Living dead

That’s what my grandma called her husband today, calmly after looking at him. She’s right. I kind of hope that he’ll pass away peacefully this year because it is just unsustainable. I’m sorry.

The dissonance with this crazy ass L.A. story with a black ex-cop killing white people because of their presumed roles in physical abuse and racism in the LAPD -who knew? Oh wait- which in return shot two Asian ladies in a van thinking it was the said ex-cop. Police brutality, race issues, L.A. me playing dozens of songs from Los Angeles based black bands and bam 40 mn an hour of train later my white family, an old man to maneuver around in his wheel chair, my dad and his broken leg, my mom freaking out over stupid little dramas. Me, helping as much as I can. I even tried to fix my mom’s unsupported, old accountant software by hijacking its Access database. It didn’t work. Too old. Terrible software design. Nonchalance: casual lack of concern. I hate when you slap me with that, France.

It’s brutal. I have two house music tracks ready to ship and I can’t even do it, I’m so not in the mood. My brain is filled in. If only there was only that. It’s too much but I can’t look away.

I think I am kind of a zombie too today. Oh shit I forgot, my cooking tops died. Things suck sometimes.