There aren't enough drugs to make me feel better.


I did a good thing. I went to see Jack and Evie Woodruff.

I'm trying to be good. Trying to follow a simple code: treat myself well, treat myself kindly, and say "yes" to invitations. So, I've been to the museum, a club, dinner, a gallery, another dinner. With people. I'm just a social butterfly.

What the hell are the rules for grieving? I know in other cultures, they mourn for days and weeks. Everything stops. But here, it's back to work. Back to work.

Just a little detached. Disoriented. Unstable.

And, excuse me, but I pay lots of money for cable TV, and THAT was the final episode of "The Sopranos?" sonofabitch.

How could the jazz guys turn down this image?


God damn. I am trying. I can name the four movies. I've started packing for hearts a day ahead of time. I've talked to my mom and sister in the last day or two. I'm getting some work done. I've managed to eat some salad. (Along with the chocolate, he mumbled.) It's three twenty a.m. and all I want is a drink. Something to knock me out. What is this?

Sugar and carbs turn into alcohol in your body, I've been told. I get a disgusting mental image of a potato dipped in chocolate. Or a milk dud sandwich. And I'm safe, though. I mean, I'm safe. It's after 2 a.m. No one will sell me any alcohol. So what's left? More work. And then bed. Read a little more of the Patty Columbo story.

I don't know why I'm writing this here. Two or three people know about it. Is that a cry for help? No. I am okay. I am dealing with this shit. Sorry, it's the only word that fits. My back aches every morning and the first few steps out of bed send me back again. But lucky me, I am comfortable in my desk chair.

Don't worry about me. God, I wonder if this is how I am going to spend the rest of my life. No. No, it's not. No way.

Jack mentioned the mud baths at Elsinore. I'd like something like that now, to suck all of this crap out of me. Maybe it's just late. Should I just delete all of this? It's only type on my screen.

Good thing. A good thing. One of my students is probably going to have some work he did in my class featured at the Student Fair at UCLA. And since no one there reads this, I'm safe. (What's with all of this safety?) It's a big secret. He did some great work and I got him to submit it. I hope it works out. Nothing is definite. Nothing is ever definite. Except the usuals. Shit. Good things good things.

Queen of spades and snickers and some damn mountain. There's always a mountain. Okay.

Out of control.

5/22/01 7 p.m.

Made a big list of things to do and did most of them. But the day's not over yet. I can't find Electric Ladyland. If there was ever a CD that had to go to the Hearts weekend, it's Electric Ladyland. And it's raining in upstate New York. I guess it always rains this time of year back east. But I never seem to remember it. Although Falling Waters (water?) was seen in a downpour. And some battlefield. Really up on my history. Easing into this weekend. Going to shoot a few rolls in New York City. La Manzana Grande. I seem less desperate during the daylight hours.

I'll stay positive and focused on the weekend. Do a little laundry. make a little lunch. get down tonight.

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