12:57am: dad brushed teeth standing across the hall, in bathroom where I shaved Zachary’s face a few days ago. Teeth brushing seemed to take a long time. I was in my room, putting on shoes. Apologized for acting rude and mostly unsolicitedly pointing out that the noises dad was making were my reason for leaving. Said i hadn’t slept and dad reminded me of the Xanax he gave me and said ‘two milligrams per night is good for me’ and I said ‘I don’t want it now, you just gave me another pack yesterday’ and remembered the thing about how I childishly refuse coffee offers from parents. Dad said ‘oh I gave you more? Do you need more?’ I said ‘no I just said you gave me more, I don’t want it right now, I don’t want to sleep’ and something about feeling obsessed with this. Shirley perched near me and is now purring on my leg. I turned off my light and laid on the mattress with my feet hanging off. Dad came out of bathroom but I didn’t open eyes. Dad said ‘just so you know rent is eleven-hundred dollars a month, twelve-hundred if you use the lights.’ I sort of laughed and said ‘just hire someone to murder me for that amount.’ he said ‘oh, no,’ in a tone like he was saying ‘oh, no, I had considered that.’ he said ‘im glad you’re here.’ I said ‘boy am I not,’ meaning less his apartment and more ‘alive.’ he got it, I was surprised that he got it and didn’t want to say defensive things about the apartment.

1:05am: he is being loud with weed things. Drawers. Stinky weed. He like, threw money at my head, two $50s, it was weird. This was before the weed though. He said ‘would you be opposed to having two fifty dollar bills?’. I said ‘no that’s extremely nice, you’re doing the thing where you ask my permission, you don’t have to do that ever, remember,’ as he threw them at me. He said ‘oh is that what I’m doing’ stressing the ‘that,’ walking away in an upset way. I said I was sorry again and thanked him for the money but pretty sure I sounded irritated.

1:07am: it sounds like a long, heavy, beaded, wooden rope is rolling down wood stairs.

1:14am: said ‘when are the noises going to stop?’ dad appeared in doorway, said something defensive, I said ‘but you said the noises would stop a while ago.’ he said he was putting on a quiet guided mediation cd, that he should maybe play loud enough so I could hear. I said ‘I gotta go. Your pot stinks.’ it really is very stinky weed. I apologized for acting rude, not trying to cover up not being in a bad mood.

1:22am: unsure where I’m driving. Very hungry. Headache. Itchy eyes from crying and allergies to something, I think, maybe. Allergic to me. If a cop pulls me over they might smell Dad’s weed, see my red cry-eyes, search me and find ‘worse’ drugs. Damn, where am I going?