Daily yoga. Om. Ashtanga. Will kick your ass. That's not very zen. The poster says "Be Strong. Do Yoga."

It's 9:30 pm and this is a tale of being in bed before it's fully dark. These are the longest days, in a literal hemispheric sense.

I have a rash on my face, a spontaneous strange emergence that could be from a number of new things. Makes me look fifteen. Maybe I'm allergic to this city. This does not stop being hit on in the grocery store; Monday nights are full of single men post weekend who have realized they have no food. And me.

*

I get a message about a wedding and one imploring me to quit my job and come surf on a coast and be a life dropout. In the middle of spending my day forensically examining the intimate parts of people's lives, which is almost too voyeuristic, even for me. I feel genuinely sorry for people who can't work it out.

*

Sleep. Imperative.