Woke up. Noticed that my bed was becoming more slanted than usual as a result of lying close to the right edge for years. Crawled over to the higher left side and lay on it until I thought it did some good. Got up. Noticed that my fan was still pointed at the right side of my bed. Pointed it at the left side. Then, since I wasn’t lying there anymore, turned it off. Defecated. Felt anxious and depressed and just sat on my couch staring at the far wall for twenty-five minutes. Got a bowl of peanut butter-flavored granola mixed with Rice Chex and cinnamon Life. It was a metal bowl that I clean with an S.O.S. pad and I worried that I didn’t rinse it before I put the cereal in and might therefore ingest the little metal wires. Dumped the whole thing in the toilet, flushed it and washed out the bowl, making sure to rinse it afterwards. There wasn’t enough cereal left now so I decided to go out to eat. First, I did my monthly activity of emailing samples of my artwork to the art directors of 15 magazines and newspapers, and the curators of 10 galleries, even though nothing ever happens. Went to a nearby restaurant for breakfast. When I sat down at the table, a woman starting talking in a loud, shrill, high-pitched half-shout on her smartphone in the small space between my back and the internet juke box. Decided to play the juke box so she wouldn’t be able to hear the person on the phone and would therefore move away. When I moved my hand to insert the dollar bill, she thought I has reaching for her crotch and moved away anyway. Played “Riders on the Storm” by the Doors. After the storm sound effects and instruments, when Jim Morrison’s voice came on, one of the twentysomething guys behind the counter turned the volume nearly all the way down using a remote device. The woman eventually wandered back. Another seat opened up, so I moved. Ordered a ham and onion omelet with home fries and toast. There were only four pieces of ham in the omelet. Nothing interesting happened as I ate it. Went home. I open the lobby door for a woman who was struggling with a large box. She didn’t say thank you. As she was walking away, I sarcastically shouted “You’re welcome!”. Her head jolted back as if someone was attacking her and then she stared blankly at me me and then gave me a faint wince/smile and walked away. Went back to my apartment and finished my portrait of actress Betty White, which I’m drawing just because I don’t know what else to do. Called Staple’s to ask them if I could get it scanned if I came in in 20 minutes. After listening to “Allentown” by Billy Joel and the beginning of some new song I don’t know, someone came on. I asked the my question and then realized I was talking to no one and when a song came on I realized the silence had been the space between two songs. I listen to the first few seconds of another new song I don’t know and then someone else came on. I asked my question again. They said there’s a 3-hour wait, but I could leave the flashdrive off and come back. I said since it always needs adjustments I’m going to have to leave it off and come back every time they make a slight correction. They said that’s all they can do now. I hung up and suddenly felt depressed and put in a DVD of “Arrested Development”. Noticed that I’ve seen every episode, so I played the extras. Noticed that I’ve seen the extras. Was too depressed and unmotivated to get up so I watched them anyway. Urinated. Went for a walk, putting up my art flyers on the very few legal places I can put them. Ran out of tape and started using bits of loose tape hanging off other people’s flyers. The wind kept pulling up the edges so I gave up. Wandered around a thrift store. It smelled like baby drool. Bought a pillow case. Went to a restaurant and got dinner. Spaghetti with veal cutlet. The spaghetti was overcooked and dried out out. They wouldn’t give me tap water so I bought a $2.25 bottle of bottled water just so I could pour about a tablespoon in the spaghetti. Something happened that I can’t talk about. Something else happened that I can’t talk about. Watch the sports commentary that was on the big-screen TV. Steven A. Smith’s voice sounded like a street being torn up. Couldn’t stand it so I went home. Urinated. Noticed that my pillow case had a rough lace edge on it. Cut it off. Put my artwork in the inboxes of dozens of Facebook community pages, went on a boring messageboard that almost no one types on, wasted time watching parts of old TV shows on YouTube, lay in bed for a while, got up again, sat on my couch and did nothing for forty minutes, ate a stale maple scone, typed this blog.