Monday April 11 2016

Gym Time (April 11 2016)[i]

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An intricate design of wire coat hangers all connected in circles with pieces of white paper attached to each one, poetry and random words written on all of them. It's understood this is a hospital or a medical center of some kind. Christina, whom I used to know from youth group at my old church, works here as a nurse. We had a brief romantic encounter when I was younger that only involved letters written back and forth. For some reason she writes me another letter explaining that it's not going to work out, which doesn't make sense cause nothing was going on to begin with.

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Waking up at 10:05 a.m.

Steel Cut Oatmeal with Cinnamon, Maple Syrup, Raisins, and Kefir. Yerba Mate Tea.

At the Rec working out. Ana is here as well as my ex-girlfriend, Margot. It's kind of funny seeing them both on a treadmill. Ana acts like she doesn't know me the whole time. For some reason she gets all weird when we're at the gym together. She doesn't like me bothering her, so I don't.

Back home. I bother Ana in her shower. She used up all the hot water so my shower is cut short. I still love her anyway.

Scrambled Eggs. Toast with Non-Dairy Cream Cheese. Corn Tortilla Chips with Avocado and Tomato. Oolong Tea.

Teaching lessons at Music Makers. Eating a Banana on the break.

Back home. Eating leftover Lentils, Broccoli, Carrots, and Brown Rice.

At the Right On rehearsal space for ELO practice. It's a newly formed band now except for Eric, Jimmy, Kevin (Nigel's son), and myself. We've added the guy from The Blue Lords on guitar and Bri Stover as the female vocalist. The drummer is still a question mark for now. It goes smoothly. We run through the four songs we already learned a long time ago with plans to go over new songs every week. Nigel is around directing everything.

Back home.


Ana's baking cookies downstairs. I can't resist a few.

Pomegranate White Tea.

Life talks in Ana's room. She keeps talking about how she doesn't want to be here, and by "here" she means this house but I think it runs deeper. Her job is tiresome having to help so many people all at once. There's music in her too that she wants to work on with other people like me or somebody else.


"You're one of those clumsy artist types," I say. "And I'm the organized OCD artist type."

"Is that why we work?" she asks.

"I guess so."

Sleep 3:30 a.m.

[i] Image by me.

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