I just got back from the club where I bartend part-time. I left early because the Prince & The Revolution cover band that was there could have been better.

When I got home, I discovered Gerald had left a message on my machine, which was him screaming until the machine cut him off.

It has now been almost three days since I last slept. My hair hurts, and my eyelids feel like cinder blocks. I have begun to bob up and down for sleep here in front of the monitor and doubt I can last much longer tonight. I know I'll be asleep soon, and that's a bad thing. I hate not having an alarm clock.

It is indeed time to move out of this place. In addition to the lack of parking in front of my building, the number of prostitutes visiting my neighbor (who has large barking dogs) seems to be increasing. I've also found that his dogs' barking is heaviest when one of these ladies is there. I wouldn't say I like feeling like a snoop, but it is rather hard not to see them standing outside my window.

I've tried closing the blinds, but then I can see their silhouettes.

Today, one of the prostitutes told me that the dozen bags I had full of paper towels looked "kind of kinky." I nodded back, not wanting to let her know I spoke English, much less understood it. She had sad eyes and offered to help me carry the bags. I tried to ignore her without looking like I was ignoring her.

I ran out of whiskey early this morning. I'll pick up more and some toilet paper tomorrow.

12:39 a.m. - Wednesday