Autumn weather.

I started therapy this week after a hiatus of five or six years.

One of the fringe "benefits" of a background in the practical applications of modern American acting theories is the socially questionable ability (or compulsion) to cry at any time.

Times this week I have cried:

• During therapy (expected).
  
• In a meeting with Jake.
• After sex.
  
• During sex, preventing orgasm.
• Walking down the street.
• Watching Six Feet Under (also expected).
• In Mr. Very Nice Rock Star's car (not his fault, never his fault).
• During a Weakerthans concert.
• Twice during my two-hour Planned Parenthood appointment.
  
• Writing an e-mail.
• Upon getting my period.
• At my day job.
  

It's not usually a huge amount all at once. It's more like a Seattle rain, brief and light, not soaking very deeply into the ground. But a couple of times there have been quick thunderstorms. Today it's chilly and bright with the wicked and surreal yellow Northwest autumn light, but in an hour we could hear thunder.

On the bright side, I want to write again. I'm gestating an idea for a companion piece to Space titled Box. It's going to end up being bloody and violent and a lot less emotionally distant than Space was.