Last night around 11 I got a text and a phone call from my former directors. A friend and fellow cast mate died. He was 39 years old. What the fuck? The details as I know them this morning are: he passed out at work the other day due to heat exhaustion but chose not to go to the doctor. A couple of days later no one had heard from him and went to check on him. They found him dead in his apartment. Fuck. Fuck Fuck. 39. I was going through pictures right now trying to find an appropriate one to post and didn't realize I was crying looking through them all. Not just for the loss of my friend but for the loss of that family and camaraderie I had. A part of me is gone this morning in many ways.
I got nothing accomplished yesterday. Not true, but it felt like. I did put that AC unit in the bedroom instead of the office and that turned out to be a mistake. It needs to go in here. It's too small to work in there. That's my morning today. Moving and remounting it. Fun.
I made soup and sandwich for dinner. Nothing fancy. Played video games. Watched a little TV.
Man, I can't. Just not now. Have laundry to do today and house cleaning. Whatever.
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