Hard not to feel light and optimistic with these gorgeous fall mornings. Though I still can't drink a lot of it, I've rediscovered how much I love a cup of hot coffee, especially on one my front porch with the light warm in my hair and the graveyard practically glowing with all the fall color. 

This weekend contains a rare gift these days: Elkhorn. I'm going to put on my raggy larp skirt, put down a rug, and use my giant cast iron cauldron to make a beef stew all afternoon tomorrow. I wonder if the creeks will be flowing again. They get so still in late August, and we haven't really had the rain. It will be cold; I'll bundle up. 

Things with the house are progressing suddenly quite quickly. I'm trying not to get too excited. The next step is the home inspection; a lot could go wrong there. I'm also trying not to get too deep water scared about taking on debt after spending so much of my adult life trying to get out of the ridiculous debt I got into as a seventeen year old. There's also some paranoid, feral part of my brain that is deliriously ready to be legally tied to a place. No one can make me leave. I won't be homeless if my life totally falls apart again. My home won't get sold out from under me. Ehh, it might collapse out from under me, or catch on fire, but... 

But let's not think about that right now. It's exciting to look around the house and imagine projects. All it takes is infinite quantities of my time and money!

Oh, here's something to write about: did some time travel last night going to Chappie's bar for the last time to get my mug back, since they're closing. That mug has haunted me; a beautiful dark forest green with a wyvern built into the side by my friend who is an art historian...probably almost ten years ago, now? At least 8. Back when I went to the bar there a lot, it made sense to keep it there, but then the owners started saying a lot of really upsetting political bullshit, getting drunk all the time and running off his mouth about women and queers and stuff, and it got less fun to hang out there. I really wanted my mug back, but I didn't want to go in and ask for it. "Hey, I'm never coming here again, can I have my property back? It's special to me." I guess another person would have just said that. But anyway, now that they're closing I got it back, and I was able to scrub off the name of whoever had obviously been using it in my absence. It's funny that I had been so delicate about the situation, and in the meantime they had literally written over my name. Fuckers.

The night felt like my past somehow, though. Walking around downtown in the cold, all the tourists gone, the leaves swirling around and making a clatter. I got home and dreamed more detailed, textured dreams full of scents and feelings.