Eat enough sunflower seeds and there's that brine. The car floor is covered in sand and ash. It's Charleston, the Lowcountry, that's all sand and silt. It's one big ant hive until the early Summer's storms bring in the swamps. I haven't been to the beach in a year. Lady J and I went skinny dipping while PJ fell by the breakers, socks up. I skipped out on a second round of disc golf today, and PJ called me a wimp. We have a tourney on Saturday, and I'm not looking forward to losing any more discs, and having them found but never returned. Trophy lakes is not up to par anyways, aside from the wakeboarding, but my shoulder is on fucking fire. Like arm wrestling with a wookie.

Can't wait to go back to work tomorrow and make some more progress in doing what should have been fucking done three weeks ago. My life: relatively drama-free. I'm actually fairly cheery, in a sneering, sarcastic sort of way. Just, the navy, and the dipshits I work with, and how their shit-poor work ethic reflects upon me. I'm not going to get into it, suffice to say, "Chill the fuck out. I got this."

The air conditioning and internet are restored. The beer is full of fridge and I've got an "intent to vacate" notice, so here's to lounging with the Dear Hunter's Act I on repeat and hopes of falling asleep for the first time since I've been back here.

Dum spiro spero.