Three Days Gone

Lots of stuff going on but I've got the old journals edited for the 25th through the 27th. Weird weird weird weird weird weird shit happens when you do a project like this, live in a town like this, do not run away when you have the chance (like a should've) when you stick around to see how it all turns out and turns out again. Too bad Larry David has already done this and far better than me. Oh well, I will always be a half-assed whatever I am. I don't make this stuff to be great. I'll never be that.

I write and make music because it's more interesting than work and cheaper than going on the meds.



Monday September 25, 1989 Shit City

Had my judicial meeting today. This crap is almost over, I think. Larry Bolles threatened me with a ‘forced residence hall transfer’ (I’m pretty sure that’s the language that he used). I pleaded guilty and talked my way out of the residence hall transfer and into a 20hr work assignment with an agreement to pay restitution (how much can two pissed on shirts and a pair of pissed on pants be?) and three alcohol abuse meetings. Maybe I should have shut up and taken the ‘forced residence hall transfer’. The guy whose clothes I pissed on could still file criminal charges. Hell, the clothes could still file criminal charges. ASSAULT WITH INTENT TO…soil? Fuckit (with apologies to Herbie Hancock).

To Mr. Bolles’ credit he is letting me keep the clothes once I’ve paid all the money. That’s justice. Is it Bolles’ or Bolles’s? Here’s a guy that offers me justice with just a touch of absurdity, everything someone like me could want, and here I am wondering about the possessive form of his last name. That sounds about right.

After that meeting I was through with authority for the day so I blew off seeing people in the POLS Dept. God love Jen-O for giving a damn about my schedule, but if I don’t give a fuck no one else should either. Maybe I should take more English classes. That last sentence was Shit City.

I’ve been thinking about my sister. I wonder if she likes college. I wonder if she is dating a guy who is a drunk. No reference to whatever or whoever I am doing. Is it “whoever” or “whomever”? I guess at this level of crudity grammar cannot and should not matter. That’s life here in Shit City. Get used to it or get the fuck out.

They’re the same age indecently – uh, incidentally. Who am I talking to? Hey, they’ve got their lives, I’ve got mine. So let’s get on with them and get ‘em over with…shall we????

Had a huge fight with what’s her name in the lobby tonight – in front of everyone – and I DO NOT CARE! She lives in a fucking dream world where I am some sniveling worm who always fucks everything up. Ok, that’s pretty close to the actual world, but who is she to keep reminding me of that. Once you break up with me, you lose all berating privileges. Period. She’s a twatty jerk – I flew off the handle (again, in front of a lot of people) and I don’t think that girl will be talking to me any time soon. That’s a very good thing. Aw, why make myself crazy over this?

I left a message for Susan but she never got back to me. Bill ‘n I blew off the radio show to watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s. He brought this girl – R~ (I think I’ve mentioned her before) and I called Little Miss D. We all fell asleep so nobody knows how it turned out. We all got up (at about the same time, pretty amazing) and went to breakfast AT DOUGLAS HALL.



Tuesday September 26 When I Get Offa This

Played Up on Cripple Creek and a coupla other the Band tunes with Shawn OG today. I love the Band. Someday I’m going to go to that big pink house in Woodstock. I don’t care how many hippies I have to go through. Yeah, there’s a fine attitude.

Napped over at Marks place and we convinced someone to take off their shirt.

Other than that it was an unproductive day.



Wednesday September 27, 1989 A Drunkard’s Dream

Got my work assignment (or a big part of it) from the judicial people. It’s basically going to be a bunch of Saturdays in October and it could stretch into November, depending on how long I decide to work (beyond my designated shifts). I might want to do extra hours early on so things are easier as the end of my sentence nears. Listen to me I've become a regular Gary Dotson or whoever the hell he was.

Went to the Honors House and begged Joanne to let me use her computer to type my fucking English paper. She said Yes and I’m glad she did. I ran into a female who shall remain unnamed (for now) there and she really doted on me, or it was something like doting. That’s the kind of attention I can live with, but it better not be the kind of attention I live for. Get it? Can't entrust my happiness to the doting of other people ever again because that's the fucking end of the world.

She told me I smelled good. Something’s got to be wrong with her nose. Maybe there’s a gas leak in the Honors House.

Talked to Dick for a while. I miss hanging out with him. Told Joe Honors I learned something the Dine in Disgust w/ Mark Nelson and it takes alot to get me to learn something.

After hauling my already tired ass to my boring night class I found out it was canceled. That should make me happy – but the walk, you know, the walk! Ooooh, I’m pissed.

Still fuming about the fight w/ what’s her name the other day/night…whenever. I’m too lazy to go back and check when it was. Sadly, I can’t remember whether our fight was day or night without checking.

Went to Susan’s after not having to sit through Greek history. We had fun. Got goofy. Drank brandy. Played with the cats. That’s not code. Incidentally, about the brandy, I think we’re drinking too much of that stuff lately. I don’t think it’s cold enough to be drinking brandy all the time. Maybe it’s just from growing up and associating blackberry brandy with Christmas. Just another way my youth has scarred me. Man, whatever happened it sure made me a big fucking crybaby.

Bought Buttweasel a sub on my way back to the dorms. Now we’re even. Now we’re good.