I know.

I know better.

I know...

But, I know... and that's no adventure.

But. I know.

I am sighing a sigh of relief.

I'm also sighing a sigh of resignation, I think, because...I just...

I don't know. I'm tired, and November will be hell, and I think what I want is just tiny, really, and I'm tired and probably it should be easy.

I don't think there's another composer for me like Beethoven. And that's a deliberately poor sentence. Not that he composed for me, though maybe for people like me, what he does for me, for me there isn't another composer like Beethoven. I can't even quite explain it, it's the same thing that makes a pair of trousers or the light on a dirty window sill break my heart. There's... to say there's nothing there would be massively incorrect, but it's so bare. And utterly devastating. It's music for quiet destitution. It's what Death of a Salesman should have been, Willie simply biting his tongue, a small grimace and an inaudible sigh as he gets up to do it again, another morning. Beethoven's music, for me, always gets up again, in the cold light of some horrid bedroom morning, to leave some sweet, nervous woman behind in as blissful ignorance as it can. I find I can't listen to it, sometimes, I have to be careful like I'm not with other composers. I can't play it in the background lest the conversation die down and I'm caught unaware. I love it.

This is a weird spot, before everything starts, or it seems like it's going to start at least... waiting on books that will determine more or less my life, on time and jobs and the pieces I've been hewing out in my head to lock into place. The crest of the learning curve in sight. And then there's the rest of it, which I am swallowing, mostly, so as not to break it with my breath.

It's nearly autumn, practically autumn if it weren't for the fact that it's supposed to hit 29 degrees this weekend. The leaves have no idea, they've turned already. I am waiting for the snow...

I'm waiting for chaos, too, I guess. Or at least that's what I've signed on for. Prep work and this new job I dove into tonight, new things and butterflies, this winter won't be much for resting. But that's why I love it - even when everything's on fire you can't feel it. Even when I can't sleep - which, with the seasons changing, is on its way - I can't be tired in the winter. Everything sparkling is enough to keep you afloat. Summer heat makes me tired, breeds lethargy. Winter crisp makes everything just a little brighter, regardless of the backdrop.

But there's a while yet til that part comes, and in the meantime there's nothing to do but bite my tongue and wait.

I have some questions about the G2 commercials. I mean, I'm a big fan of G2, thumbs up to low-cal recovery options, but I am a little confused about the "I have never..." premise. "I have never..." done awesome thing x. I have never been Serena Williams. Well, I have never been a professional dancer who recovered from a car accident to dance again. Well, I have never been to Wimbledon. Well, I went to Wimbledon but I have never had any rhythm. But I did work really hard and accomplish this other super remarkable thing. Yeah, me too. G2, for a larger number of athletes including those not interested in drinking normal Gatorade because they don't work out enough to need to consume hundreds of additional calories. Except, wait a minute, Serena Williams definitely works out enough to need to consume hundreds of additional calories. And based on what she's doing in those heels, dancer-lady does too. So they were athletes drinking Gatorade before. So, um, how is G2 more inclusive?

Also Williams has a new book out, so if you wanted to get me a Labour Day present that would be a good one.

Also, today was a good day. This weekend was a good weekend.