1,2,3 steps...

Routine is familiar, wake up and stare at the ceiling, grope for a pillow, cover my eyes, emerge, walk around,… Eventually, throw on some clothes that make me look mismatched and awkward. Bike around, pick up coffee, pick up the paper, do the crossword.

Life has gotten quiet, lonely, … I feel more introverted ever since I put the sauce down. I haven’t been to the bars in two weeks now.

Routine is filled with cooking healthy organic meals, trying out strange blended drinks sans alcohol, talking to my refrigerator like I’m Martha Stewart and then threatening to hit the cooking wine if the refig doesn’t shut it’s bitch trap.

I miss San Francisco.