I have been here three weeks
and, as I wrote before, have lost important documents for my teaching application. I called and mailed in money for another
letter of recommendation and my CBEST scores so that I can apply to the SF and Oakland school
districts. I live in the DLC but don’t
want to teach here. I envision driving
on a ribbon of highway over the city into Oaktown to work with the kids there before sailing back in the afternoon to begin a night of serving le café in the evil
establishment.
My dole from my parents
cannot last for too much longer, and now I wait for phone calls by day and read at
night, as I have no money or new friends to get on with to go pay and play in the
city. What I do have is my ganja, bamboo
blinds, the hush of the 280 freeway, a streetlight illuminating Woodrow Avenue
outside, and if I lean out my window and look out west, I can see a crest of
hills, with the Pacific Ocean past it and beyond my view.
Ryan and Jim are at
rehearsals. They go on in three days at Burning Man. I am stuck here, and expecting in some time
to see some friends from LA over the Labor Day
weekend. I still need to buy a barbeque
and check out Mission Street. I’m reading Neal Cassidy now. It’s sad that his stories (literally) and letters
(storywise) end without a conclusion (though some do).
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