I find as I continue on in this journey, taking life's chances, and leaving myself open to change, movement, and upheaval - none of which are naturally appealing to my stick-in-the-mud character - I increasingly feel almost unreal sometimes. The very things that I like so much in my life, both because of their intrinsic adventure and in preparation for death, also create a feeling of being unreal. As I walk down the streets of my new city, with work to be done and new things to enjoy, I have not found my place here. I am uprooted again, but my soul hasn't re-rooted. Surrounded by millions I am alone and unremarkable.

Of course there are roots growing slowly. Last night one of my bosses at the bookstore offered to buy me a glass of wine after we closed up shop because I'd asked him to muse over the ending of My Fair Lady and we didn't get back to it. Today on Ferry crossing the Puget sound, my cast began to talk beyond pleasantries for the first time, and found many comonalities. And I always come home to people who have known me since before I was me.

Today I am enjoying sun that burst through after last night's unexpected snow and hail storm. Unwilling to work while the sun is shining, I am curled up with books in the plural in front of the fire, basking, finishing one and resuming another. The only thing missing is my cat curled up purring on my stomach. Life is too short to miss a sunny nap with a good book left to the side where you fell asleep reading. Though my mind says I should go in today, I will go once the sun leaves.

Seattle causes a shift in my basic parameters of life. Living in mainly sunny parts of the world, my creed has always been to use foul weather as guilt free reading days. In Seattle this would lead to great sloth, and starvation as work would never happen. So today I insitute a change, and take the good days as my own.