I think maybe I should catch up on what's happening in the physical world.

I moved again, from Bluejack's wide open, centrally located spectacular view to a couch in a crowded cool basement shared by two men in the Wedgewood residential area. The move took more effort than I thought. I was reluctant, not wanting to change again. I was becoming very comfortable and it takes a lot of effort to abandon that feeling.

What a change too. This basement is shared by Clark, whom I know through Tom, and a guy named Kook - I'm not kidding, that's his real name - who is a river rafting guide, an avid snowboarder, and a culinary student. From the quiet solitude of an empty apartment and the soft conversation of the man who lives there, to a crowded basement with a fully-stocked kitchen, a cable modem, a Sony Playstation and Dave Mathews Band wailing through the wall.

Clark is a big guy, just a big nice guy. He's got this childish giggle that does not suit his frame, but is perfect to his personality. He is very much like Tom, but more intense - less contemplative and more interconnected with things mathematical, scientific, technological. That first night, when I had to return to Capitol Hill for my bike and to take care of other loose ends, he set up my computer for me. When I returned, I found myself connected to a cable modem. Our computers are side by side in his bedroom on an oak dining room table, the kind which I imagine was once sold at Ernst or Eagle Hardware. Last night while he was allowing a macro to guide his virtual MUD character through the practice of writing scrolls, I was taking advantage of the speedy transfer rate to download lots of files, mostly Windows Desktop themes. I ended up keeping only two: Radiohead OK Computer, and 12 Monkeys.

Clark cooked quesadillas last night. Turning round and round in the small kitchen chopping vegetables, putting tortillas on the griddle. Roma tomatoes, fresh basil between layers of shredded mozzarella and sandwiched between two tortillas. Sour cream mixed with hot sauce available for slathering over top. It was delicious and I was so surprised at Clark's cooking prowess. Later he showed me a game he likes on the Playstation. I can't remember the name of it, but there was a lot of blood and the capability to step on zombie's heads, cracking them open. Clark was bored with killing zombies and decided to try shooting his partner, which did not work, and then pondered: I wonder if you can commit suicide? The graphics were incredible.

After that, we watched South Park. Aside from the first episode on the internet, this is the first one I've seen. I know nothing and Clark knows everything; He told me all about the show.

Earlier in the day I'd gone to workout. I was tired from all that moving, worn out from living, I guess. I took it easy, moving slowly through the sequence of lifting exercises and not even staying on longer to do extra cardio work. Even so, I moved along like Pig Pen in a melody of odors vaporizing from my skin. Can other people tell?

I came back to the basement, having it all to myself. The living room furniture shares its space with a full-size washer and dryer. I used those. Halfway through the wash cycle Kook came home, introducing himself to me. He said immediately that the washer drains into the kitchen sink and that the drainage system from there was not enough to handle the flow so that it will spill over onto the floor and that not only is it necessary to watch it, but that I must turn off the washer temporarily to let the water level subside. A high maintenance washer, I see.

Then I left. I'm not quite comfortable enough here to stay alone and do work. I fled, is what I should say. I went to the nearby Barnes&Noble where I sat in the café, which is not a café I would choose to sit in, and wrote in my journal about the sadness I feel at this change in location. You know how those little plants you buy at the nursery sometimes cling with their tiny roots to the small plastic, temporary container? You try to pull them free but they resist. I am like that, living temporarily but unable to prevent myself from establishing even tenuous ties that are painful to sever.