The problem with not leaning on the supernatural, is I lose the easier outs for procrastination on more serious contemplation. I am now on the OJ's houseboat (which is simply comfortable and plainly pretty) and I could have been here yesterday, but I kept putting it off. If I was given to the mystical skein, I might have said that the time wasn't "right" yet, that the "energies" weren't in proper convergence, or many other statements about meaningful time or metaphysical destiny. But without the supernatural fristfroppery, I have only myself, and my laziness, to blame. Still, here I am. In the nearly two years since I moved to Seattle, I have forgotten what is it like to have anywhere to myself. Not that I have minded mostly, I am not given to looking wistfully on the decade and a half of endless solitary living, waking up and going to sleep with a hollowness that made each tommorrow slightly less desirable. But I have missed the chances for real solitude. Things have been strained at the house, due to some unfortunate events, and continuing drama, and a closed door to my room does not make for the seperation I've wanted of late. I do know myself well enough to expect I will be hungry to return, to the domestic mania of a household of eccentrics, after a couple days.

I won't be using Avram much since the wireless connection (yes, a houseboat with a wireless server. Seattle. 'Nuff said.) is unstable, mostly as it had just been installed, but luckily, the houseboat's desktop is DSL and OJ said I could use it. It'll make for more interesting writing, knowing that I will be able to instantaneously post it, and those at the house, among others, will be following the narrative as it develops. But for now, I'm off. I need to lay in some more supplies, since I don't want to have to go out anymore once I settle in, and I have yet to really decide if I will fast or whatnot, while I am here. I'm leaning against it, and toward eating light and meatless. The walk to the store might help clear my mind.

"Loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is the richness of self." - May Sarton