Finally after giving us some of the sweetest, clearest, mildest fall days I can recall in some time, the weather has started turning cooler. For those of you already getting snow, I don't envy you. Tonight was our coolest night yet at 48 degrees Fahrenheit and the days are correspondingly cool as well. I think our first freeze is not too far away, about a week I'd guesstimate certainly not more than two. For those of you who may have cause to wonder, I rarely watch or look at weather forecasts, though I do keep a Google gadget running that gives the currant temperature, because I find I'm usually far more accurate at predicting than the usual TV or radio forecast.

I'm on a roller coaster of emotions. I'm having to make a really tough personal decision, and it's easier and infinitely harder than I thought it would be, but I'm swinging from one pole to the other. Between what ifs, what was, what ought to be, and what most likely will be, between mind,heart and soul. The thing that is driving me to this deciding, that is causing so much consternation for me, will not change, and I cannot longer endure but I cannot likewise be certain I'm not making a mistake.

I noticed lately that I've for all intents and purposes, stopped writing. There was a time before when I hardly wrote, and I'm seeing some of the same circumstances and elements now. Plus I had a very good, very important to me, poem stolen and not just the finished piece but every iteration of the creation process. This makes the third or fourth piece of writing I've had stolen. I don't, once I throttle and beat my ego into accepting reality, consider myself all that good a writer but for some reason I have in the recent past attracted not one but two stalkers who succeeded in spiriting away material I was working on. I didn't and don't know exactly how I feel about that. On the one hand I'm furious and mostly that, but on the other hand perhaps a little proud that someone likes (or perhaps hates) what I write so much that they will stalk me and commit theft to get it. I wonder most about the motive. I would think that the thieves would know they can never publish successfully (if that was the motive) since they would be unable to reproduce again the phrasing and timbre and voice in any post theft writing and to try to do so would invite scrutiny and exposure. Perhaps their intent was more malicious, an attempt to silence my tongue, to mute my pen. Just one more curious thing in a life chock full of curious happenings.

Oh well, it's 4:30 and I just caught myself nodding off in front of the screen. What a novel experience, but understandable since I've not had my usual intake of caffeine lately. But I suppose I must end now and surrender to the blanking of my mind and my awareness that is sleep, for I do indeed sleep like the dead (or more truly like the undead).