This is what I was afraid of. I started this blogging nonsense and now I have nothing to say. I was on the phone for hours today trying to turn on my utilities in my new house. It was irritating. But does anyone really care? I hardly even care.
I think I’ll just smoke.

When I was fourteen years old, visiting my aunt and uncle at our cabin in the Sierra Nevada mountains, my uncle Lee came flying through the front door, into the kitchen, his fist tight up against his chest, clutching the countertop, groaning, “Oh fuck, Jesus, where are the Tums?” I thought he was having a goddamn heart attack. He was old after all, older that I thought I would ever be. My Uncle was my hero, an outlaw biker, tattoos old Harley Davidson motorcycles, and a profound love that he …

I started smoking again today. I should have known that smoking yesterday would halt my momentum and fuck everything up. I am deliberately not feeling guilty.
Working at the bar during the day is surreal. No one is here and I’m a little lonely but I’m dreading the minute anyone comes in. If anyone reads this today - 2538 Guadalupe - come in and have a cigarette with me. We could not feel guilty together.