Hi ho

Here's another book recommendation: Nobody Move, by Denis Johnson. I picked it up from our shitty, shitty library last night and just finished it with the cat padding around on the windowsill nearby. It's a brief noir story.

This same author wrote Tree of Smoke, which I probably wrote about on here before, because it is so badass. (And much longer, and more epic-y, etc., but still tight and quick.)

They're both good!

. . . 

I'm on day three of my weekend without Sarah. I'd planned a pretty ambitious routine for myself: cleaning here, then reading, working on some projects, maybe hitting a couple cafes around here for lunch, but have I stuck to it? Only vaguely. Largely I've paced the hallway and stared into video games and cooked taco after taco. What the hell is going on here? I'll tell you what: three days alone (for the first time in more than a year) in an apartment turns the windows and doors into the walls of purgatory.

I dreamt last night that I resigned my position at work and then regretted it. Then I saw a starship.