Not even sure if I mentioned it since every day pretty much feels like a cross between a Sunday and a struggle, not going to lie, it's hard to keep momentum right now and I feel so behind, like all I do are chores and a huge amount of fretting, and I can't just relax at all. I drank three things of cognac last night and still nothing. I finished The Boy in The Striped Pajamas and wow, that ended far differently than I expected and Lochlan bought me a treasure-trove of brushes for Procreate and put them all of Google Drive and wouldn't you know..
File not supported.
And I don't know how to change that and I don't want to ask him to fix it. They're on the home server, I'll add it to the list of Things I Have To Do.
I need a vacation. From technology, maybe.
In other news, since I forgot what I was talking about and what I failed to mention, or may have, it's that we've lifted the in-house quarantine and every house is fair game now, as Schuyler is having a great vacation and even Batman stopped leaving. Henry is off until this coming weekend and so no need to isolate from each other. We've pooled the dwindling Twinkie Supply and movie nights are ridiculously well-attended, even though the last movie we watched was a real banger from 1999, The Ninth Gate.
Okay, fine, it was good. The theme was Thriller. I figured we'd end up watching Michael Jackson music videos on a loop but no such luck. I went for a long bike ride around the neighborhood, found every curb to be my friend where I could find one but otherwise it's frightening being out there with cars and stuff.
I hate it but I went because participation means you're happy, or something.
I went because I'm probably in shit anyway for heading straight to the loft and not coming back last night, prefering to waltz into the kitchen via the side door this morning causing at least eight heads to turn while I muttered WHAT? and walked right through, up the steps only to die a thousand deaths once I was out of sight because I forgot they're all home all the time now.
Lochlan came up and asked if I was alright.
It's August, not Caleb, I spat at him.
It's Jacob. Endless Jake. It's not August.
I'm fine.
You're so not fine it's a miracle you breathe most days, he says and turns on his heel, heading back to his coffee and his brothers because you can take a good thing and drive nails through it with a Saturday night hammer and who's going to stop you if that's how it works. We can make up later.
Because he's right.
August doesn't need to know this but sometimes it's Jake.
And I'm not sorry and no one gets an apology because it's Sunday and Jesus is coming back and-
It's Monday isn't it? Jesus is already here. He's standing right behind me, one hand covering his beautiful face, shaking his head at the things I do and why he wasted all this effort on me only to watch me chuck it into the sea.
I didn't chuck it yet but I might.
On the upside, August didn't tell me to leave. Probably because I never told him it was Jake. Having a great day here, how about you?
File not supported.
And I don't know how to change that and I don't want to ask him to fix it. They're on the home server, I'll add it to the list of Things I Have To Do.
I need a vacation. From technology, maybe.
In other news, since I forgot what I was talking about and what I failed to mention, or may have, it's that we've lifted the in-house quarantine and every house is fair game now, as Schuyler is having a great vacation and even Batman stopped leaving. Henry is off until this coming weekend and so no need to isolate from each other. We've pooled the dwindling Twinkie Supply and movie nights are ridiculously well-attended, even though the last movie we watched was a real banger from 1999, The Ninth Gate.
Okay, fine, it was good. The theme was Thriller. I figured we'd end up watching Michael Jackson music videos on a loop but no such luck. I went for a long bike ride around the neighborhood, found every curb to be my friend where I could find one but otherwise it's frightening being out there with cars and stuff.
I hate it but I went because participation means you're happy, or something.
I went because I'm probably in shit anyway for heading straight to the loft and not coming back last night, prefering to waltz into the kitchen via the side door this morning causing at least eight heads to turn while I muttered WHAT? and walked right through, up the steps only to die a thousand deaths once I was out of sight because I forgot they're all home all the time now.
Lochlan came up and asked if I was alright.
It's August, not Caleb, I spat at him.
It's Jacob. Endless Jake. It's not August.
I'm fine.
You're so not fine it's a miracle you breathe most days, he says and turns on his heel, heading back to his coffee and his brothers because you can take a good thing and drive nails through it with a Saturday night hammer and who's going to stop you if that's how it works. We can make up later.
Because he's right.
August doesn't need to know this but sometimes it's Jake.
And I'm not sorry and no one gets an apology because it's Sunday and Jesus is coming back and-
It's Monday isn't it? Jesus is already here. He's standing right behind me, one hand covering his beautiful face, shaking his head at the things I do and why he wasted all this effort on me only to watch me chuck it into the sea.
I didn't chuck it yet but I might.
On the upside, August didn't tell me to leave. Probably because I never told him it was Jake. Having a great day here, how about you?