Didn’t find whatever I was supposed to find. Thought it would find me.

Spoke to a friend on the phone while she was tiling her bathroom. She was a bit stressed out. Worried about messing it up. I wanted to tell her that no matter what she did to her bathroom, it could be fixed. Then, later, I thought about how she somehow saw the task as a parallel of her life. I wonder if however badly you mess up your life, it could always be fixed.

There was a time when I would go out just to see her. Whichever her there was at the time, I usually knew where to find her. Nothing ever worked out in those scenarios. Eventually I stopped doing that. Somewhere along the line I just gave up. Instead of trying something else.

I’m concerned with what my daily activities will be when my job goes away. Suddenly having nothing to do those six nights a week that were reserved for work sounds really good to me. I’m thinking I need to keep up that schedule. Maybe cut back to four or five nights.

Everything in here is wet. Paper feels heavier than it should, and limp. The wood of the chair I sit on feels softer. The wall to wall feels cooler under my feet than a carpet should in the summer. Skin sticky. Texas can only be worse.

They banned alcohol in Cancun. They don’t want anyone drunk during the hurricane.