Waking up just before 4 p.m.
Breakfast: Organic Strawberry Pop Tart. Orange Juice. Zinc, Vitamin D.
Kevin and the boys rearranged some of the boxes I already had packed up. I discover the box full of my coffee mugs has like 8 or 10 broken mugs now caused from someone not being careful. I had planned on wrapping them up in newspapers today to prevent that from happening. Every broken mug that I pull out I slam with angst into the trashcan. Chance is scared and hides in the kitchen.
The boys are back from somewhere. Kevin walks in.
Me: “Look man, it’s just material things. So it’s not a huge deal but I’m just angry. Obviously it was a mistake so it’s whatever.”
Packing—organizing.
Lunch: Tuna Salad Sandwich with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.
Work at China Wok.
Eating Blueberry Yogurt.
There’s a strange accident on the corner of VB Blvd and First Colonial involving a small car half stuck underneath a semi-truck.
Dustin’s 21st B-Day Bash at the house.
I’ve retreated to my room to do some Google work.
I can hear the soup of sounds outside my room walls—rowdiness, jovialness, obnoxiousness.
Margot just got off work—she comes by to visit. She’s got on short black shorts and a bright orange Harpoon Larry’s shirt.
Me: “Look at you, sexy! You look…bright.”
Counting quarters while her and I share the day’s events—lying down together—she likes to make cute noises, like the kind you make when you’re talking to a baby. I love her—that exotic tan skin. You look delicious. I play-bite on different parts of her body. I can’t help it.
She runs off to the bathroom. I peer around the corner and spot 3 shirtless men corralling around the grey couch. Tristan is one of them, strumming a simple chord pattern while another sings nonsensical freestyle rhyme.
Dustin is being carried by two of his friends into his bedroom. I look in to check it out.
Dustin drunkenly yells out, “Happy Birthday to me!” and then blows a few chunks into a Trader Joe’s bag.
Dinner: Over Medium Eggs. Rice with Onions and Mixed Vegetables. Fresh Garlic Naan Bread.
People are still scattered throughout the house and the yard.
Watching Salt [2010].
My mom calls me up randomly. It’s 2 a.m. A strange hour for her to be awake. I sense a sharp sadness in her voice. She tells me that Moses, our cat whom was with me growing up since 8th grade, is sick and leaking strange fluids everywhere. Lethargically lying in my mother’s arms. “Robert, Moses is dying. Something’s wrong with him.”
Making coffee and getting ready to leave. It was Roma’s birthday tonight too. He approaches me with grammatically incorrect English and his thick Russian accent, “Robert! Happy birthday me!” After coming from the porch he mentions, “Robert, your friends are weird.” I love Roma. He’s my boy.
Newspaper route.
My mouth is unusually dry for some reason. I do remember taking a bite of a weed brownie that somebody baked. I think that’s a side effect.
Drinking Coffee and a Blueberry Donut from 7-11.
Coast to Coast AM—interesting discussions on how altruism taken too far can be damaging—helping that hurts—people that need help but become dependent on it and never move forward. I immediately think of Kenneth—it matches so perfect.
As soon as I get home, Anthony greets me on the porch. He tells me a quick story when he was at the checkout line at Kmart earlier in the night. He told the cashier to throw in the two 2-liter sodas an old couple was buying behind him. He considered it sort of good karma as to what prevented any cops from showing up at the house.
Discovering Jamil asleep on the grey couch. It’s quite an aesthetic scene of leftover party debris, crayons, and colored pencils everywhere. I take a picture with my mind, and then with the camera.
Sharing some ice cold Milk with Anthony.
Cleaning up.
Sleep 7:45 a.m.
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