Well – the doldrums of the everyday – alternately know as Monday after a night when you didn’t sleep very well. I wanted Angela to stay over last night, but she had left something on at home and so is planning on spending tonight over here. She’s going to meet me at bowling around nine. I did yoga before work to balance my head. Everything I ordered at work last week came today so it was inventory time – several thousand dollars in Cds and books. I got one called The Anatomy of Hope after hearing an NPR interview with the author – think it might apply to Linda’s situation, but will read it first before I send it on – attempts to document the measurable medical benefits of hope. I wrote and got an ad off to The Healthy Planet (there are some fundamental ironies between how I make my living and how I relax) – made certificates for the people who took the reflexology workshop over the weekend, gave a woman a tour of the center and she enrolled – well done there. I emailed Erin, but no response – I’ll post the email later, it’s on my work computer. Third attempt to write her yielded the least bitchy version – what’s the line from the Spanish film about the road trip – El Mama Tubian somthing – If you take up with children expect to change diapers – something like that. Anyway – no more young roommates, plenty of displaced older people to shack up with. Erin might not have email access, I know they locked her out of it at work, there’s a sign of confidence. I think one of the reasons why I like a house full of people is that I’m the youngest child of a large family – our house was always a zoo of friends and relatives. Now, with it just being me in this huge place – well me the dog and the seventeen fish, it’s sad. And yet the house is exhaling all the tension that had built up, mostly unbeknownst to me, though I did have that dream so some part of me knew – the reptile brain was all over it. Sadly I guess Erin just didn’t fit here – Cinderella unwilling to hack off bits of foot to accommodate the space (the Chinese version with foot binding eros or the German version characteristically bloody) her identity overflowing her bedroom... name droper name droper drop me a name (Sarte - consciousness necissarily overflows our attempts to contain in in social or identity structures). I overflow my work cloths - Out of my dress pants and into my jeans. Drinking a pint of Guiness and rereading old blogs – oh rarebit – as in a rare bit of beer – not rabbit. We slide into a Monday, that last week ended in dancing with strangers at the CBGB – tonight who knows? I imagine it will overflow the cup of projected habit into which I am attempting to pour it.