But journal entries are just that, journaling.   I need a narrative structure, to not waste the time and energy...

I wake up with mom calling.  Talk her in off the ledge, over a series of phone calls over a landline that has a significant hum to it.

Try to get time off from work.    Go up to check on her this week.

Lankavatara.  Remember the Lankavatara Sutra.   Nothing is real.   Only the teaching that nothing is all that real.  If you try to make something seem real, more than it is, the illusions of it will come out.

Halloween is not real.  Old friends are not that real either, as they will have differences with you as well that make the friendship pointless now.  You yourself are to blame, for taking things real, when they are not.

Results from physical:  cholesterol high, 200 range.   GGT, 90, high.  Monocytes (absolute), high.



So it's not really enough, the way things seem to go, to be done with work late Wednesday, early Thursday morning, and then to be going back to work Saturday night.  But it's Friday night, I'm not biting off more than I can chew, I'm having a few Goose Island IPAs and I get the guitars out, plug in the Epiphone Casino, the Shure Microphone.  Practice a bit.  Turn up the old Lab Series amp...  It's gotta come out, somehow.  The creativity needs to come out.  I'm mindful of the hour.  There's a knock on the door, I think, so I unplug, and to my surprise it's not the guy next door telling me to cool it, but the downstairs neighbor, sweet kid, married, with his Yamaha rosewood six string.  We jam out.  One of the first nice things about living here.

Tim goes back downstairs to his wife, and I get an order for Chinese in just in time.

Later, I wake up, anxious.  All my stupid fault.