Fucking miserable hot, the kind of heat I thought I had left behind in the Mudwest ... so much for the cool Northwest. It's been a stifling week, and I haven't the energy to face urgent matters like the rapidly charging Resonance deadline, overdue thank-yous to friends for their matrimonial generosity, not to mention an average week's worth of laundry. I've spent the afternoon sitting in front of a fan reading a fairly pointless biography of Keith Richards (didja know he took dope?). My lethargy has led to the need for a quick shot of coffee and ritalin, which has roused me, but the air is too thick for any real activity.

A new temp gig has surfaced in the purchasing division of a company called Westward Seafoods . The best I can say is that it could be worse. The office is relaxed and friendly, the work is dull but plentiful and time flies. That's a genuine concern to me, however ... each day I spend praying for the clock to burn through the hours so I can return to my freedom, but as a human, my hours on earth are limited and precious and should never be squandered. This has always gnawed at me at every job I've ever endured. I suppose I have no right to demand a living from the world, even if some are lucky enough to have it handed to them. Still, a satisfied mind and relaxed body ought to be human rights, impossible as that is.

Oh yeah, the wedding ... for anyone who wasn't there, we had a fine time, and Mike Rodriguez threw us a classy (but drunken) party afterward that was one of the best I've ever attended. The Steve toasted us with a brilliant, rambling, philosophical speech that referenced Pink Floyd. I reconnected with many old, dear friends in meaningful ways that give me hope as our advancing ages continue to lengthen the spans between meetings. The entire time we spent in the Capital City was stressful and there wasn't much sleep, bouncing as we were between family and crowds of pals that we strove to give equal attention. I was touched by the outpouring of support, however, and proud to declare my love for Lori Tschirhart, a declaration that no one needed to hear to believe. I haven't much interest in visiting Michigan any time soon (finances forbid it no matter how I feel) but I sincerely wish I could convince everyone at Mike's party to move to the Left Coast and dig everything I'm currently digging ... won't happen.

With the new job and all, my discipline will be sorely tested. Hopefully I can persevere against malaise, sleeplessness and eternal frustration. In three months (the purported length of my assignment) I need to have a new plan that will put meat in the larder and allow me to extend this tentative self-respect as I march proudly toward age 40, at which point I've been told that life begins.