Hail and Sunshine in San Francisco

I have officially turned in my thesis and completed my first novel.

Now to the real stuff: making a living. Or trying to and failing.

We are adequately housed: five of us have made our home in a five-bedroom, 1907 Edwardian-style place in the Richmond of San Francisco. We still hear sirens but they are miles away. And we have a garage and a stove and oven. We're moving up in the world. 

Living in community has its ups and downs; for instance, I'm never home alone (that's an up) but sometimes my shower is cold by 8am (a definite down). Our landlord lives in an in-law below the house (could go both ways, but he keeps to himself) and it takes me five minutes to walk to: work, the beach, my favorite cafe. In sum, I think we're doing fairly well.

Our room is always freezing cause we're cheap and don't want to run the heater. I am reminded of Hume, a little, when this whole blog world started. I wish I could write like I did but the poetry has long since forgotten me. Or I it. I write Young Adult now. It's okay, I guess.

I wish I could remember how to turn a phrase. 

In the last week I have gone running twice because my doctor said that if I continue at my current blood pressure, a stroke is on the way. Brilliant. How old am I?