Another day of flat nothingness. Unless I'm missing something. Perhaps these are dynamic, vivacious, ass-kickin' times. But I'm just not seeing it.

It's the damn fog. This dirty, griity, grey mass hanging 20' over the sidewalk. Well yeah, no wonder everyone walks around in a daze, talking about conspiracy theories.

I really don't know what my next move is going to be. I'd be thrilled to go camping for three days, and just sit, and draw, and write, and smoke cigartettes and drink coffee. But I'll probably end up going alone, because most of my friends are too out of it to get it together.

Sad but true.

I miss L.A. I miss something. Something's missing. I hate having roomates. I just avoid the house. I sat on the front porch for something like and hour this evening, not knowing where to go. Maybe I'll move into the basement, or one of the flea circus hotels on Mission street.

I keep checking my e-mail, waiting for J to hit back; not knowing what I want for an outcome. What a muddle. There's nothing worse than muddled love, when you're trying to assess whether this other person cares about you. When someone else relates such thoughts to me, my response is usually to tell them that their doubts are well-founded. If you have to ask if said person cares about you, then it's not coming across in their behaviour. Seems obvious.

But it's different when it's me.