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dream of Diana
Monday, March 1 1999
Diana the Redhead was my girlfriend. I was thinking what a prize she was with her wild red hair, prominent breasts and Amazon-like figure. I was wondering how I could possibly be sick of her, but I was. I didn't want to be her boyfriend anymore. And then I woke up.
I like Diana the Redhead (I'm not sure in precisely what way), but I've never even kissed her. I tried to seduce her once when I was in blackout back in the Spring of 1996 (the night of my one-and-only drunk-in-public arrest), and that's the extent of it. It's interesting that I could dream of being in a relationship with her and already weary of her.
Today was another first day of a month, so of course I had another hefty San Diego-sized rent check to write. For me, more than anything else, it's just another milestone on the road to Y2K. December 1999 seems like a cliff above the end of time, like a setting for desperate action. I hope computers malfunction much worse than expected. I want to survive a no-joke technological disaster. It would suck if no one died from it.
In the evening Kim gave a massage to one of her girlfriends while I took Sophie down to the ocean. A heavy fog hung low over high tide and the ambiance was punctuated by the unromantic call of the modern foghorn out on the end of the San Diego River jetty. I set Sophie free and she ran up to a mat of seaweed, smelled its salty fragrance, and felt compelled to piss on it. She saw another and did the same. Then another. We crossed over the artificial sand wall thrown up to guard against winter tsunamis and suddenly seaweed mats were everywhere. By now Sophie's bladder was empty and she decided to forget about the need to define her territory, choosing to run around randomly instead.
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