L'Chaim.

Anne Lamott says to set aside a time for writing every day. What comes out of that time might be shit, and it might be useful. Nevertheless, something comes of training the brain to write even when it's painful. Hopefully, it will turn on without force after practice.

I have experienced the hardest times and the best times. I went to Seattle a couple days ago, and think I must have lost my medication on the way. I realize now how much can be attributed to body chemistry...Since then, it's a bit of a gradual blurry perspective. But I've been very proud of how I've handled it all. I've had some boss run-ins and was forward but respectful. Dude. Long. Day.

Yesterday, I went raspberry picking at Orcas Farms, where farmer George lives and employs a Doe Bay Cafe chef, Megan and her boyfriend Tristan. Some of the Doe Bay garden workers and I volunteered hands, simply cause it's free fallen berries, George needs help, and it's a fucking beautiful garden. George sells his fruits and veggies at the Saturday market, so Friday is always the day to go give him a hand, pet his calico cat, and barter work for a bulb of garlic or two. George showed us his newest experimentation--compost tea--animal turdage, food scraps and bat guano aerated in water with a fish tank fan. During the hour of picking, George harvests with us, imparts life advice and pulls the nettles out of our way.

George is an attractive man who has to be in his late 50s. His head is mostly bald, he has a thick goatee of grey, and weathered tan skin, all shaded by his leather hat. He wears long, cutoff shorts and speaks softly. When he says something important, he never commands attention. George is the kind of guy you ask to repeat himself, because he's interesting and humble. Yesterday, something I took away from him went something like this: say what you want out loud; it will manifest itself because of both cosmic and psychological reasons. Something happens when you say what you want out loud. Angie, a garder worker then stated, "Emily, I need you to move to the left." Emily moved to the left, to which George smiled and said, "See, it works."

I washed out the dreadlock. It just wasn't me.

Right now there is a wedding ceremony on the balcony in front of me. A traditional Jewish wedding ceremony, full of shots of hard liquor, foot stomping, l'chaim, babies, gender segregation, and yarlemukes...an unusual and beautiful thing. I think I'll finish my Session and leave them be.