Ugh. It’s a shit swarm of eye strain and fat­tened ass. Wake up and work at the place that pays me, sit in front of a mon­i­tor and key­board and a real nice mouse, eat lunch, sit back down, then sit in my car as I drive myself back home to sit in front of a mon­i­tor and key­board and a real nice mouse, along with a few key­boards and gui­tars and a dusty white drum­set. And it’s get­ting warm out, rel­a­tively speak­ing, and my face looks funny. I haven’t shaved in weeks. I’m deathly afraid that Jason may’ve heard me this morn­ing in the Ice­box bath­room talk­ing to myself in the mir­ror. Actu­ally, I was not only talk­ing, but at the same time pulling my cheeks away from my eyes with the length of my fin­gers. Then I real­ized I was act­ing like a crazy per­son, so I shook my head quickly and got dressed.

Let­ting it go a lit­tle. One way or the other, you fin­ish the project, you put it away. Let all the water­mains in town burst and line cars back for 13 miles, what do I care? It’s sunny and warm(er) and I’m wear­ing a thick sweat­band. I think my thoughts need to be tuned, but it’s ok because there’s plenty of reverb in here.