I'm getting ready to move. Official date is June 13th. It's a struggle. No money, no energy, no motivation.

I'm still a wreck from the meningitis. I walk two blocks and I'm panting. This time last year I was training for the AIDS marathon and walking a lot. Now I'm a joke.

I'm not writing like I should be. My head teams with ideas and they go off and find someone who'll care for them. Much like cats I suppose.

The one thing I'm doing consistently is writing my weekly column. I just submitted it a few minutes ago. I usually write about writing. Not always but usually. This one is more about friendship and hope I think. Maybe a tiny bit about writing. But mostly about the conflict of being human, friendship and hope.

Chris says hope is as hollow as fear. He'd rather live without fear and without hope. I'm not sure I understand him. I'm not sure I could live without hope. I think of hope in the Pandora's Box sense. She fluttered out after all the nasty things and she was in that box for a reason. Should I turn her away and say she is hollow? Or should I open wide my windows and tell her she is always welcome?

If I let her in then is she my responsibility? Do I need to feed her like a hummingbird? Adam says hummingbirds don't sing but I bet hope sings. I bet she sings all sorts of things. The blues, perky songs, torch songs, that tiny bit of music that makes you turn your head and say oh what is that? I must hear more!

What would she eat? I can't see her living on sugar or sunflower seeds, although the sun part seems to be appropriate.

Oh my I just settled a major, major plot point for my novel Carnal Fear. Sometimes when I'm not writing things are fermenting busily away and then kaboom the twist, idea, line, mood, whatever you needed just appears. Much like hope when you need her most.

A blog for Sutter and a response from Shane. There I have it down and nobody can take it from me. I feel so lightheaded now with relief. Off to bed.