It’s 2:51pm in Los Angeles. I’m multitasking by which I mean switching vigorously between various tasks / activities, including playing the guitar, writing emails about the name for a startup I might be co-founding, reading a book on de-cluttering, and eating various pieces of carbohydrates while hovering over the kitchen counter.

It’s quiet in here as it can be when the neighbors aren’t home. The dog (ahem, dogs) aren’t scuttling around here on either side of me at the moment. This means that my startle effect has been lowered at least temporarily. I think my newly prescribed bipolar meds that are apparently not being prescribed to me for bipolarity but rather to calm down my racing thoughts (huh?) are supposed to help with that. Ah, just kidding. I think I heard echoes of high heels. It really makes me feel like this place is haunted.

I spent the morning putting together my final “chapbook” for my writing class. It’s meant to be a book of journal entries, the product of a string of assignments we’ve had over the course of this course. Mine kind of sucks, so I added a few things I had written in high school, which elevate the contents substantially. Scarily. When did America stop learning how to write for real and instead write for the web? Amirite?

Then I read some stuff I had written a while ago, and it made me start to cry at the coffee shop called “Bru” with a dash over the “u.” (Could ya BE anymore pretentious?)

So I walked home (oh, right, I sort of have a home now) to my apartment that oddly smells like cats at the moment and started the carbfest.