Seven thirty.

Sade in the late 1980s did an instrumental with a Spanish name that means “There Is Always Hope.” My tendency to be disorganized is not my fault, so I won’t let myself be beat up when Misty calls me this afternoon. Aesop went back to bed while I decided to stay up and scribble some notes. Now I can’t find my copy of The Inner Reaches of Outer Space, but no matter. I think Joseph Campbell was a fraud, his writing a bunch of hooey disguised as social science. He was just one person with an opinion on mythology, religion, and philosophy. If he was right, then wouldn’t more people arrive at his conclusions independently?… Attempts to psychologize mental illness are mostly doomed to fail, especially severe cases. The way I feel today, “all I wanna do is have some fun until the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard.” I wonder what the new stuff is on the radio these days? So much music is retro, the same old thing we’ve all heard before. I’d love to hear the latest trend in popular music— as long as it uses real instruments and musicians. I get tired of people who don’t want to have fun. We’ve forgotten what it’s like to let our hair down and enjoy each other’s company. We go cuckoo without socialization!… Aesop has joined me now and wants his breakfast. After I feed him I’m going to the market; maybe they’ll have some of those salads and sandwiches for sale. And I want a couple of Snapples.

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