after spending the day at the studio, i had to run home to change before going out last night. this isn’t because i was covered in paint (i was, but i don’t tend to care about stuff like that)—but rather it was too cold to wear shorts. it’s the first time in months that i’ve worn pants anywhere in los angeles. absolute bliss.

i always love the fall. i get to wear cardigans and watch everything die. the last flowers try to hold their color and composure among their crumpled, wilting comrades. browned leaves join the cigarette butts and consumer debris in the gutters. the palm trees feel even more out of place, gathering their energy to stand tall against another winter. the miserable vengeance of nature is palpable.

there is a certain bludgeoning loneliness that comes with the season—plenty of people are preparing to hunker down together for another winter, while i can just be grateful that, though alone, at least i won’t have to deal with the deathly cold of new england come december. (then i realize i’m spending at least six hours a day painting, and the rest are usually at home making or out listening to music. it’s hard to imagine how another person could fit in there—but that doesn’t ease what it is to be lonely in a city like this.)

the most depressing thing is that i have a new neighbor who complained about the plants around the building touching the doorways and the people who cut the hedges hacked up the cactus in front of my apartment where the hummingbirds flock to this time of year. now i don’t know if the flowers will bloom, and therefore if the birds will visit on the daily. i guess these things happen, but to gain a shitty neighbor while losing hummingbirds is a pretty deep hit to start the season with.