I am feeling marginally less self-pitying now. The persistent nausea has lifted, in general, and my spirits are up. I have not one but two offers on my house in LA and it looks like my lovely Mustang, the one in the photo, is finally ready to be sold on eBay on Saturday. As you can see, it's a time for big changes around here.

My friends can't believe that I'm selling the car. "My other son," I liked to call it. But it's just been garaged for a year in LA and my friend who was supposed to start it up (that's right Yule, I'm talking about you) neglected it horribly and the transmission went and it was just generally deteriorating rapidly. I want to find it a good new home with someone who will baby it as much as I did.

Also, is it just me, or has the academic year just begun and am I the only one already behind? It's almost eleven at night and I haven't written (or re-written) a lick. Getting the kids settled into school, getting myself settled into my new classes at Columbia is draining. While in LA I was a yoga and surf rat, back here I haven't done anything. I haven't even eaten, most days, because I'm running around and it gets too late. I need to fix that. A wife would be pretty damn great round about now. Sex once in a while wouldn't suck either.

I did do one thing cool and productive, though. I recorded another NPR commentary. I'm hoping it runs this week.

And the image that made my day worth it today was snaggletoothed Chet, naked because he was waiting for Ava to finish her shower, riding his skateboard on his knees back and forth down our long hallway.