Yesterday, I planned on practicing after work; just like normal. Unfortunately, Chuck's percussion ensemble was away at performance, and I was left with nothing to practice on. Chuck had all the Accordions.

I had a fresh dose of caffeine swimming around in my brain, so action was inevitable. I called up Todd in Azusa and told him I'd be by in an hour. I rode my bicycle and took a picture of the Miller Brewery as I passed it. Todd sold me some pot and gave me a bunch of bong-loads before I left to go get lost on some short-cut he recommended. I was tired by the time I got to Pasadena, so I bought a sandwich and some beer. I ate the sandwich at Cal Tech in front at the side of a reflecting pool with an obsidian-black building jutting out of it. There was a water fountain, and it was set on some complex cycle of intensity vs. non-intensity. I finished the sandwich, put the beer in my bag, and went to see a movie.

At the movie-house, I accidentally sat down in the wrong theater and instead of the light hearted art flick I got the psychotic art flick. I didn't want to get up, so I watched the whole thing. I felt somehow I was meant to see this movie instead of the other one. I was alone, stoned, getting drunk, physically tired, and filling up on a large bag of buttered pop corn. I had been excited about seeing the happy movie, and the emotional reset was jarring. The setting of the film was a lake house where I had been so happy, but the nice young men were cruel. They used their power to kill, and they mocked the audience as they did so. I went home and ate too much food. I'm still gorging myself. Getting High. Reveling in Doing Nothing, because it's what I have to do today. I learned one thing from growing up Catholic. Work your ass off all week and then don't do a god-damned thing on Monday.