I woke up today and our apartment was spotless.
I mean shiny, fucking spotless.
I just had a dream that one of my friends was going out with Bono, who was actually going out with Eminem.
But the fact you can see our floor is much weirder.
On Friday, March something of 2001. Mark and I arrived an hour early for a Santa Cruz community television introduction/sign-up thing.
Acutally, we were dropped off.
So stuck, we went across the street to Union Grove music. Where I checked my bag of 'everything that I use everyday' at the counter.
We made lots of noise. And marvelled at the overpriced synths, fake dj box and drum machines.
Realizing we were now late, we left in haste. And thus, my bag stayed behind the counter of Union Grove Music for a few more days.
Salesman Kevin realizing this, took it home and his girlfriend, Katie, who works at UCSC wrote an email to my photography instructor.
So I get in touch with Kevin today. And almost run out of gas while trying to make since of the directions he gave me.
But I arrive. And give him $5. And say thanks. And knock over a plant. And just generally feel like a real idiot.
But an idiot with his fucking bag back.
The hardest thing about fasting is not eating.