I just posted all the entries from VA—apologies to subscribers for the flurry of e-mails that must have accompanied this.

Also, I went through all the comments since the beginning of the month, so if you left a comment, feel free to check back to see if I responded. I was only able to briefly glance at them while in Oregon, and had no opportunity to look at them while in Virginia.

Which brings me to another point. It has come to my attention that in some circles, comment sections are taking the place of private e-mails. No, no, no, a thousand times, no. The comment area is to allow people to comment on the content of an individual entry—possibly to spark a dialogue about something in the entry. If you have something unrelated to talk to me about, send me an e-mail. Don’t bore others with it. :-)

And if you’re having these conversations in your own journal comments, please keep in mind that I probably won’t read them—I only read comments if there’s something in the entry that I wanted to comment on. :-)

<><><>

So there I was in Trader Joe’s this evening, when it hit me. It all added up. The lack of interest in designing the newsletter. (Anything creative, really.) The craving for protein. (Had I gone out to dinner, I wanted either steak or sushi.) The stress I started to feel when trying to discuss the next few months’ travel plans with Ken. The decision that if the lesbian couple in line in front of me left to get one more forgotten item, halting their ability to check out _again_, I was going to smash that bottle of trendy vodka in their cart (one of the previously forgotten items) over one of their heads.

Yup. PME.

Then I went outside and saw the almost-full moon. Ouch. Double whammy.

So I came home, ate sushi, and watched two episodes of “Jonathan Creek”. Now I’m waffling between another episode and a glass of wine, or just bed.

<><><>

Oh, bugger.

I was still on the fence with that last decision when Cat came home. Having not seen my good friend and housemate in three weeks, we had to do some catching-up babbling. By the time we were done (because she had band CDs to prep for shipping), I was awake.

Now I’m (a) awake-ish, (b) slightly tipsy, and (c) toying with the idea of staying up really late. I have no idea why (c) is appealing to me, except that I’m far more of a night person than a day person, and I’m tipsy, and watching TV for hours is strikingly appealing right now.

<><><>

As I walked out to the 7-11 today (for half-and-half for my tea, because I couldn’t live without it any longer), I noticed that our plum tree was already dropping mushy plums all over the place. I also noticed that the plums remaining on the tree seemed to be mushy, which is a waste. Third summer here, and I can’t say I’ve eaten one plum from the tree.

Then I glanced over at the peach tree, which last year had maybe three real peaches. And was startled to discover that it was exploding with peaches. I can’t tell if they’re ripe enough to pick—they all seem rather hard—but I’d hate to see them go to waste too.

Really, what I want to do is rip out those trees and the Mystery Fruit Tree (which hasn’t borne fruit yet, so we don’t know what it is) and put in a lemon tree, a lime tree, and an avocado tree. Now, _those_ I’d use.

<><><>

Bed. Bed bed bed. Unconsciousness good.