I have been posting so little, but the good news is that I have been writing in my journal. Yom Kippur one weekend and then Bremen Island the next. I feel grounded and peaceful, although neither feeling will last long in New Orleans.

I will talk to you soon, but I have so many real people to talk to first.

I dreamed about you again last night. The night before you forgave me and last night you wouldn't. Maybe tonight I'll dream I've changed and made it right.

I am sitting in Cafe Envie on Decatur. It's decorated like an Italian cafe, tiled floor and red leather banquettes. Radiohead plays The Bends and there is a man playing guitar into his headphones in a corner, while a woman studies her nursing textbooks. When she gets up to walk across the room, the handcuffs chained to her belt gently clink. The passersby vary between old crazy French Quarter men and little baby punks in black leather and lace and tattoos and middle-aged tourist couples.

One of my five favorite things in the world is broken glass in the street at night. The crunch, the sparkle, the refractions and reflections.

I realise a tactical mistake I've made in telling you to wait until the weather is nice to visit me. New Orleans is most itself when it's unbearably hot. I should have insisted you come now when everything is slick with sweat; glasses of iced tea and windows and piano keys and the face of the man next to you, playing the trumpet.

The day before yesterday was the four-year anniversary of my arrival in New Orleans. Four years ago yesterday we were drinking at the Cafe Booze on Bourbon Street. Four years, one month and four days ago today.

"Too young for wisdom, too handsome for virtue." Perhaps I've seen 'Yentl' too many times but it never ceases to amaze me how young people can be to become reverends in various Christian sects. How anyone can take these dudes seriously is beyond me.

The time in Houston went by glacially slow, while the time back in New Orleans has gone by very quickly. This year has seemed unreal. Midsummer Mardi Gras was a couple of weeks ago, so only six months until Mardi Gras again.

I love President Clinton's constant referral to himself as a wealthy person.

If you want your heart broken repeatedly for four-and-a-half minutes, listen to Nina Simone's "For A While" at Ronnie Scott's. Even better, watch the video at Youtube. She dedicates it "to my lover, who is gone from me," whatever that means. You may not think that you want your heart broken repeatedly, but you're wrong.

For a trip back to another time, visit your local shoe repair store. There's a gumball machine, different brands of shoe polish, leather, nails, hammers, no organizational system at all, old men wearing worker aprons with hands stained black and fingernails chipped.

Vaughan's remains my mainstay. Last night it was brought into stark relief how quickly one can lose the keys to the kingdom. Also, how childishly I am invested in Vaughan's. I know that nothing is perfect or lasts forever, but I know that were Vaughan's to fail me, the disillusionment would be crippling. They did "Cruisin'" last night. I didn't realise I was crying till later.

Someone's car is blasting the closing chords of Dave Matthews "The Stone."

The church near my house which sounds bells has taken to playing my school hymn from Hill House. "All creatures of our God and King, Lift up your voice and with us sing, Alleluia, Alleluia." I hear choruses of English schoolchildren, sitting cross-legged and screwing up the harmony.

In New Orleans, when you drive, there are always compromises to be struck and deals to be brokered between the potholes in the road before you and the To-Go cups in your cupholders and in the hands of your passengers.

You should read the article in today's NYTimes about small businesses in New Orleans. Then you should make plans to come and visit. There are used bookstores and art and food and bric-a-brac and antiques and it will hurt immeasurably when they are gone.

I fear that if I leave here, I will miss it so much that I won't give where I am a fair chance. All the more reason to go somewhere incredible that will enchant me against my will. Because I also know that once I've left, I can't come back.

Add this to the list of reasons why it would be a mistake to move away from New Orleans: My mechanics are a trio of guys named, I swear to God, Big Charlie, Little Charlie, and Roscoe.

In case you needed perspective, Jessica Simpson said that prior to the Teen Choice Awards she worked out 5 days a week for 2 hours a day. Anyway, I think you look lovely.

I finally moved off of Then She Appeared to other songs. Score! This is my new favorite (unless Dani is in the car) band.

So, last night after work I got into it with my bosses. For perhaps the first time in my life I criticised an employer. She took it much worse than I thought and ended up trying to fire her two best waitresses and interim managers. For the record, I'm in the right. For those of you who know me, I never think that I am in the right, so this is a big deal. In the meantime, I implore all of you to save me from childishness; it's an unattractive quality in a 60-year-old woman and, in this particular case, detrimental to the business in which she has invested her savings.

For a good time: Brush your teeth with minty toothpaste and then go to your local coffee shop and drink mint iced tea.

Every one is going back to school. I am not remotely envious.

I gave Andrew an essay to critique and he responded intelligently and thoughtfully. He also said that he enjoyed the exercise of critiquing it and that we should start a salon. So now I shall act as though that were an excellent idea and isn't he clever to have thought of it and he shall never know that it was carefully planned by The Women... unless of course he reads this blog... which I don't think he does... although what do I know? I didn't think any of you read it except for Storeyman and Stina, and yet... Anyway, do men ever just assume that, while they may not know exactly what is going on, they are somehow being manipulated by women? They probably do in a negative way, which is a shame, because in my experience they are usually happier for our behind-the-scenes maneuverings.

Interestingly, the things that Andrew critiqued are the ones that Dani liked.

There is an EightBall on the counter at Cafe Luna which has never failed to tell me exactly what I want to hear. I'm always so happy with its responses that it never occurs until later to me that none of it actually happens. I think I am happier being told that my dreams will come true than I would be if they actually came true. I think many of us are the same.

It is pouring rain. The rain here is Biblical in its proportions. The thought of leaving lays me low and renders me unable to breathe. I love the jazz on the radio and the tattoos on the back of the girl who just passed my table. But much better to leave while I feel this way.

I recommend to you:

"Little Miss Sunshine."

"Scoop."

"Then She Appeared" by XTC

Is there any more uncomfortable place in the world to have mosquito bites than on the soles of your feet?

I had a marathon session last night of putting music into my ipod and today Shuffle has been particularly kind to me and the world seems brighter in my eyes.

You know that you're feeling conflicted or confused when Tori Amos lyrics start making sense.

All night I dreamt of work, which is a bad sign. It's a wonderful place, in spite of the best efforts of the owner, a petulant, inexperienced, drunken woman and her daughter, a passive-agressive, careless, drunken chef. Why are so many jobs enjoyable in spite of and not because of the bosses? Although, on further reflection, it's only every job I've had here in New Orleans. Most of the managers in Starbucks were not very good, every manager at Commander's except Stan and Bruce was a moron, Doug is his own mystery and now this. If you ever want to talk about why this city gets nothing done, I could tell you.

What do you think of Montreal? Can you see me there?

The thing which is most desired never appears.

Why is it so hard to bring myself to communicate these days?

I am beginning to make plans to leave. Of course, as soon as I realize that I can leave whenever I want, I'm stunned still. I am sitting on the porch of Cafe Luna, it is 99 degrees and today the mood is one of slight disappointment, tempered with exhaustion and leavened with expectation. I can't remember either why I am disappointed or what I am expecting because it's too hot. So I sit here and try to decide whether I should leave in January or April. At this moment, I honestly can't decide which is better. I don't want to be here and turn 26. What if we're meant to work something out? Surely I should stay close by, just in case. I can't leave Vaughan's and Dani so soon as January. I don't want to be working for so long at the same place. I don't want to miss the possibility that something will happen. I don't want to break my lease. These are all negatives. So I want... to want something. To wear boots and a coat. To start myself over. To know for sure. To be learning something. To be able to walk at night. To have the time and ability and focus to read. The days go so slowly but the hours vanish.

I do not like people who refer to themselves as their pets' "Mommies" or "Daddies". Although, if we are honest, I am not overly fond of people with pets.

I am many negative things, but I do not think I am overly negative and right now I value that. Aaaah, now I remember why I am feeling disappointed. Yesterday I was disenchanted by two friends. It was an unpleasant and unsual experience (because I have superior friends). However, I am not unaware that at this moment I am personally letting down one grandmother, two brothers and three friends... and those are just the ones that I know of or am willing to admit to you.

It is not out of the realm of possibility that I will one day want to own or manage a restaurant or cafe. There are few places I like better and few things I like more than the sight of people enjoying themselves with other people in safety and comfort and warmth.

I've made some cuts to the old entries. It was an interesting exercise.

Perhaps the two most self-destructive things that I do are to stop talking to you and to stop reading. But I still don't feel like communicating... Not just yet.

Last night, as I drove home on Annunciation and turned left onto Magazine, the red light stayed red, while the green light turned on. Should I stay or should I go rendered in color. They flickered for a few moments and then died altogether, worn out with the effort of having to decide on a course of action. On Julia Street, a traffic light was knocked down and continued to turn red and green, lying on it's side in the gutter. Gallantry personified.

Amazing the effect of a pair of pink Wellington boots has on the mind during a rainstorm.

Fast changes are coming. I am restless and apathetic, rootless and weighed down at the same time.

Every night when I drive home at around 11:30, there is a slightly built man in shorts and a t-shirt standing on the corner of Jefferson and Magazine, talking on the pay phone. Every night. I wonder, does he always talk to the same person?

Justin has been selected to fall off a two storey building after fighting Porthos. He plummets headfirst and then twists to land on his back. I imagine him landing shaped like a starfish with a gentle 'poof' and a small cloud of dust, like Wile E. Coyote.

This is not much of an entry, but at least you know I'm here.