Not working with Chris today so this happens instead of coding.

Joanne is dead. Tommy our neighbor’s partner. Doug is missing and dead by suicide. The purple organ from back in the Surf Reality days. Another soul too tender. I’d once gone into Joanne and Tommy’s house and taken the blankets off a couple of windows to let some sun in. She said I was an angel. Then Rivka got frustrated with the caregiving and I had to set a boundary and became a devil.

Tommy moved her to her own house in another neighborhood and they got their cats down from thirty-one to six. She’d, apparently, become more and more disabled to where she could barely feed her beloved’s. At the hospital they saw masses in her heavily-smoked lungs and bone. She didn’t make it to her first PET scan. Now they’re trying to figure out the estranged family and Tommy’s sorting out burial. Apparently she wanted her heart cat buried with her.

Had been feeling out of sorts the last few days and unhappy. Unfulfilled and confused. Worried. Noone has to be a workaholic, Emilio, wisely advises. Recalling that suffering is the natural state of being alive brough me back to a pretty comfortable state.

Don’t worry, Mike, it’s supposed to suck.

Want to get better at hearing harmonic movement, reading music, math, coding, earning, gardening, love-making, communicating, relaxing, knowing the difference.