8:19pm: fed cats, cleaned box, found storage unit key, searched all boxes and bags in car for DVDs, found none. Driving to storage unit despite darkness, they close at 9pm I think, thought ‘what day is today, it’s Saturday?’

8:22pm: it makes more sense to go back to mom’s. No I shouldn’t be rewarded with ‘easier better alternative’ in this case, I didn’t do something I felt was important to do today. I had all day. Forget today. I wrote notes on every page of one book and finished packaging mostly. Nervous about being seen, looking the way I do. When mom woke I asked her for a hug and said ‘could you honestly tell me how I look, like am I haggard and tired and like, old.’ she looked concerned and said no, I looked young and pretty, but that my eyes looked big and tired and worried. I said ‘are you sure? The hair?’ she said ‘well, if you just brush it a little. No, you just look worried, you look young.’ I said ‘you would tell me if I didn’t, right?’ she said ‘I would, I would.’ I said ‘okay, okay I’m less worried now, I believe you, thank you’ and walked down the hallway to bedroom. She sort of followed me and stopped where the hallway meets the kitchen. I turned and said ‘can I just try something where I tell you this is my last pack of cigarettes and if I buy another one it means something really bad, like, you’ll be extremely angry?’ mom looked puzzled, said ‘yes, well yeah I guess so, but you know you can always comfort yourself, you can allow yourself cigarettes, I mean I don’t want you to but.’ felt frustrated and tried not to show. I said ‘it’s okay, it was just a thing I thought I’d try, sometimes it works on the liveblog if I give myself a fake consequence, thought saying it aloud this time…think it won’t work.’ long hallway conversation followed. At some point mom said ‘I know we didn’t raise you with any rules or, well you know basic ‘right or wrong’ things, we didn’t want to discipline you the way our parents did, so. You have your own set of drawbacks, you have to do it yourself, but you know that.’ I said ‘I know…’ mom said ‘but me saying that doesn’t help.’ I said ‘yeah…it’s okay though.’ mom said things about how I need to sleep or I won’t be able to function, that not sleeping is probably what’s making it hard for me to focus ‘like this conversation has no focus, it’s just how [she] thinks combined with how she wants to but doesn’t know how to help.’

8:33pm: sky looks grimly, velvet-y, purple-y black, ‘like my lungs maybe.’

8:50pm: made it to storage unit before they closed hell yeah.

8:52pm: rondo caddy shitshow