I made it through a rough couple of days and nights. I feel fine now. It was scary but I had a friend who cared about me, and that made all the difference. You don’t always know who your friends are, or who they are not. I am at home, going to work in a bit. I took off yesterday to recuperate. I don’t usually write from home anymore, not this kind of writing at least. I did useful things yesterday, which is unusual for me on non-work days. I drafted a cover letter for a job I’ve wanted for years. It is finally open again and I have far better chances than before, since they are only hiring internally. That seems unfair, but it’s what it is. It’s another in my line of performance art jobs.

I have fresh strawberries, a large grannysmith apple, and I will procure a banana or two at the fruit stand where the surly, sometimes spastic dude used to try and get me to go to his bar, the gay bar on 31st Avenue (I think?) He gave up on me. As well he should. But he still takes care of my strawberry selection, making sure I buy only from the freshest batch, which is not necessarily the batch placed out front.