wouldn’t it be nice?

I need a Warmette in my house. They had one in the emergency room at St. Mary’s full of warm blankets and scrubs and other unidentified things. I took a blanket, wrapped it around myself in the only way I knew how (haphazardly) and reveled in all it’s warm glory for all of 10 minutes. That’s when the blanket returned to room temperature. And room temperature in San Francisco in August is somewhere below zero these days.

More journaling is happening when it can in the handwritten form and it feels good to go back to that medium. I seemed to have forgotten how freeing it is to be stupid. No one cares what I say or how badly I say it. After a couple of paragraphs of rambling is when the good stuff starts coming, the honest to god truth of the matter, the everything, the big picture, the even larger picture and so on and so forth. My handwriting becomes illegible and it doesn’t matter. I start using words that I’m not even sure are real words and it doesn’t matter. I get coffee stains all over the pages and it doesn’t matter. Sometimes I draw a tiny dinosaur in the middle of a page and write around it and it doesn’t matter.

Something good pours out of this place where I was sure only bad things dwell.

The dr. has been listening to the beach boys lately and it makes me happy because wouldn’t it be nice? sugary sweet lyrics and the idea of summers that last lifetimes are good to have when summer in SF doesn’t look like it’s ever going to come.

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