In a small copy shop on Valencia Street, I am holding arms full of faxes to the East Coast. The owner of the shop is the sweetest little Indian man. Short, tan, wearing glasses with a diamond heart in the corner. He has photos of Sai Baba on his desk, on the walls. I look back and forth from him to the photos. I wonder if it means something.

In a bookstore on Valencia. I am doing the bookstore shuffle from one table to the next and back again. Rounding up favorites. Deciding between old friends or something new by someone new. My arms get heavy. 6 books and 2 magazines. Narrow it down to 3 books and get out of there.

In the bathtub watching bubbles melt away when I crash the soap into them. Destruction of the snow bunnies. Cruel. I am trying to figure out exactly what point I am at between here and there. I want to breathe again. Sit back in a home that is forever or close to it. Empty out my life and fill it up again.

10 more days before we move out of this city for good. I don't know whether to jump up and down or cry. My thoughts take the shape of fragmented sentences, my inner dialogue has a stuttering problem.