yesterday was blue, like smoke

The autumnal fog has descended on Vancouver. Last week was filled with one-condo mornings: I could see the condo across the street but not the one immediately beyond it, and forget about the North Shore or Stanley Park.

I love being in the middle of the fog from the tenth floor. I mean, I love fog anyway, but up here the sense of floaty detachment is magnified. I could stare out the window with a warm mug of tea all morning.

It's ... been a week. My coping mechanisms (hiding and Sheer Force Of Will, mostly) are failing in utterly predictable ways and I think I'm starting to crack. I need to *actually* shake up my routine, *actually* get on track with working during work and only during work instead of goofing around and then cramming it all in late at night. Among other things. (How's that for needlessly cryptic? Also inherently self-defeating, as I'm writing this during the workday.)

Last year I took a week off work immediately after the November DC trip, and it... did basically nothing. It maybe staved off some burnout by several months. I feel like I could do with some time off... but one week won't help as much as I want it to, and I can't reasonably afford to take more than that at once right now. Half measure versus forcing it through until I *can* take more time. Not sure what to do. Maybe with a week off and some forethought I can come back and reset my work schedule to something more effective.

This is not the scene I dreamed of. Like much else nowadays I leave it feeling stupid, like a man who lost his way long ago but presses on along a road that may need nowhere.

--J.M. Coetzee, Waiting For the Barbarians

Steph from VP (not to be confused with Steph my good ex) has arrived in Vancouver, which is an unalloyed Good Thing on both the social and local-writer-type fronts. And immigration is moving forward, and the leaves are turning, and my tea is warm, and I am home. That's worth something.