DREAM: I’ve started working at Sonic again. It’s 5:30 in the morning and it’s understood that I’m late opening. Fumbling in the kitchen trying to set up everything. Orders from customers start popping up on the monitors already—I don’t recognize some of the items. More employees show up. Talking with Steve, one of the managers I used to work with years ago. “Yeah the dishes weren’t clean and stuff isn’t set up.” He seems annoyed that I’m criticizing that because he was the one that closed the night before. I begin cooking the bacon—pulling out the greasy strips and placing each strip on the grill—it cooks fast. I accidently wipe my mouth on some of the raw bacon, hopefully no one noticed. Joey randomly appears and asks what I’m doing today. “Well, I’m working all day!” I respond. He asks, “Can I come back and recite to you this bit from a Cookie Monster piece?” “Yes, of course.”
Waking up at 2:30 p.m.
Breakfast: Organic Strawberry Pop Tart. Orange Juice. Zinc.
Business.
Errands.
Lunch: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.
Finishing New Town Killers [2008].
Google work—counting quarters—figuring out bills.
Jamming on the mandolin—stretching—crunches.
James brings over gifts of wine and some leftover dinner he cooked for his parents. Cooking that up—Chad comes over—haven’t seen him in quite a while—explaining how eager I am to play music.
Dinner: Spinach Salad. Chicken Alfredo Fettucini with Orange Peppers.
Sitting down at the card table with Chad and James. There’s a handful of extra people here at the house hanging out.
Sipping on Smoking Loon red wine, which has a strong smoky taste to it.
Listening to Erin Gilroy talk about her life as I ask questions like a counselor or psychologist—being accepted by friends—casual sex VS relationship/love sex. Chad’s picking apart a cork to one of the wine bottles.
Erin: “Things that are important to me aren’t important to most people.”
Denali Caramel Caribou Ice Cream.
In the living room—feeling a little tipsy from the smoky wine—jamming a folk progression on guitar—Anthony chiming along on an Ovation—Jordan pulls out his 12-string.
Google work.
Fascinated with the smoke bubbles Devon is blowing on the back patio.
The kids went dumpster diving but only Josh returned.
Chowing down on some Challah Bread.
Newspaper route with Calum—he’s focusing on writing down directions and notes in his composition notebook.
Sipping on Iced Chai Coffee.
A raccoon crosses VB Blvd just in time for me to run over him. THUMP! Unfortunately, he doesn’t survive. “Man, if only I had took just a little bit more time or less time at that last box I probably wouldn’t have hit him.”
Later on we catch a fox leap across a neighborhood road in front of us and scurry safely into someone’s backyard.
Recalling my past experiences with raccoons…“Saturday March 5 2011…Driving in the Bay Colony area, which is her neighborhood. I spot a dead raccoon curled up in the middle of the road. Oh the symbolism. I am that tragic raccoon, lifeless. And she’s the fortunate fox still prowling around, full of life….” “Sunday March 6 2011…As I’m driving down Lynnhaven Parkway, I watch a scurrying raccoon safely make it across the street and into the woods. Oh the symbolism, I am that fortunate raccoon still prowling around, full of life. The fox isn’t the only victorious one.” It was a horrible feeling to run over that raccoon tonight. If that raccoon was me and this is a foreshadowing, then I will be responsible for my own poetic death, not the feminine fox.
Back home—organizing and cleaning the dumpster food—Carmen’s making an egg sandwich—Anthony’s being playful, throwing the big orange kickball at me.
Sleep 6:40 a.m.
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