Raquel seemed unusually abbreviated with me this morning. Perhaps she still reads my posts here. Jesus, I hope not. Everybody needs somewhere in which they can think out loud without apprehension, or reprimands that arrive in silence. I suppose I could just ask her, but that would guarantee the result I'm hoping against.
Ah well. What do I have to hide? Or, to hide behind?
There is nowhere to go and nothing to do in California except wait patiently for more horror and fear. The skies seems to have cleared up a bit, but there is still much smoke in the air. Inhabiting every little nook of my cameras, I'm sure. Everything costs so much money. It raises the question: why have interests at all?
I don't have any answers.
I would go to the pub and have a beer, to break up the monotony, but my instincts tell me to drink less today. We drank every day while we were in Vegas and Zion. We even bought two bottles of wine before coming home after the 12 hour drive - a white and a red.
Maybe that's why Rachel is acting strange. She can get froggy after too many days of drinking. She is a non-verbal communicator at times. She alternates her methods of expression to help keep me on my toes.
Fuck. the dog just vomited on the rug. I give up. I'll be at the pub before it opens, maybe masturbating in the parking lot to pass the time. I'll claim that it's a known side-effect of Covid-19.
.
