Got up real early and dad drove me down to the airport. Always sucks to go.

The flight to MInne was mellow. Sat next to a firey cougar mom who ha da million things to tell me. How she grew up in Charlevoix, what Sarasota is like and the ins/outs of running a beauty saloon. Her 9-year-old kid was a skater, so, we had a smidge in common talking about skateparks of the modern age, and well, the lack of, when I was coming up. Those lucky little skaterats, nowadays.

The flight to Portland was smooth, much to my liking.

All this “fear of flying” shit is starting to wear me down. All that “odds calculating” going off in my early morning thinker…just freaks me way out. Any bump or dive and man, I have this weird sensation of complete, momentary paralysis. This is new for me. Fuck.

Got into the city, and back to the house. Thanks for picking me, Zimmerman.

Spent the day sleeping, tidying up, catching up on bills and hanging with those Kass’.

So I’m back in Portland, and well, so much for this “60 DAYS” stuff. I thought I could pull it, but, duty calls I had to be back here to mag Issue three of SNOWBOARD magazine. All the dudes are coming down in a couple days, so I gotta be 100% and ready to tear out a throat or two to get some pages done.

It’s fall here, and the raindrops and wet streets are oddly comforting.