Shit it’s cold. The flowers on the trees are purple and white and blooming. There’s an empty can of PBR in the grass. An empty Lagunitas bottle next to it. My finger tips are cold. Just the tips. My nose is running, snot collects on my septum ring. Doesn’t drip. Just collects there. Threatening to drip. Not because I’m sick. Because it’s cold. I’m cold. (Side note: Study the grammar, Ry. Notice how easy it is to slide between it’s and I.)

Walking to the coffee shop to get coffee. My right knee hurts. When I walk, I speak into the iPhone and dictate and proofread later. Instead of ‘my right knee hurts’ Siri wrote ‘Write me a hertz.’ I read her translation and smiled. I think hertz is really close to hearse. 

I ran 40 minutes yesterday. Baby in the stroller. Shirt off. Felt slow and hard because I haven’t hoofed it in three months. Who the fuck puts their diary on the Internet? Someone whose mom died and is still looking for the womb. Siri heard womb and autocorrected to world. Both apply. 

When we brought our dog home from the animal shelter he clung to me the whole time, sitting on my lap in the front seat, scared that we’d bring him back, slam him back in the cage. Is that me? Was that my reflection in the mirror that I couldn’t recognize? YES and NO don’t have any meaning in the abstract. 

I’m scared somebody else close to me is going to have a heart attack and slam her head on the street. Crack open. And I’ll wake up one morning while I’m frying my eggs and my phone will ring and it will be my dad. Just like it was 9 years ago. I don’t have any room left inside me for more emptiness. 

Up ahead, three cops are pulled over. Two with their lights on. An old woman is hunched over walking into the church. Is that a metaphor? What does it mean to be hunched over walking into Aquinas Hall on a Wednesday morning at 10:30 AM? What does it mean that the cops are watching?

Gas is $2.45. 

Nothing new. On Joe Rogan. Should I relisten to old Rhonda Patrick interviews? Should I make my own? I thinking about doing a stand up comedy set on Facebook live but without the comedy. Let’s not laugh but let’s just get really really really proud of ugh I’m not normal and that’s not weird. Am I right? 

I’m at the intersection of Hancock and Wayne Street and my wool socks are bunched up and the red stop hand just turned into a white walking man.

Holy shit it’s cold. 45 degrees. 

Had eggs for breakfast. And a ribeye steak that Kate got from a Mexican restaurant last night. Reheated on cast iron it’s tough like leather. 

Also on the plate is spinach and avocado and sourdough bread with a thick smear of Irish butter. Mmmm.

The baby played with the avocado pit, watches it roll.