Today Gideon recounted another dream: It involved the three of us getting on a choo choo train that drove in the water. Then a dog pooped all over it and we had to get off while it was being cleaned. We got back on and when it was our stop, we had to pay $15.

I really hope that was his dream and not his plagiarizing another cartoon, cause I'd feel pretty disconnected if it turned out that's what he's watching on TV in the wee hours of morning.

I'm officially "reconnected" and back to life.

It was a really phenomenal summer, yet I'm happy for it to be ending, looking forward to returning to my schedule, sending Gideon to school, see the leaves change color.

I intentionally did not write a single poem over the summer. I take creative energy breaks between writing projects to recharge. I'm feeling recharged. I also just took on another project, one that is the equivalent to adding my name to the sign-up sheet for grief. I'm doing it because I feel strongly about it. More about that later.

Gideon will be doing two "activities" this fall: soccer and yoga. At the beach, he saw a cousin do yoga and was interested. This fits into my life too. We can do it together. I'm switching from pilates back to yoga in September. After Gideon was born, I switched to pilates because it was more "result" oriented. But I don't think I feel as good after pilates. And it's too loud and busy. A bunch of yack yack yack. I'd rather be somewhere quiet. I haven't told the pilates studio yet. I've been going there for 4 years and I feel like I'm dumping a friend or something. I think I'm just going to tell them that I miss yoga and only have the budget and time for one, which is the truth. I'll tell them that I'll still practice pilates at home, which will be a lie.

I've been doing some meditation, mind exercises and active imagination. I lost 8 pounds since April. The meditation and imagination stuff wasn't to lose weight, but that's been one of the pleasant side effects. Apparently I was storing a lot of people's negative energy in my ass.

I just caught up with all my blog reading and most of my email correspondence. I already feel the heaviness attaching itself. Time to visualize sending certain people to burn in the Earth's core.

It's OK, it's not really them bursting into a million flaming pieces. It's just their unwanted, poisonous energy.

No poets are harmed in the creation of this visualization.

Spending very little time online and only responding to time-sensitive emails. My internet connection is sketchy which is fine because I'm a bit weary of it all anyhow. Had some bad withdrawal symptoms this afternoon. Well, those weren't internet withdrawal symptoms, they were triggered from a hot dog. I eat like one hot dog a year and well, I think that's going to change from one a year to one a decade.

While Hurricane Bill hasn't hit the NC shores, it has affected the beach. We haven't been able to go in the water for the past two days and likely won't be able to tomorrow either. The waves are 10 and 15 feet high. It's amazing to watch. Today we took Gideon to the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse and he walked all 257 steps to the top. I underestimated him. I didn't make it all the way up. I was going up the hot-ass spiral stairs, crammed with breath-heaving people and stagnant air -- and some kid coming down looked at me and said, "you're almost half way there." I thought, only half way there? Fuck that. I turned around and went back down. According to Chris I was only 31 steps from the top.

If I ever find that little bastard . . .

I've been dreaming a lot about the ocean, waves, the heat, babies, fainting, cars, ultra-violet lights on an airplane, throwing a fit at Gideon's preschool and Christian spies bugging my hotel room at a feminist conference. The one thing almost all my dreams this past week have in common is some kind of gender motif. Can't we all just get along? On the upside, only three poets have appeared in my dreams since I've been down here, which is a really low number. One of those poets is a close friend, so its only two "random" poets. So this seems to be a vacation for my psyche as well.

It's good to disconnect, even if that means I have to barf up a hot dog.

All clear in the western ear

Gideon hasn't stuck anything else in his ear, so I haven't had much to write about. I have two tarot readings to do tonight before I leave town. It was a great promotion, sold over 40 books in one weekend which is pretty awesome. It's also a time-consuming offer, but I'm not complaining. I'm in much better psychic shape now than I was two weeks ago. Here, feel my psychic muscle, go on, feel it. Like an armadillo, I tell ya.

I dreamed that I wrote a psychology book that sold 200 copies in one month--and some of those were hardcover!

I also dreamed about Phil Collins. I hate dreaming about Phil Collins. Cause when I wake up I have to ask "what aspect of myself is like Phil Collins?" Some aspects of ourselves are just too painful to ponder. This was a sweaty, pit-stained Phil Collins. I don't want to integrate my sweaty, pit-stained Phil Collins into my psyche. I think I'll sweep that image right back where it belongs, into my shadow of all things unacknowledged and continue projecting that aspect onto others.

Yes, I think will. You all are sweaty, pit-stained Phil Collins, not me.

I'm Shakira dancing in a glittery vagina-like tunnel.

Gideon reads his mother's cards

"Don't go into the fortress or you will die."