One of the things that posting daily as a practice is accomplishing is limbering up my mind and allowing it to be more and more flexibly random. The repeated act of expression is crucial in achieving the fluidity to express. As somebody who lives alone and spends many days without speaking a single word aloud, writing becomes a necessary thing to keep the language centers limber.

Tonight I had the opportunity to speak for the first time in four days, apart from the occasional conference call or shout at the cats. And it was interesting to feel the heaviness of my voice, the phlegm breaking off like chunks of ice as the evening progressed. It was also fun to verbally play and to be in my element again, on a beautiful, rainy Seattle night with a brain that is active and eager and passionate and in love, not depressed and shut away.

I was thinking about that while driving home from boobirdsfly's and troch's house, singing at the top of my lungs to some 80's music that would horribly date me. I noticed the way that my favorite route back took me along terraces of habitation, from Capital Hill, dropping down a level to a long winding passageway flanked with woods and houses, dropping down a level to a jaunt along the highway, dropping down a level to the bars and shops and the old bridge along the lake, dropping down finally to my neighborhood. I hadn't noticed it before, but it's like passing through many different dimensions, planes of being between my friends' house and mine.

Tonight, in conversation, somebody said in a story, "my friend William". It melted my heart. It's so nice to think that people who barely know me consider me a friend. That's a legacy I'd like to leave behind.

A great night out, fantastic theater, friendship, new meetings, and random, surprising laughter. And now, a very very long sleep, without any alarm clock. Tomorrow, hopefully, more of the same.