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I’ve spent the evening doing chores, walking the dog, running. Throughout much of it I was listening to people reading things in ways that make you soften a little, or take a deep breath. There’s something about a perfect reading that just makes my whole brain light up. Something about a quiet, gentle anguish, or the vocal tremor of subdued anger. It does something to me.

This is the kind of work that I can never get off my mind. That, left to my own devices, I think I’d make over and over again until I’d landed on something perfect; some perfect things. It all starts with writing, as almost anything should, but finding the right voice—literally—for what you write is a whole separate, wonderful thing. Finding the right pitch and tone and cadence for it.

Writing something to speak aloud is so much harder than it sounds though. Writing poetry to be performed. Writing something for screen, or stage, or whatever. The only way you can do it is by actually performing the thing in some way, over and over again until you nudge it into the right place, which might mean rewriting it and it might not. You can perform the same thing many ways.

My mind wasn’t very kind to me today, so I’m going easy on myself and will keep this brief. We all have these days, I think, swallowed up by a misplaced sadness or anxiety; by something that we can’t explain but feel so viscerally. It’s a reminder that we’re alive, I think. That we’re capable of feeling and that for better or worse we feel the highs and the lows. I drank more tea, worked from the couch under a blanket, took deep breaths, let myself have a little cry.

Woke up and ran a 5k, which surprised me because I didn’t get much sleep. I went to a party in the forest last night, which was incredible and confused our Uber driver. I got to sleep around 4am, but I woke up at 9am and couldn’t fall back asleep—a run seemed like the next best option. I went to the party with two great friends who I love so much. Feeling grateful today, and also very tired.

I used to think that I didn’t like dancing, but it turns out I just didn’t like clubs. I mean, my pathetic shuffle is barely dancing, but you know what I mean. Going to clubs in the UK usually meant lots of super drunk people, and lots of blokes being a bit creepy. Californian forest parties are pretty much the exact opposite. If only I’d known that I was supposed to party in the forest.

An easy day today, mostly chores while I listen to an audiobook and hopefully a little time to work on side projects. Reading, writing, building, whatever. I’m listening back to the audio I recorded whilst hiking with Cacio yesterday and surprised at how lovely it is to go a walk with past-me. The things I didn’t really hear yesterday I get to hear now, and it feels a bit like modest time travel.