Path.

[icebluenothing]

I'm writing this at Last Word Books -- Cheryl and Bill have gone to dinner with some of Cheryl's friends and they didn't think I'd want to come, so I headed out and took care of my own dinner tonight. Had a rather excellent Pad Thai at a restaurant with the unassuming name of Chopsticks Noodlehouse. Also had a very excellent meal out last night; they took me to a place called Ramblin' Jack's for some very tasty barbecue. A friend had recommended that I avoid the food in Olympia, but I've been very happy eating here.

I'm arguably eating too well; I seem to be gaining back the weight I'd lost. Can't say I'm happy about that. Apparently all the yardwork I've been doing hasn't been quite as good for me as all the walking I was doing in Seattle.

So anyway, yeah, I'm at Last Word Books, and I've found somewhere to sit and an unattended outlet to plug into. I tried doing this on Tuesday, but it turns out they're closed on Tuesdays. I like writing in public -- I like being out where there's people and activity.

Parents came down again; they've been looking at houses in the area, and dropped by after checking some out. My mom's been trying to talk me into moving down to Olympia, too. ("You should move to Olympia!" "No. All my friends are in Seattle." "You could convince all your friends to move to Olympia, too!" "Mom, you're on crack.") It's vaguely understandable; they want to move closer to family, and are concerned about moving farther away from me, but still, I'm not budging. I'm enjoying my visit, but I wouldn't want to live here, fantasies about opening the little hipster record store this town seems to be lacking aside.

Cheryl stood up for me, at one point, cutting my mother off when she started to get on my case about my weight again. I felt so completely rescued; I felt like she was a superhero. I wonder, sometimes, how my life would have been different if Cheryl had been there to stand up for me while I was growing up.

Yardwork continues. Am still working on moving all the damn dirt we dug out to make the path, an almost Sisyphean task. I've also started papering over and taping up all the windows, lights, vents, and other small features of the house to prepare it for painting. It's a hell of a lot more work than I'd even imagined and my arms were really sore from the strain of it.

A late cup of coffee Tuesday fueled another thousand or so words on my story, but left me wired and edgy until 3:00 AM. Ended up doing some backend work on seagoth.org, even though I'd promised myself I wasn't going to work on any website stuff while I'm down here, but I was awake enough to hack Perl and not awake enough to do anything else.

Just bought myself a mocha. Felt a little weird about being here if I wasn't a "customer," even though no one here had given me any shit about it. Oh, good, now they're playing music. Some sort of strange funky jazzy techno-y stuff. Excellent. Hmm. This is not the best mocha I've ever had. Oh, well, I've had worse, even in fabulous far-flung Seattle.

I'm missing scalpel's birthday party tonight, and I wish I could be there.

We're going down to Portland to go to Powell's tomorrow. Which I happen to think is pretty goddamn cool.

---

Back, now, at Chez Cheryl. They're not home yet, which surprises me a little bit.

Since I wrote the above, I sat and wrote 1,200 words on my story while I was at the bookstore. Looking really good; only one major scene left to write, and I think I'm gonna go work on it some more tonight. Maybe I'll finish it.

Saw two simple but good pieces of graffiti in the bookstore bathroom: "You never have to grow up" and "Don't blink -- you might miss something."

Remembered one other thing I wanted two write about:

After dinner last night, I had them leave me downtown so I could walk home, get a little exercise. On my way here, I passed something I hadn't noticed before, lakeside -- a small mound of earth with a clockwise spiral path. Decided I wanted to go up it. I could have easily gone straight up the side, but the path was there for a reason, I figured.

Weird tingly feeling up at the top; same feeling I get at the top of the Kite Hill in Gasworks Park, and for the same reason. I could see the faint traces of pentagrams scratched in the dirt. Some serious work's been done there. It was really so similar in feel to Kite Hill I was startled not to find an analemmatic sundial at the top. I took a minute to breathe in the lake, whose water has been restored, and the light from the huge Jack-O'-Lantern moon just on the horizon.

I walked back down around the path. Again, I could have just walked straight down, but that wouldn't have been the point; just like I could just get on to the freeway and head home tonight, but that wouldn't be the point, either.

The point is to walk the path.