House to myself this weekend. Woman of it gone skiing in the Okanogon. I've always wanted to go there, to the pine forests and giant reservoirs made by men of the depression era. I'll go there this summer maybe. Drive off in my new car, disappearing into it. Okanogon: Bonkin Noggin.

Got the bike out of the back of the garage. It's dirty and rusty from winter wet, fall and summer neglect. There is still the skeleton of foam where it splashed onto the brake handle, from a cup of hot chocolate I was holding while riding. The thing needs a tune-up and good cleaning.

This morning, when my head was still deep in pillow, I held my hand high above me with fingers spread wide. Spring penetrated the blinds and illuminated the pointers in its unmistakable hue. Time to get up. Get out. To the gym. Stepping up onto the machine presenting myself to the bay. A ferry shone perfect white in the sun and stark against the subtler tones of forested hills and blue, blue, blue. Just for a second I saw it like that and it was a great whale or some other magnificent creature swimming freely out there. All I need to get me moving in the machine of my day. It is the promise of future days on the bike, on boats, in cars, on foot, always in dazzling bright sun. The promise never mentions the existence of a job and the need to make money.

Tired now. Working out was exhilarating and wearing. The third time this week back at levels achieved only before Christmas, when I hadn't yet gone to Korea and before I became sick. It seems that the longer I exercise the more energy I have throughout the day. But by early evening I felt the fatigue from the week and the workouts. I promised myself an early tucking in but there's something irresistible about having the house to myself on a Friday night. I turned on the TV for reruns with dinner and dessert. Later I completed little tasks that take only a small part of the brain's attention. Evening was over in no time.

I hung in the room where I'm living the same red paper I had hanging for curtains at Julie's apartment. Red is so outgoing. I love the way it reaches out to me, donating energy. Each sheet is a slice of sun.