Maybe it’s the fall weather or something, but I really want to move to a cabin somewhere on the East Coast and hide. I want to eat apples and watch leaves change and write in my hand-shewn desk without Internet or TV distracting me. I don’t want to engage in the daily tread of gossip and phone calls and minor irritations and betrayals. I definitely don’t want to do the dishes. Or scrape tile glue off the bathroom wall of the new house.

I am tired of being professional. See, sometimes I try to be professional for awhile and return e-mails quickly and make phone calls and thank people for things. However, it quickly starts to feel like I’m on a hamster’s wheel where the quicker I respond and the more professional I seem, the more there is for me to be professional about and more things there are to respond to. Isn’t the point to finish work, not create more work?

I guess instead of moving to the East Coast, I will carve pumpkins and eat a lot of roasted vegetables. And I will get rid of TV–I’m tired of it and we can use the extra $50 a month. And I will read books. Currently: Lady Chatterly’s Lover by DH Lawrence and Varieties of Disturbance by Lydia Davis. I am enjoying both, especially Davis’s book. I knew short stories could be like this, but it’s nice to be reminded.