Big load Monday

 I didn't practice last night, because in the end I was too tired.  Not only had I gone downtown for all those errands, but I came back and packed 20 things last night and another 4 after getting up and having coffee etc. It was a pretty big load of stuff. 

The post office and FedEx went fine, and on the way back  I stopped by Tom's to raid the countertop place next door's dumpster for packing stuff and to hang out with Tom a bit. I knocked on his door and he showed up, "I just came by to say Hi", I said, "Hi!" and he said he's on the phone and I said I didn't want to disrupt things too much, he's a pretty shy and reclusive person, and I'd get going and left. 

Most of the time lately I'm leaving things for him like fruit etc. and not seeing him, then getting a 1-2 word email saying he got what I'd left, only if I sent him one saying I'd left this or that. I'm beginning to wonder if there's a message here .... Like, I might not be as much fun to hang out with since I've finally stopped drinking for good so there's no more getting plastered and giggly over music clips and videos, and I'm not a bum who's constantly bringing piles of metal and junk and turning Tom's front area into a version of Sanford & Son. 

There's not even that much for us to talk about. Our mutual friend in the Santa Cruz mountains is no longer in the Santa Cruz mountains, having managed to piss off every government agency that could possibly be remotely interested in him, and having skipped out not only on his literal day in court but in pursuit, apparently, of a gal he's made a child with out in Florida or someplace like that. 

The other mutual friend, the survivalist-compound guy in Gilroy, is busily digging his own grave and there's really no longer any need for either Tom or myself to deal with him and thus, to gossip about him. 

I can't get Tom interested in busking, so what were going to be Monday evening practice sessions have not happened at all. 

And as far as bringing fruit etc by, I've told Tom where I get it from, and he ought to be getting his own damn fruit. He's a grown man and has a truck, really 2-3 vehicles counting those of his hangers-on. 

So to conclude, I think I'm going to stop bothering. I'd be better off trying to instigate some sort of regular shakuhachi activity.