I still hear trains at night.

2 months later, demolition started in the Golden West last week. If you're wondering why it took so long, the wonderful folks at AFD and ATF asked if we would maintain our site as it was so that police dogs could come train. In exchange, they would help us with our demolition. Well, after training, AFD decided the structure wasn't sound enough to send their firemen in to help with demo. Convenient, ain't it? Also, way to lock the front door jackasses, enjoy the Jager.

2 months later, there's still pits of loss in my life. It is easier than it was, without a doubt. At least now I feel like it's real. It actually hurts more than it did, but at least I know it's on its way to getting better. There is hope, my friends, and that's something I haven't had for a while.

That being said, I think my duration in Albuquerque is about to come to close. At least for a while. I love it here. I love all the people I know and I love all that they have done for me. But, in perfect honesty, this place is currently breaking my heart. I feel myself bitterizing (best. word. ever) and I hate it. HATE it. We all go through those phases when life gets you down and all seems lost. Sooner or later, it always gets better. But this one feels different than the others. My current job is really only a temporary gig, so I'll probably ride it out and see where I am in a few months, then make that call. I'm pretty much dead-set on getting back into school, finishing a BA in Anthropology, which probably won't take me long, under two years. WHERE I finish is the question.

I guess the fog of smoke engulfing our fair city this week makes it even harder to be here. That smell will haunt me for a long time.

Hearing about those poor homes burnt in the Trigo fire breaks my heart. I want to go to the motels in Moriaty where all those poor people are staying and bring them all cookies and pie.

On the subject of the Golden West smell, it seems to have evolved. For a while, it was just charred. It still smelled like gas explosions and burnt wood. Now it smells like KFC, a wooden pizza oven.

'Member my kitty Mohammed? His kidneys continue to be troublesome. The prognosis is increasingly grim.



Of all the tattoo ideas I've had, I've never been so committed to this one: an olive tree on my upper center thigh. A good Italian tree for a great Italian building. With two trunks, one for the bar, one for Annie.