It is 6:00 in the morning. I am alone. Monkey has gone off to work with my father again. And Dragon is still sleeping. So I guess I’m really not alone. The house is very quiet. I don’t think that I’ll ever get used to a quiet house. The silence makes me think of emptiness, even when it’s not. I’ve been playing with this dictation program, maybe I am making progress, but the going is slow. If I can get it to work right it will make writing easier. Or at least that’s my current theory. I suppose I will find out soon enough. It seems to be going pretty well for this current journal entry. Definitely something that I’ll always have to edit at the end; but not so bad of an idea.I’m still trying to figure out how to get it to do some of the formatting things. But I think the program is teaching me already. They say the training courses are to teach the computer your voice, but I think it’s supposed to be teaching me how to talk so the computer can understand me. I cannot talk how I normally do. And it’s strange to say the punctuation.
I have to work tonight. I picked the night up; it will give me over time. Over time is always good money. I think that I could use it, since I called out Friday. I wonder how tonight will go. I did not know where I will be working who I’ll be with. I suppose it doesn’t really matter . Either way I have to work.
Dragon only has today and tomorrow then she’s done with school. It will be strange to have are home all day again. I got used to having the day for sleeping. That’s OK, we will adjust again… like we always do.
The room is warm and I sit sweating uncomfortably in my pajamas. The air conditioner hums quietly but doesn’t seem to be working. It is still early morning, but the heat is already intense. The weatherman drones on about how it will be in the eighties today. I don’t really listen to him. I watch him gesture at a meaningless map for a few moments and then turn off the television and stare at its blank black screen. At least the television is now honest. I don’t want to think about how hot it is going to be. It is hot enough now. I don’t want to think at all, but I don’t know how to make my mind go empty and still. I wonder if that is what death is… mental silence. A take a sip of my hazel nut coffee, and hold it in my mouth. The cup has sat long enough that the coffee is now cold. That’s all right; it is refreshing in this warmth. I stand up, carrying the coffee with me, then walk into the kitchen. I stand in front of the sink and stare out the small window. The view is boring. I can watch my neighbor mowing his lawn. I pour the coffee out into the sink and watch it spiral down the drain. Nothing seems real. Not even the coffee, but it tasted good.
Not sure what I am writing. The strange thoughts. Things that come into my mind; swirling around into a jumble. Writing it down as like spitting it out. Does not make it useful. Doesn’t matter. Getting it out is enough.