I practiced last night, lots of long tones. The "enhanced" shakuhachi is playing better, and I could tell, in my fumbling way, that 99% of it is me. This is why the instrument takes years of practice.
And I have my shakuhachi club meeting this Thursday night.
I started a load of laundry and otherwise puttered around, and watched weird videos about a psychosomatic "disease" called Morgellon's. What a rabbit hole - the sufferers of this delusion have decided it's linked to Lyme disease somehow.
I did the exercises last night that I'd normally have done when I got up so when I finally did get up, a little after 3, all I had to think about was coffee and packing things. I packed a dozen things and headed out.
They were all just small things so I just had to go to the post office. It was pretty busy as everyone who'd delayed paying their taxes had to pay them now. Again I was really glad I took care of them in April.
I stopped by Tom's on my way back and he was up, and felt like talking. A City inspector had been around, due to a complaint that an old enemy, a local business owner just up the street, had against James. It's nothing to do with Tom, other than that Tom was foolish enough to take James in, and thus, has taken on James' problems.
And so James is out, his junk car is across the street, and Tom has to get rid of all his food, his clothing, any couches, any and all signs of habitation by himself or anyone else. And faces a fine of $2500 a day. When this fine is to commence is uncertain; I think Tom gets some time to remedy things then they inspect again. Tom's taken all the food I've given him plus a ton of other stuff and it's in a storage unit now. James, who will get off scot-free, is back to camping at his old place up the street.
We talked out a lot of this, how the street denizens around here see kindness as weakness, and it might not even be on the conscious level, so James might have said things like, "I really don't want to take advantage, and I'm so thankful...." "While they eat your feet!" said Tom.
Tom said it turns out the mixed residential-commercial zoning there only applied for places that are 7 acres or larger, so it's not OK even for he himself to live in there. I wondered at how I'd lived in there for years with no problem, and I'd seem some of the same people living in their cars in the area for years with no problem.
The problem is, James loves to pile up big piles of trash and just leave them, plus he intends to keep annoying the business owner who's been complaining about him. And now Tom has brought this all down on himself, while James gets off scot-free.
Finally we were talked out and I took off and came back here. I was doing little chores like burning a batch of "sensitive" papers (tails of Ebay forms etc.) and I had the door of this shop open as I was just across the parking lot, lighting my crumpled papers in the charcoal starter thing I use.
I noticed with some shock that a skinny, waiflike even, zombess was striding with some purpose right toward the open door. I likewise strode right over to the door and the zombess next huddled with her phone next to our roll-up door and seemed to talk to someone. Once I was in here I grabbed one of my wire spool bolts in case the zombess wanted to "talk" but it just walked on past pretending not to see me and tootled on around the corner. Even a small, physically slight, meth-addled zombess can be a nasty creature to fight, and who knows if the damned thing is a scout for a nest of zombies over on Crack Alley? Have I mentioned how much I hate the undead?
Once the "burn" was done and I'd rinsed my hair in preparation for a haircut, I could button up for the night, though.
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