Getting keys to my dope pad.

"I'm gonna take a wizz-banga." That's one of a million ways to say 'pee,' and as I pull it out and get started my watch starts to beep. It's 7:21pm, and I'm taking a tinkle.

I'm at work slightly late as I get a refresher-course on how to make sure the total sales on the credit card machine match what was rung through on the register. Boom. Got it.

I headed west above the river alone. I rode to Mike's house to see about getting the keys to the place where I hope and expect to be staying for awhile.

When I hear "attic," this is not what I picture. Finished with drywall, fully carpeted, attractive exposed brick along one side. That's a list of some features. Large modern window overlooking trees and backyards. That's a sentence fragment explaining more. Really? This place is fucking amazing. It apparently gets too hot in the summer. Small superficial details keep the rent down. I am taken aback; enamored with the space. I have the keys, and I'm crashing here now.

The roommates are mostly absentee. The members of Dr. Dog are planning to move to other places. I don't know what the future holds. At this point, I expect that I will be going to Key West again for awhile. I don't know how permanently I need housing - but this place? Jeeeeeesus. Maybe my standards have been lowered, but I'm not a complete clown - I'm sane and lucid enough to see that this place is dope.

I took a garbage bag full of my bullshit into "my" sort-of new room. I laid down my freshly-laundered covers and sat.

I'm happy. I feel like I'm on track. And I'm lonely. It's an interesting mixture. I hope Tara is well. I'm doing the right thing for me. By extension and contemplated logic, I believe it's the right thing for her too. I suppose I shouldn't think about it much. I know my recent actions are more right than easy. I'm remembering to focus on just being human.

I'm not drinking much. I didn't quit, but it seems to have scaled itself back with no concerted effort. I expect that I haven't seen the last of booze-worry, but for now it's no problem. And to double-underline, my worry with booze is more about reaching hypothetical potential and less about health or dependence of any sort. I'm always fine. And sober or not, I won't be running for office, going to grad school, or looking for high-paying employment. You can keep your typical ideals in a concrete box and sink them in the ocean. I aspire to be more colorful daily.

I sat in my new surroundings; beautiful and welcome - them and me. Mike sent me a text to make sure everything was alright. Exceptional, buddy. Quite good.