I left the house, at practice Banksy could not hit a rdw contact to save her soul. We did the weavies, tried again, she still couldn’t hit. Whatever.

She didn’t want to leave and ran over to an illegal xpen with a soft bed in it. Illegal because her plan is to throw a hissy fit and start shaking the bed. She still does that sometimes. I yelled at her and she jumped out, but  she caught her leg like an arctic fox in a trap in the gate, started screaming and thrashing and almost took her leg off before I could get over there. She somehow slipped it out, I thought it was broke. We sat there for a long time.

Fifty dead in the massacre.

We walked up to Eagle Rock, which is at the very top. Climbed through the fence, didn’t hike down the mountain. Too tired. Leg maybe not right, although it looked fine.

Some disasters you can avert, some you can’t.

We sat on the rock for a long time, looking out to the sea. You can see everywhere and everyone from up there. Then drove back down the mountain. Even more dead, and then Tom Petty cardiac arrest brain dead off life support.

Tom Petty. Some things don’t die. But they do.

You belong among the wildflowers. You belong somewhere close to me. Far away from your trouble and worry. You belong somewhere you feel free. RIP, all the souls of October.