I'll get over the scam of closing this weblog. It's all actually kind of perfect. I'm still here, but I'm hiding. I don't know when I'll come out and publish this crap. It's not like any of this is secret or important, or even interesting. It's part experiment. Part game. Part testing other voices. Hey, I can even pick my nose here because no one is looking!

It's Thursday. The last person I saw was Delphine on Sunday when we tried to get into Interpol. She got in, I didn't, I headed home on Muni, stopping at Arinell for pizza. The last person I talked to was my mother on Tuesday. She tried to call on my birthday, but "couldn't get through". I was probably online. She doesn't know I'm unemployed.

The last person I talked to who matters was Kateri on Monday. Her last day of work is tomorrow, and I will see her this weekend to help her pack her stuff to send home. She leaves for good next Tuesday. I'm playing with how long I can go without social contact. It's all a game. Whoop, spoke too soon. I just got an email saying they're going to Beale St. tonight for Kateri.

I still haven't touched a guitar or turned on my music equipment. I've gone on a light jog and rode out on my bike for fun and for errands. I've been watching DVDs.

I'm unemployed. I'm 34. I'm retired. I feel like I don't exist. I'm still holding my life in my hand, turning it, looking at it from every angle, trying to make sense of it, and figuring out what it is and what I should do with it. And when I'm not doing that, I set it on the shelf and watch DVDs.