23 december 2021 - journal
rain.
joan didion died today.
I ordered two of her books.
the cats work up at 3 am running & jumping through the apartment.
it's the kind of grey morning that hangs in the air. everything is dim — its foreign to LA. the city wears it awkwardly. like an ill-fitting coat.
it’s quiet. almost feels like a town. the cars hum at a lower decibel — more space between them — like when molecules slow down & spread out. maybe you can find something in the spaces. like she did.
I turn my little heater on & the rush of its fan soothes me. the sun is up but you can’t see it. it’s hidden. a lot of things are that way.