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Wednesday
October 4, 2017
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What a strange and glorious day! First, had to close the books on a tedious and taxing relationship with the Entitled Prince of Grievance, which entailed a trip downtown to the DOL and a certified letter, but it's all good and I'm glad I let him have the last word--see him leaning over a cliff edge waiting for an echo that will never come.
spacer Been battling The Creeping Crud, an annual autumn rite, took a little lie-down first then helped my buddy Kevin--the recent recipient of a sk8ing fracture and concussion--by doing the mowing and blowing for one of his clients on a Queen Anne plateau. Pruning, weeding, watering, mowing, trimming. The truck proved its worth again, and soon I'll stop mentioning it altogether, but it still feels empowering.

Speaking of '98 Tacomas, bumped into Arne on sidewalk after I parked (his is green). We talked tools and trucks and bikes and how some things get better while others get worse.
Speaking of things getting better, there was Miso, nested in crispy red leaves on communal lawn.
Inside, chaos awaited--we're still unpacking from our move about a year ago and it's endless struggle just thinning
out our useless stuff. What a trap insatiability is for us well-bred consumers. (File under: First World Problems.)

Part of the process is weeding through records, my own purchases and some recently gifted. While preparing
The Turtles (gift) for listing on discogs, I sort of fell in love with it. They sure don't make 'em like this anymore.