if you can't take the heat, get out of Las Vegas

I was up at 4:30am with pain from my pinched nerve.  Did some good writing for a new zine.  Said things I really wanted to say, that I never said before.

Went at 6:10am to the Catholic Worker to pray then serve the hungry.  I did bread.  My back didn't hurt to speak of.  I didn't have any good conversations. Gave bread as quickly as possible.  Sometimes the line was a bit long.  Sometimes people huddled instead of queuing, but not too bad.

Some people came back over and over again.  Many wanted the soft, white french bread.  Yeah, I know about them.  Their teeth are bad.

I made up an aphorism. "Once the donuts come out, no one wants the bread anymore."  But it's not really true.  There are still a few bread-takers.

Then I helped a friend make breakfast.  When properly buttered, even the cheapest bread makes nice toast!  I was the toastmaster.  We were using individually wrapped butter pats in the bumpy golden foil. They must have been donated.

Then we had a meeting.  Then our friend did a presentation on tiny house villages.  Wow, he knows his stuff.  He was comparing seven different villages.  I went upstairs to the prayer room, cried, and wrote two letters.  The letters were real, heartfelt, and articulate--but very sad.  I hope it's ok.

I have a new shirt.  I don't like it, but Ming does.  I like the rusty orange color, but it's super long and hangs funny.

The worker at the Jolt seemed to be having a quiet crisis and / or need coffee.  Ming's expensive coffee drink was almost all ice.  I just asked for my water bottle to be refilled, considered free books and didn't take any, and used the bathroom.

There was a mental health textbook in Arabic I considered grabbing for a friend.  But it's probably all mainstream claptrap.

The long list of bathroom prohibitions made me sad.  You can wash your hands there--that's it!  No washing your feet.  No brushing your teeth.  Can't do anything lewd.

I thought, Can you look in the mirror?  I considered writing that on the paper sign, but there were probably cameras.  They'd kick me out.  I never could return again.  That means I'd have to miss the zine fest.

I did look in the mirror.  My hair is a little grayer on the edges.  But I'm still me.

Then we made some copies.

my conclusions:
Summer is a pain in the ass.
No good books at the gay center.
A sad letter is better than nothing at all.