Part of my stress management has been going on almost daily hikes around LA. My hometown has a bunch of trails, ranging from Baby Walk to Sudden Death levels of difficulty. I even wrangled Brad into waking up at 7 AM and hiking 5 miles in Thousand Oaks last weekend. Sadly, during the week our hanging out is reduced to FaceTiming and texting, so my hikes have to be solo.

I don't mind, though. I finally knocked enough sense into myself to start bringing my iPod. It's been cloudy and dreary all week, and by listening to only Blonde Redhead while wandering through trails by myself, I've been able to change my mindset into a lost, wandering child who has never had human contact before and is about to discover civilization for the first time ever (at the tender age of 27!). Yesterday I kept my hoodie up and wore leggings as pants. The weird thing about hiking is even when you cross paths with another hiker, they are there and gone in seconds. I was extra paranoid with my iPod being so loud, because I never knew if someone was behind me... and felt even stranger when I'd turn around and see nothingness.

Also, I know I have trust issues because I can’t listen to Ray LaMontagne without the distinct feeling that I’m being lied to or tricked.

That voice is insane. I can’t even cope that it exists. That voice is the knee pit trick Fish puts on Nell. That voice is Sully Sullenberger landing that plane. That voice is when you stop the gas pump at exactly 20 dollars. That voice is when you wake up hungover and your boss calls to cancel work. That voice is is ET phoning home, motherfucker.

I don’t even like his music. I don’t even think I know what his songs really sound like. Today, while taking a break from my wandering vagabond child doppelganger, I was trying to picture Michael Buble singing them, and I think it might be true. I think maybe Ray has some whack ass shit and I just can’t see past his voice.

Well. I'm gonna get my hair done now and then try out a coffee shop in my hometown other than Starbucks.