04/20/97 11:13:15 PM Got some new shoes yesterday. Been meaning to replace the old ones for weeks. It only takes a few minutes to buy new shoes. For me, at least. I've spent some agonizing afternoons out shopping with people who need to set aside an entire day in which to make a decision about what shoes to buy. God, it's maddening. Especially the type of conversation that takes place between the indifferent observer (myself) and the person trying on 219 pairs of shoes. I don't dwell on things like shoes. They either get you there or they do not get you there. They're only shoes, for cryin' out loud. Walking around on East 86th Street yesterday, thinking about buying some shoes, I couldn't stop thinking of the phrase "panty waste." God, why would anyone ever call another human being "panty waste"? And I thought of a boss (or someone who seemed to have thougth of herself as my boss) going on and on about how so-and-so was "such panty-waste." And I cringed and made sour gestures, trying to imagine the actual substance that might comprise PANTY WASTE. Blech. Yesterday was the first time I ever really thought about it, and as you might suspect, I soon realized that the phrase simply must have been "Panty WAIST," as in useless little string that does not actually hold up a woman's panty or do any goddam thing except be irritating. PANTYPANTYPANTYPANTY!!! It had me thinking of that expression "mama's boy," and of boys who cling to their mother's waist, and men who never grow out of clinging hopelessly and dependently to the women they know throughout life. I looked it up and according to George Carlin it is a synonym for a homosexual male. Anyway, right as I reached the decision to purchase these new shoes it somehow dawned on me. It's spelled WAIST, not WASTE. Man, I laughed and laughed and laughed, right out loud. I seem to be losing weight again. For a few weeks I had this ghastly paunch. It was nasty, I hated it. Though it probably looked bigger to me than to anyone else who might have noticed. Come to think of it, it's doubtful anyone else would have noticed this. But the paunch is evaporating into a frenzy of nervousness over this matter of moving to Atlanta in the coming weeks. Been sleeping way too late. 1:30, 2:30pm, whenever I feel like getting off my ass. Decided today that the storage options available will make my life a lot easier from here on out. Ate nothing yesterday but an egg salad sandwich, 7 cups of coffee, and 2 slices of pizza. It's all a guy really needs. I'm about to throw out my brown comfy chair. Earlier tonight I threw out the halogen lamp. Always hated that thing. But the brown comfy chair, well, I found that out on the sidewalk a few days after moving in here 3 years ago. Lucky it's not roach-infested. Last night I had this dream that I now realize is a recurring one. I'm playing Scrabble against somebody (no idea who). At the end of the game I pick up my tile rack (made of wood) and rap it against the table. An army of termites emerges from a tiny hole in the Scrabble rack and swarms the table; we realize that our Scrabble set has been termite-infested for years now. Had this dream a few dozen times now. Got this need right now to just keep babbling like this. Do you mind? So much anxiety to expel, so much nonsense and gobbledygook, so much intellectual congestion to blow out. Oh fuck it. There' is never anything worth saying. I have to lie down. And get comfortable.