This is Weird. Very Weird.

Having time to write. Having no place to go. Nowhere to be. Not having to panic about money. Well, I still panic about money. Particularly when my mom freaks out about AT&T overcharging her. Dish overcharging her. And how she can't afford it. Which makes me feel great. As you can imagine. Because I have none coming in. I'm trying to shut it out. The panic and the arguments with various satellite & telephone companies. To keep my eye on the prize. To believe there still be a prize. And that there's a reason to get dressed every day.

In LA, I would break up my writing with walking to get food. Walking to get cat food. Walking to fill prescriptions. Just walking. But here, it would take me two hours to walk to Staples. And showering for the guys that work at Staples seems kind of depressing. Sure, there are always those 19 year olds at the coffee place that wanted me to go to that hooka bar... And there's also death. So today, I read. And cut 100 words from my essay that the editor at the LA Times told me was too long. And went through my notes on everything I've ever written. My works in progress. My script. Waited for the mail. And listened to my eggs shrivel up.

Tomorrow, I visit my storage space again. I can hardly wait.