Because right now, I ain't got nothin'…
Journal
30 September 1988
It's been a busy month. Shortly after my last journal entry, my phone was shut off because of a bounced check and some asshole smashed my car window just for the fun of it. If I had a baseball bat I'd love to beat the motherfucker's head in.
The car is now being locked up at night, over in R&H Wholesale's parking lot. It's only $25.00 a month, so it's a real bargain for the peace of mind and not having to hassle anymore with the midnight street cleaning.
I finally received money back from the IRS which I paid in for "self-employment tax" for my 1986 return. It amounted to just over $1000—and believe me, it came just in time. I have intentions of using it for new tires for the car and miscellaneous other expenses, but for the moment, it just got me caught up on several outstanding bills and a few that weren't due until later in the month. So, for all intents and purposes it's gone—for at least two weeks until I get paid again. I'm not too upset over the sudden income and loss thereof; it did get rid of those few pesky bills that I could just never seem to get around to paying (Time-Life Mozart and the Astronomy Book Club to name about $110 worth).
I arranged to get cable TV yesterday. They'll be out next Friday to turn it on.
I went with John Trapp last night to the George Michael concert at the Shoreline Amphitheater. I'm still not that fond of G.M., but John doesn't have a whole lot of friends [with cars] so I agreed to go. The light show was the best part of it, along with a hunky chunky lighting technician who I ended up paying more attention to than G.M. There was a straight south-bay Hispanic couple sitting next to us who were on the point of copulating by mid-show. It really ruined the rest of the performance for me.
And if I never hear another screaming 14-year old girl, that would be just fine.
I've been feeling pretty down lately. I can't put my finger on any one thing, but I know I'm just not my perky sociable self. I've had my usual doses of hot impersonal sex, but I find what I'm really missing is being touched and caressed. When I got my haircut the other day, Patrick gave me a really good scalp and shoulders massage, which made me realize just how long it's been since anyone has touched me.
The painting of the Magician still isn't finished, although it's a lot farther along than it was at my last entry. I'm still not feeling especially creative, and though I've got a refrigerator full of slowly-desiccating paint, I just can't seem to get up the gumption to finish it. I'm not especially pleased with it (am I ever with any painting?), but his eyes are nice and I suppose I can always give it away.
Ron has decided to move to L.A. for real. I guess his love life is finally improving. And I've decided to stay put on Folsom until further notice. The thought of moving just makes me sick. I'm so settled in here I can't imagine hauling it all out again. And anyway, I've got better things to do with my money than pay another security deposit to some new strange landlord. At least I know Trish and Ron.
I may move upstairs if #12 becomes available though. It's got a view of Twin Peaks (from the Kitchen) and you can see up above the freeway.
I bought six CDs with some of that tax refund money: two by Yanni (replacing his album from last year which I sold), one by Suzanne Vega "Solitude Standing", one by Sting "Blue Turtles", two by Dead or Alive and one by Curiosity Killed the Cat. The Cat CD is going to Streetlight Records at the earliest opportunity.
I guess that's enough for now.
It certainly is.