Two fat red cats under my care for the three days my cousins are out of town. One of them is missing this evening. I waited for it until the very last moment, with the Millenium Falcom idling, but it never came. Time was passing and the gym was that much more likely to close for the evening. The cat would have to sit out in the dark, should it decide to return.

Cooler this evening. Driving into town over hills and around corners on the two-lane road connecting Seabeck to the suburban universe. MF was humming just swell; I guess that quart of oil it drank today really made it feel better. Warp speed was almost a reality; there would be no stopping on some large asteroid tonight.

At the door of the club, I realized I'd left my wallet back at the house. Damn. Checked the sign to see that the club closed at 10, which left me an hour and a half to workout if I hurried. Back in the MF. There is that point on Anderson Hill Road where the pavement reaches way down to sea level in between two high hills, the descent into which makes my stomach tickle. From the top of the rise, just before rolling over, the view of the Olympics imposes itself on easily distracted drivers, creating a hazard. Tonight, Mt. Constance stood in the way of the sun, causing the upward rays, filtered and softened by haze, to rise heavenward like one big arrow, like a spotlight guiding people into some huge event. The Dosewallips valley across the water, a dark blue V framed by the bent knees of ridges. I was just (a little north of) there last Saturday. Hiked into the center of it and it did heal me just a little.

A little farther down the road, where it flattens a bit and follows the water, there is a bridge connected to a long spit that helps to contain a small body of water. I think the place is called Big Beef Valley - I think. At dusk, boys were still jumping from the bridge. Every time I pass by here on these hot days, I see them there jumping, jumping, and nothing else. Each time I think I should come down there and do it too, just to see what it feels like to stand on the railing, hurl myself over, and splash into the cold salty water. Maybe if I weren't here alone. I imagined, during the rest of the drive back to the house, that I had pulled over, turned off the car. I stepped out and crossed the road to the side where the water is calm - the place from where everyone leaps. Maybe it is deeper? Less rocky? Wearing my shorts and t-shirt, I lifted myself up onto the bottom rail, then straddled it tenuously for a moment trying to swing one leg, then the other, over the top one. There was no time to think, because then I might not do it. I might think of how cold the water would actually be, how much of a hassle it would be to sop into the seat of the MF, dripping and pooling the rest of the way. So I didn't think and just leapt.

At the house now. One red cat nowhere to be seen, the other one sequestered in the laundry room. My wallet rests on the floor next to the air mattress on which I am sleeping these days. Back, past the bridge; back up, down, and the MF labors up again. In Silverdale middle-aged folks are out driving around, picking up dinner, or they're walking dogs. American suburban life. God, what a great place. People actually take the time to walk their big dogs. They go out into the yard and enjoy trying to make it beautiful. If they want food they go to the big Safeway on the corner and buy it big, they buy it bulk. At the door to the club and this time I can walk through. Easy workout tonight. First the lingering tenderness in my knee from the five miles down the valley on Saturday. Then some kind of dangerous-feeling headache came on suddenly while bench pressing. Scared the shit out of me. It hurt like hell and I thought I might have to quit, or ask for help, or both. I rested a bit and it subsided. Still, I was startled enough to take the remainder easy.

Ten p.m. First time I've driven the MF in the night. I remembered immediately how much I enjoy night driving and thought to myself I should make a point of doing it as much as possible while I'm here and have a car. The headlights work. The digital display was extroardinarily bright however. Too bright. I felt myself squinting on the occasions I checked the gauges for signs of low fuel levels and overheating temperature. The speedometer means nothing on these back roads except to let me marvel at how fast that clunker can go when it's barrelling down a steep grade with the pedal floored. My fingernails have grown quite long in the last week so that with my hand curled over the wheel, the green blaring light illuminated the opaque tips extending beyond the end of my finger. They looked florescent green. Of course, I thought it was cool and that it added to the whole Star Wars metaphor I've been working and re-working in my head - occasionally giggling outloud - while driving the MF. The trip was a little more challenging in the darkness: the old machine, the limited sight distance of ancient headlights, unpredictable roads. At the crest of the hill where the valley spreads wide, beckoning for entry, I could still see the silhouette of The Brothers, of Constance, floating on the midnight blue of the canal. This view must never change.

Still no cat.