1:52p

There’s currently power but no internet, so there are limits on what I can do that I am used to doing the way I am used to doing them.

Music is limited to the “dance cardio workout” daylist from Spotify last night which isn’t so bad. I can’t connect to the Sonos speakers, but I can connect to my Bluetooth speaker, so I’m not limited to the phone volume.

I’ve saved a number of book-sized boxes and so I’ve begun to take down Brian’s books from the shelves for Patrizia to collect. I’m taking breaks to smoke and play a game and then go back to it. Cleaning the shelves comes next. And then perhaps my things can go there, out of the bags where they are, huddled on the floor.

On my list of things to look for on Facebook marketplace: a turntable. I no longer have the analog speakers I used to so that kind of sucks but I’ll figure it out.

I have laundry running, linens and pillows.

To look for in the house: a tarp for the firewood, snow tires.

I plan on cooking for myself, in fact I’m getting kind of hungry so maybe I’ll go do that now. Thinking about the meal that Gary and Brian would make for me, if they could. Thinking about how they both loved to make food for me. I can see them, discussing, although I can’t forward Gary’s face, he remains as he was, forever 46.

Hungry.

It’s after three; the ideas about caramelized onions and garlic and chicken and pasta forgone for the more-possible accomplishment of the last of the tortellini in the family-sized package. Water boiling, music still that playlist from last night and while yes I have often played songs on an endless loop for days it’s always of my own choosing. Not the same two-hour-twenty-six minutes on shuffled repeat of shitty retail. Water aboil, ready to dump the tortellini in and nope. Mold.

Grateful for angel hair pasta of which I have much. Truffle salt, butter. The grated Parmesan in the fridge is also beyond safety so into the bin that goes too.

Closing in on five.
I can’t look things up. I don’t like this.

Discovered that my personal playlists are available, so Nile Rodgers empties out of the speaker.

I’ve gotten seven boxes of his books packed, and have found a few on the shelves that I’ll keep. Putting those with the smallest version of my library that has come with me everywhere, yes there are books that I always want physically around me and no, a photo of them really won’t do. Both copies of Budge, mine and Gary’s. One copy, the better copy of Adams’s collected works. Lilo Raymond’s book of black-and-white photos with the unmade bed on the cover that has always been my sense of home, found only now. My altered book.

I liked wearing makeup yesterday, the effect it had on me if nobody else. Cutie whose name I can never remember thank you for making my day first thing in the morning by telling me I looked fantastic in my outfit. It’s literally just me in my weed witchy clothes, so, no costume, so, valid, honest feedback wearing things that show my whole braided challah shape that Brian loved. Juicy.

Five oh nine. Nine boxes packed. Still no internet.

Took an accidental nap on the couch; could be worse, left leg up with a heating pad on my knee but no CPAP mask. Seven nineteen now, heading to bed. Morning will come tomorrow; may as well meet it well-slept.

Still no internet.