The flank steak is marinating, the laundry is rolling, and the linen closet is on a self-reflective journey that will lead to ultimate organization. I'm meeting a stranger at Starbucks later, because city life just wouldn't be city life without a bit of danger. After the emotional turning point yesterday, I can't think of anything worthwhile enough to write today. Adrian is still dead and I'm still heartbroken because of it. The only notable story I have would be the aftermath of smoking a giant bowl while sobbing over a Michael Jackson documentary-- so here it goes. After my last inhale, it became incredibly clear to me that there were at least three fire alarms going off in the building, though I couldn't exactly locate any of them. I knew the fire trucks would be coming, and I wanted to be prepared, as well as air out the place, so I opened the two doors to the front balcony, as well as the back door to the back. The kitchen table was cleaned using lemon scented wipes, and all the hardwood with pledge. The smell must still be there, I thought, so I'll cook bacon. I proceeded to burn the bacon (the fire alarms were completely forgotten at this point, though I was still pacing and looking out over the front balcony repeatedly). Eyedrops were put in, with difficulty, and perfume sprayed. The second I put the bacon pan into the sink and turned the water on, all hope was lost! So much smoke! The fire alarm is going to go off again. On went the overhead stove fan, and I was wafting the "smoke" towards the doors with a notebook. I don't think it ever cleared. Sobbing again, I put out the candle for fear it would burn down the building. Then I remembered I had to cook dinner, so I put a frozen chicken breast into the microwave, debated pressing "defrost" or "reheat", pushed "reheat"... and then when I finally remembered that I'm a professional home cook and I really needed to just defrost it, it was already half cooked. I quickly sauteed the rest, turned off the burner, and took a nap. Still sobbing, probably.