Dear Dave,

My grande ice coffee with extra ice in a vente cup tastes a bit like perfume. Maybe I should add a touch of milk. I'm not liking it.

My orchid sputtered and shed its blossoms. My fault? I'm not sure. But I feel guilty.

My cabinets are screwed to the wall, and all the holes are filled with putty. A dark grey semi gloss is waiting to be applied. hopefully it will be all that I imagine. fingers crossed.

Still in my funk. Me and Cooper. I wonder what is happening to him. Its a bit freaky. You get to know these people, but you have no idea what is really going on with them. I hope he is well.

The air is changing. Its not so embracing anymore. Instead of enveloping you with humidity, it pushes back a bit with its cool breeze. Suddenly you want to cover up and protect. Close. Hide.

It would be nice to be walking on a warm beach. The soft ocean. Stingy skin. Salty food. Bleached teeth. Forever happy. Content. Safe. Free.