I haven't done any packing since John left. I've slept a lot. 10, sometimes 12 hours a day. I know it's only been two days, but it's a bad thing to do when there's so much I ought to be doing. The weather's beautiful, and all I want to do is lie down and forget about everything for a while. The radio people say it's Indian summer but they're wrong. It's gotten into the upper 40's at night a couple of times but the first frost hasn't occured, so it's technically just nice fall weather. It's really very pretty. Lots of leaves, lots of warm, playful breezes, plenty of frantic squirrel activity and so on. I love fall. I'd enjoy this more if I didn't feel guilty about packing.

Actually, just writing it all down makes me feel less oppressed about it. This is one reason why I've kept a diary since I was 12. Most of the time I do it to be entertaining. Once in a while, I simply have to write things down or I get all huge with emotion. Writing online, knowing I have an audience, is good because I have to articulate what's wrong instead of dwelling on an amorphous, unseen, dimly perceived notion of badness. I've always been easily cowed and quelled by fear of impending doom. It's what's made me sleep instead of pack this weekend. I'm dreading the trip to the vet. My poor dog.

Things are not all unrelieved doom and gloom, however. John has had some luck with househunting. He found three acceptable places on Friday but can't close a deal until tomorrow after the landlords find out if he's a bum or a prince. He (and I) totally forgot that potential landlords do credit checks on you before they'll get out the lease. Boy, is that different from the leaseless handshake agreement we have now. Here, having a job at a prestigious university is enough to get you into a rental; there, it's guilty until proven innocent. Thanks to our work ethics, responsible lifestyle, and sheer good luck, our credit is pristine.