12:45 p.m. — Done shoveling. I finish reading the emails from before. My dad’s email is a scanned PDF of a collections notice from a medical bill that I’m fighting with my old insurance company to pay for. (I don’t know why they keep sending it to my parents' address.) The other email is a note from my mother letting me know that she sent me $150 from my ex-wife’s and my dining room set that I had sold off Craigslist. I was storing it in my parents' basement because it wouldn’t fit in my apartment. I finished reading the rest of the email from the studio owner. He wants me to be an assistant engineer in more sessions and even get some of my own clients. HOLY. SHIT. This is essentially the beginnings of a job offer and something I’ve been working toward for the past nine months. I respond and suggest we set up a time next week to talk through everything. I eat the rest of my leftover pesto pasta for lunch.