Nightly I retreat to dreams, where my presence or absence is worthy of mention. In time you may agree with me. I took a trip to Europe this time. I decided one day that no one needed me here so I just up and left. The whole trip was one defiance of death after another. In Scotland I went hiking and eventually climbing with two family friends whom I have never met in person, but was almost killed by a rock slide. Next I went to London and was nearly hit by a car that came, quite literally, out of nowhere. I moved on to France where things went worst. I was almost killed in a house fire staying with friendly strangers in the countryside. In Paris, I was knocked from the top of the Eifel Tower. I just barely grabbed the first beam I saw and managed to leap to safety. The whole time I never thought once of home, and I somehow never spoke to a single person. People spoke to me, and I smiled, and they smiled, and we understood each other. I met my end in a city square. A man pulled a gun on a woman, held her hostage for some unknown reason. Everyone panicked and scattered. I walked up to the man, and he put the gun to my forehead. I reached up and held it there while staring into his eyes. In time he let the woman go, and I thought I recognized her before she turned her back and walked slowly away. The man looked back at her with tears in his eyes and lowered the gun. I took it from him, and that's when the police showed up and shot me. People rushed to me in a circle, talked to me, but I couldn't speak to them in return. I remember agony, not pain from the bullet wounds, but from being unable to tell my friends and family how much I love them. I was drowning, surrounded by people and yet all alone. I awoke very cold.

My job is going well. Closing a sale feels really good. The only thing that has ever felt better is success in concert. I miss some parts of band more than others.

More swing dancing last night. I still suck at it, but in time I might not be quite such an onerous dance partner. One only improves with practice.

Everyone made cookies last night, and Katie made biscuits, too. Sorry, but the deal's off. Time for me to go.

Okay, so now what?

New fortune cookie wisdom: don't let people play on false hopes. It's a real let down when reality slams the iron curtain back into place.

I went to see The Bourne Identity instead. It started off at a good pace with excellent stunts and combat scenes. Then things dropped off; about an hour into it I fell asleep. Some gunfire woke me up in time to see another well-done action sequence. I was back asleep ten minutes later. The hard packing sounds of a fight complemented by a friendly explosion woke me up again towards the end. I hope they don't try to release a soundtrack for the movie; it would only have three tracks and then an hour filled with the sounds of paint peeling in slow motion.

I've written some more for my book. I brainstormed on religion and culture and came up with some solid material. It's too bad I can't write women or I might have a good story to tell someday.

Not much gossip to tell. I've still got cookies to hand out, although now I've got a shiny set of knives to slice, dice, peel, carve, and trim them with. I took my first swing dancing lesson from our friendly resident Evil and his partner. I suck at it. C'est tout bon; j'apprends de mes deces.

Ma vie est bonne quand vous ecoutez... mais ma vie est la meilleure quand vous parlez. Bonne nuit.