That is exactly why I started reading with my journal next to me at all times. It helps for me to jot down ideas, quotes, or words I don't know quickly.
I made it through. It never got any easier for me. I don't doubt that Bukowski is a talented writer, but I found the book ultimately boring. It was rinse and repeat chapter after chapter. Fight with Lydia, drinking, maybe write or go to an appearance, meet chick, fuck chick, get back together with Lydia. If his point is that we can't escape ourselves and our natures, then I get it. If his point is nothing ultimately means anything, I get it. I just wish there had been more of a narrative. While it was nice that he had moments of self reflection, they don't go anywhere, much like the book. I have no issue with a character not developing in a book, so long as there's a story. There's no story here, just some self loathing masochistic poetry writer that creates all his own drama. In other words, it's very real, but very boring. Frankly, for a much better take on this type of character, see Ted Danson in 'Bored to Death.' Now THAT'S an entertaining self destructive type.
I'm off work with an ear infection so I bought this book today and read it. I liked it quite a bit, although I don't like or admire a single character. Chinaski is a seven-layer loser. It seems that every single moment of his being is spent having a drink, purchasing a drink, contemplating the next drink, having fond memories of a drink or arguing with women over his utter addiction to the drink. Anybody with this much of a destructive dependency in booze obviously hates themselves and basically, well... everything. I can see the character of Hank Moody being directly channelled from Bulowski's very obvious Roman-A-Clef here. His character is a worthless toad who gets laid simply because he is a writer and nothing more. He is charmless, gutless, worthless. And a perfect match for Lydia because they are both horrible people. However that relationship is simple: Introverts can't relate with extroverts, period. Throw in the fact they're both bi-polar fruitcakes and you basically soaked the dynamite. I like this book because it's about being a writer from a writer's perspective. At one point he makes a point during an argument that it's NECESSARY for him to be reclusive and hate everyone. He's addicted to the company of women but can't stand the outgoing or talkative personalities they typically had. A prisoner in the jail he's invented specifically for himself. I like the writing style, it's short and to the point and he only goes into basically ANY detail when he's describing either women or sex. How he gets or deserves either is beyond me.