Oh, so that was what it was, you were watching football and the smell of Fall was in the air. Even though people don't say Los Angeles has seasons, it does, just not the winter one. Winter in California is a mild, sort of secret affair. You can drive up the coast and the world's hushed. Whenever winter comes I think, "This is a secret day. I am driving and no one from my past life knows where I am. I am going on an adventure."

We doctored up a Trader Joe's pizza, or rather you did, chopping the garlic so it was extra fine, dicing the tomatoes, sprinkling basil on top, and a good, bountiful layer. I bought glasses today at the mall. Doc says I need to wear them more often, just to give my eyes a rest, and since they're the only ones I have thought I would oblige. My other pair was from ten years ago, ten fucking years! High school, I think. It was actually quite easy. We did it in under an hour, and it took an hour to get them shopped, and then bam, I was walking out with this new addition. And man, I could see with them, see with clarity and with depth. Precision. That's key, I think. But what do I really know.

I've been sneaking bits of chocolate, even though I know I shouldn't. Tiny little jagged pieces from the bars Matt hides in the freezer, keeping them cool. He knows I'm not supposed to eat them and used to hide them in high places, but now he's been lax, which is bad for my skin, but good for my taste buds. What's a little allergic reaction rash to a few seconds of blissful consumption? The silky, smooth, robust, rhythmic mmmm, of a few bites of chocolat?

Yeah. Whatever. It's just cruel, it is. Sometimes there's no reaction. It's like a mixed bag. Will I or won't I?

Long weekend, then we leave for Ireland soon. I need to pack. And borrow a rain slicker. And find my passport (just kidding, I know where it is). I've been generating pages, little snippets, it takes me years to process short stories. They're the hardest ones. I need to live more, I think. I need to do things. Go.

Last night I had a dream. No, that's a lie. I've stopped dreaming. Can't remember the last time I've had a deep sleep, it's just this heavy rest, like napping. I'm out and my body sinks and then the light streams through the windows and it's morning again and I do whatever I do until I'm tired. To get the full sleep, the full dream sleep, I need seven hours at least. Eight. But sometimes I'll have flashes of images, the strangest places. I have a feeling the dreamscapes are stored in my brain. Sometimes I revisit them. I don't know how. It's like some nights I'm invited, and other nights it's all 'keep out'.

Happy Labor Day Weekend! Yes. Yes. Yes.