Sipping some coffee that I made last night from the silver tumbler.  Started to feel sleepy.  Why, I haven’t done shit today.  Just one f those “afternoon sinkers” as Dad always says.

The air outside, just putrid.  I want to move, definitely now.  To the Oregon coast.  Or Washington.  No, fuck no, not DC.  Just can’t take this anymore, year after year….  Living in Coffey Park and still seeing parts of the neighborhood being rebuilt after the ’17 firestorm which just took out everything…. I’m done.

Didn’t get out to Lancaster, oh well.  Probably a good thing.  Stay here, study the kids as I have been.  How am I going to have three?  What am I going to write about, with this 3rd one?  He doesn’t even have a name yet.  Not sure why that stresses me out so much lately.  Maybe I should’ve gone to LE (Lancaster Estate), had a glass of SB outside in the smoke, nice pairing of natural air pollutant and a white wine that vintage after vintage has that cat piss note in its tote.

7:58 Glass of Zin, home from Mom and Dad’s where we talked business, opportunity, and finally had the opportunity to talk.  These fires, smoke now gone kids playing outside and I sit at this corner quarantine table.

The kids, their only aim is to play outside.  And not just mine, but all the little humans on this horseshoe of a street.

Sip 1, not what it was last night.  Different character, different play, varied say.  Monday tomorrow, and so what.  I’m going to just try and get to 100% of quota.  What can I do with a global pandemic and the whole fucking state on fire.  Nothing funny about it, but then everything funny about trying to sell…