sent to me to pay my taxes, and used it to buy a pistol so I could shoot myself.
Belle was excited to see me when I returned. I showered, got an e-mail with an attachment of a floor plan I had long sought, then went to bed. I got up a little after 11pm, watch “Dr. Zhivago” for the first time, and finished Julia Child’s “My Life In France.”
Sunday, June 26th–I skipped another Meet-Up group meeting today, despite the promise of a free meal. I just wasn’t up to the physical and mental strain. Depression has taken over my whole head the way a headache or the state of drunkenness does.
I was wild with rage and depression today. I argued with a buddy online, advocating the [violent overthrow] of the political leaders and talking heads who are fucking up the country. I gave travel advice about cool old church buildings to another buddy who is visiting Paris. And my suspicions of yesterday were proven totally wrong.
I watched TV, but not all the programs I wanted, due to interruptions.
Monday, June 27th–I woke all too early, after an insufficient amount of sleep, and began to prepare for and dread my 4:30 telephone job interview.
I’ve been unclear about the whole thing. Last week, some gal named Magda with a thick accent, called me from an employment agency, telling me they wanted to interview me. She was cagey and vague, something that sends up red flags with me in job-related situations. Indeed, after the end of her not-too-helpful scripted pitch, I asked her where she’d gotten my name. We set a day and time for her co-workers to call me for an interview, then I looked over my master job hunting document, called, tellingly, “Job Shit,” to see if I could find a reference to this position.
See, I look at Craigslist for jobs, and if I see a possibility, I copy and paste it into this document, where I also keep my resume and boiler plate cover letter. I look over the notices again, then if I decide to apply for one, I set up the letter in my e-mail, paste in all the necessary text, send it off, then alter the notice on the document by shrinking the font size, bolding it, and italicizing it.
I thought I found a job notice that kinda/sorta fit what this gal was talking about, but the notice was vague as well. Either way, I didn’t particularly want the job, even though I knew I’d probably need it or one like it soon.
I looked up the company this employment agency said it was representing, and found a job description that vaguely matched what the gal was talking about. The pay was okay. the working conditions were not. It was social work–helping people get various Medicaid and other benefits–so that wasn’t a good fit with me, considering my violent hatred of my fellow man. The job sounded hectic, and they warned of the necessity of overtime. All in all, this didn’t sound like something I’d want to do or could stand doing.
And so another gal called, albeit several minutes late. I had already planned to look for ways to sabotage the interview. She said the hours were 11am to 8pm–way too fucking long for me. I really didn’t want to work for nine hours, and have at least a two hour commute thrown on top of that. I made no attempt to hide the sound of misgiving in my voice. The job was not any of those I’d found online, but was a lower-level phone center job, and it paid only $11.45 an hour. It still involved hectic phone work and helping people with their Medicaid. It was a temporary job, lasting from August through April, and the gal wanted to know if I was willing to commit to working all that time.
Finally, I couldn’t take it any more and told the gal I just wasn’t interested. I didn’t want to work that job or that many hours. She thanked me for my honesty and wished me well.
Tuesday, June 28th–I woke up again earlier than I wanted to, so I forced myself back to sleep for three more hours.
I sorted through magazines in my bedroom. I learned the company I applied to in California …[isn’t going to fill the job any time soon]. I do hope they remember me and get around to hiring me within a few months. In the meantime, I need to find some job. Matt told me he’s trying to create a job for me, so that might be something.
Wednesday, June 29th–I puttered around, finished “Where Angels Fear To Tread,” and watched TV.
Thursday, June 30th–I watched TV, looked for jobs to apply to, and read in “About Rothko.” I also started “Boca Rococo.” James and Nyssa came around to take me to a late dinner. After I got back, it took about two hours to calm Belle down.