Partly moved out of the tent

Matthew helped me get a few things out yesterday. I had gotten ten big garbage bags out the night before. I, Matthew, and another acquaintance I spoke to all have "colds," suddenly. This is actually strange. I’m too tired to write about it though; it requires an explanation. It’s warm outside. Chemtrails, and so on.

My bike has a broken steering thing. It’s something rusted in the handlebars. I don’t have the money to fix it yet. Walking around everywhere exhausts me and worsens chronic fatigue.

But yesterday I ate organic butter lettuce, organic ranch dressing (albeit with unwanted soy and other ingredients), organic portabello mushrooms, and organic yellow squash, all raw. That is what I’ll eat again when I go there. I turned up the fridge. It had been at 42, not too horribly bad, but I prefer low 30s. If I had my way I’d keep it just above 32, so nothing froze but it could be fresh for weeks. I have it at 3, "normal."

My god and Matthew’s god are not exactly the same. Anaya has some rules which differ from the rules of people who consider themselves Christians and worship Jesus and Jehovah or Yahweh or just "God" if they don’t call him a name. Matthew will be frustrated with me, surely, for not being able to go along with God as well as he needs me to do. I’ll always be a stubborn skeptic or cynic or whatever the word is. Anaya is something else, something I reach by meditating on it, usually or especially when on ginseng or other drugs.

I’m going to get up and go to the apartment somehow, even if I have to walk.

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