This is the first day in maybe two or three weeks that I have felt OK. I diagnosed myself with a severe vitamin D deficiency, which I attribute to only going out at night, and so I bought some supplements. Yes, and I bought epsom salt and a muscle roller too, because my neck has hurt like hell for months, maybe on account of not having slept in my own bed since December 1st. My bed is long gone now, of course . . . left out on my old street in Berkeley the rainy night before I fly to Berlin with my sister and Dante. Lord, that was so long ago now. My body has been deteriorating slowly since then from forced atrophy and lack of sunlight and probably some unexamined melancholia that I’m intentionally ignoring. Hah!
Listen: I exercise. I go out every other night and walk all over El Cerrito and Albany and Berkeley. It just never feels like enough, even though I’ll walk fifteen miles or so and get home an hour before sunrise. Last night I walked to the Berkeley Rose Garden and smelled all the flowers there. It was great! See:
. . . and it reminded me of this time almost a year ago now, when I went there with my good friends:
I tell you what, I’d give just about anything to be there with those people again right now. Thing is, there’s no telling when California is going to switch over to Stage 3 or 4, or whatever it is. What is the stage that lets you see your friends again? I wonder. Laura told me they’re talking about allowing “bubbles” of people to congregate, so maybe it’s just a matter of waiting it out until then. They’re just now rolling out Stage 2, which, what even is it? Dine-in restaurants and office buildings or something like that. . . .
I really should be writing more, but I haven’t cared to. I don’t want to look at my computer, and god knows I have absolutely nothing to say right now. What is there to say? I miss talking to people and I’m sick of reading words. Sometimes when I go to the Traitor Joe’s nearby I’ll talk to the tall cashier who only wears black, and it reminds me of The Old World. You forget how nice it is to just have a conversation with someone. I like talking to that girl. Sometimes I get in her line on purpose, just because it’s nice to talk to her. She and I have some real memento mori going on, though I can’t imagine how you couldn’t . . . at least we’re upfront about it, and to each other no less, being relative strangers and all. This is the closest equivalent of friendship that I have in these dying days, otherwise having friends looks something like this:
In the night, when I am out walking, I see a lot of animals hanging out. They seem to be using the sidewalks now that no one else is. In the last week I’ve seen deer, skunks, squirrels, foxes, gangs of raccoons, and whole bunch of outdoor cats. They’re all just out there, and I’m out there with them. We’ll stop and stare at each other for a few seconds and then keep going. If animals have extrasensory perception, which they almost certainly do, then I reckon they know I’m no threat. I’m just lookin is all. What else is there to do, out here in the animal forest? Meanwhile in San Francisco they got coyotes running down the streets at night and howling at each other. I love it. Hain’t seen one of them yet and probably it’s for the best. Talk about ESP . . . those things are otherworldly in the same way raccoons are. They can communicate complex things to one another, is what I’ve read. As for me: I’ve set my motherfucker to “RECEIVE” . . . I’m not sending out any signals, only listening. I have nothing to say, these days. Maybe I’ll snap out of it and remember why I ever spoke in the first place. Or maybe I won’t!
Here’s a picture of a house in Berkeley I walk by every night. It is a house I wish were mine:
OK seeya later~