Watching Paint Dry

And the seasons they go 'round and 'round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return, we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and 'round and 'round
In the circle game
&mdash Joni Mitchell

I'm off to San Francisco again tomorrow morning. I've been going every few weeks since early November it seems, touching base with the family, always for something, to do something, or whatever. Going up there is like the :02 gap between songs on early CD's. It's a pause between tracks on a spinning record playing the soundtrack of my life. Fitzgerald said American lives have no second acts, but this certainly feels like it. Vogler would call it Testing Allies & Enemies.

Playing my role as I should, I've been meeting and talking to all sorts of new people lately. Frankly I don't know where the old ones have gone. In the mythic structure, these people are supposed to aid or hinder me as I enter the next step, The Innermost Cave. I can't wait.

In the meantime, I've finally finished the last of painting of the new, improved bedroom. If that's the cave, then I'm at least pleased with the colors. Accoutrements would be nice.