i've been waking often the past nights, though usually closer to morning. five o'clock on the dot, three days running, and then again at sevenish and usually once or twice before.

i'm not particularly alarmed at this; there have been long periods in my life where i never sleep a full night through, and the stress of the end of the year and the necessity of moving might well be showing itself that way. i'm certainly not feeling it otherwise, except in the vaguest sense, and with a slight film of disgust for the amount of stuff i've collected. i made it over here in two suitcases, a cardboard box and a trip to target. there's alot i'll want to throw away, i think. i don't want to have this much junk.

we were talking, mostly in theory, about the idea of building a home somewhere in the country, in the mountains. having an extensive garden and a fuel cell and needing nothing more. well, little more. books, of course. music. though i think i could live fairly happily in a shanty lined with books and cds, so long as i had something to do with myself all day.

i bet one could be a very well-employed big-animal vet in the country, were one so inclined. just look at james herriot.