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"it's not the end, it's just the end of hope"

I interrupted my detox just a little early. On day ten I met up with A., a cute Polish lady who used to work in my office, for dinner. She just moved back to the Bay Area and suggested we get together. It felt very nice sharing food and wine and conversation with a pretty lady. We made vague plans for me to visit her in the north bay one of these coming weekends for a drive and a hike. I think this is just a friendly thing--which is fine. I am closely guarding the remains of my heart.

The new Low album is really unsettling and beautiful. In terms of production, it's probably the most ambitious thing they've done, yet. All that distress and distortion. My brain tingles, when Alan and Mimi's harmonies suddenly break through the noise and static and sound very clear and present like the air and the trees when one is suddenly jerked awake after a long sleep underwater.

I just listened to it again. I'm finishing up the wine. I'm going back on the wagon tomorrow to continue my sobriety binge until October 5.

I feel tense, today. The landlord left a note on my door, saying "a serious leak" has been detected on the property and that they are bringing an inspector out, Tuesday. They will have to enter secret motel, while I'm away. What kind of leak? Gas? Plumbing? This sounds weird. Nothing's leaking in here. Secret motel is a dusty and cluttered dump. I was trying to tidy up, this morning, but still have a lot of work ahead of me. I wonder where I'll go, when they eventually decide it's time for me to go.

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