A Scholar? Or a Hooker?

With Elvis in Pick-a-Bagel, using the same green pen with which I read Lefebvre's French Revolution the other day. (It's up to the part of the "Comeback Special" when Elvis kicks the "Big Boss-man's" ass!)

Anyway, I really don't want to be at work today. I'm really tired and cranky and I have the worst cramps in the world. My mind is blanking and I don't even have anything to write. I wonder-- what is the point of keeping these journals? Am I trying to capture time? To avoid loss? (Tonight will be a memory too...)

There is such a jappy girl talking so loudly in that particular voice and cursing a lot. I hope she shuts up sometime soon. Good... She is hanging up.

I can't wait to go have my hair colored and cut. It's so in a rut right now. I think my hair is thinning in general. It doesn't grow as fast as it used to. It's no longer super thick.

Ugh. That woman is back on the phone again...

The ginger from the sushi here smells good-- soothing.

(I never looked for trouble, but I never ran)

I wonder if I'll ever get to where "I said I"d get." No, really-- Why am I so defeatist? I want to be a great scholar. I wonder if I can. Am I good enough at history? I guess I just don't know yet.

(We're trapped in a world that's troubled with pain).

************************

Later...

After 6:00 PM.

That was truly the most bizarre thing. I left work and was smoking a cigarette and waiting for the bus to stop and a woman came up to me-- dressed okay with earrings and a bag, and asked me to pay for her dinner. (I was holding my wallet with the bills sticking out, looking for my metro card.)

"Well, I can give you a dollar," I said.

"A dollar?!? Look at you! You're loaded!" she replied.

"No, I'm not. I'm a student and I only have $10 to get me through the week," I answered.

Then she tried a different tactic and said-- "They're killing us! They're just killing us!"

And then she asked me if she could be my "madam." She actually asked me for my contact info! WTF?!? I got rid of her with $2.00 and a cigarette, but damn!

In other news, the crush is growing and growing... It's delicious.

In yet other news, I suck as a dieter. I can't stick to it and I deserve to die.

(Wait-- what year is it? 1995? 1997? Fuck... 1995 was almost 10 years ago!)