It's raining and starting to feel as if the weather is beginning its tumble toward Fall.

Couldn't sleep last night.

Today I've been thinking about the reading next week,tinkering with a transitional moment in Appearances, and taking care of domestic stuff.  I cleaned up the kitchen, went to the bank, stopped at a rummage sale, shopped for groceries, sorted laundry.

Had a very good hour on the exercise bike this morning.

Called Mom and wished her a happy birthday.

Listening to Wilco now.

The mail just arrived.  Some of the envelopes are soggy.  Oh, and there's a fresh copy of the London Review of Books!  Unfortunately the CD I was hoping for hasn't arrived yet.  Maybe tomorrow.

When I talked to Mom she asked if I missed working.  I told her that I missed people that I worked with but not doing public health work.  She asked if  I felt lonely.  I said I did feel somewhat isolated but that I lunch with people I know from time to time and run into folks all the time when I'm out walking about town.  Mom said maybe I should get a hobby.  And I said, well, I have a vocation: poetry.  There was a silence.

Then I said, but I am seriously thinking about picking up a guitar and trying to teach myself to play it.  Mom said "Won't that be a solitary activity too?"

I said "Yeah, but I can pretend I'm listening to someone else play."

She said "Yeah, I guess you could."