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Awoke to a cold morning. Feels like Fall weather. Didn't want to get up and take dog for his morning's trek. Did so anyway and then came back and slept for another two hours. Now, that felt good.

So am meandering into the day. Got an email from my writing buddy. He leaves Friday evening to head north to Oregon. He's got a place staked out. He must feel good about having it all scoped out and making his move to the new surroundings.

Meanwhile, I'm still treading water and swimming sideways. Dreams last night didn't provide any conscious help. Maybe there were subliminal messages transmitted. Seems like the dreams dealt with some kind of technology issues--no doubt from me looking at computer notebook specs.

Got one of my blogs fixed by tech support--the other is still hosed and not acting correctly. I may just dump that one anyway. It's intended for work-related blogging which I'm not sure is going to happen.

Going to see therapist in a few hours. It's been two months since I last talked with her. A lot has happened and nothing has happened. I'm still in my soup and slowly cooking. My self-imposed exile at L's is coming to an end. I can then reset and start my migration plans. Or restart one of my many plans, again, forever, in good time.

I feel restless today. Restless and shaky. Have to eat more food than I think I need. If I go too long between meals, I start getting fuzzy and physically feel like I'm under stress. I've accidentally lost a lot of weight over the past 8 months. When I stopped my morning pastry and coffee, dropped the late night sweets, and generally started eating more selectively (even though I was mostly eating out), I thinned down. Here at L's I've eaten more, but it's been pretty healthy stuff and still not huge portions. So am trim, but a bit nervous, which food seems to mollify.

Writing like this also calms me down. Feels like I am talking to myself, telling myself things that help me sort through the morass I experience when I just sit and think. Somehow, the act of writing, even writing such blather like this, has a calming effect. It soothes the ravaged sleeve of time (or some such quote).

As does sleep--it too quiets the spirits, calms the senses. So I should just eat, sleep and write. Sounds simple enough--ESW. I think that's what I've really been doing with a bit of dancing, yoga, walking, and reading thrown in for seasoning. And some human interaction, connection, contact. What else is there?

Dance class tonight. Looking forward to it since I didn't dance my way through the weekend. Nearly settled on my choice of laptop. Still need to talk with tech people about trackpad and how sluggish is seems to be. Can always add a mouse to the mix.

Lighter and brighter, the stars always shine -- reality expands to match the available fantasies (from my writer friend who journeys North).