I have four more days at the place I’ve been calling home in Los Angeles for the last three months. My cousin had my sister and I house sit for the summer, what a gift. It had been the most relaxing and creatively productive span of time I have ever known. I also have had the wonderful blessing of spending weeks on end hanging out with my mother. Everyday I wake up early, early for me anyway, and make coffee. I sit outside and drink my coffee read my books. I’ve been pushing through on about a book a week since arriving here and have mostly been hanging out in the same literary circles I always am- Joan Didion, Paul Harding, Leslie Jamison and the like. Once I am truly awake I write. I start a new story everyday, except for the few times I’ve felt inclined to pick up something I worked on the day before. I have finished the final draft of Love is not a Town, two new stories for workshop in the fall, and even a few new songs much to my surprise. When the time is right I move to the pool where I lay at the edge and dangle my feet in and read more and float in circles on a three dollar raft from the grocery store. Then I make lunch. I like salads and veggie sandwiches and drink more mineral water than is probably healthy for any one person to consume. In the late afternoons I answer emails, I look for new houses online in Boise, I call old friends, I swim laps, I chat with my mother or watch an early movie. I sneak upstairs and Skype my boyfriend I write myself letters in old unmarked journals, I climb the trees outside and pick avocados and lemons, I put lotion on my sunburns and paint my nails white. In the evenings I make dinner and we have drinks and we watch movies and fall asleep early to do it all over again tomorrow. Best summer ever.