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I'll endeavor for a serious journal entry, but I fear it will elude me.

I spent some time looking at the evening sky tonight and realized how much I love this time of year. The skies fluctuate almost daily between the somber grey of a Seattle fall, and the rollicking blue of the deep summer. All the major festivals are done, so this year's best indie films have distribution deals and will be gracing at least one of Seattle's numerous movie houses over the next ten weeks or so. Football season is nearing, and that gives me cause to trade smack with friends who have been playing fantasy football with me since we all played together in high school. Lastly, summer is grimly holding on enough to allow for a barbecue or two more.

This year is better. For the first time in years, I've put it all together. I have a good job, great friends, and someone to give a shit about.

Last weekend, I got to experience many of those things listed above with the group of great friends. One night we watched a Japanese sword romp. The next, under leaden, spitting Seattle skies, I cooked giant rib steaks, twice-baked potatoes (Colby, jack, bleu, and parmesan cheeses; crumbled pepper bacon; and garlic), bacon-wrapped corn on the cob, and hot wings. Everyone said I did well, and for once, I didn't doubt their word. Then we settled back and screamed epithets at the potheads and faux-Scots mounting determined assaults on our ears. I think I had an alcoholic root beer float somewhere in there.

The next day, I settled in to read, make a tidy dinner of chorizo and caesar salad, and have chocolates and "nerd" water (VOSS for those of you scoring at home, and those of you alone) while watching the clouds scud past.

None of this will be horribly interesting to anyone, but I'm at one of those points where there's nothing wrong in my life, and I'd have to think for a long, long time for anything I'm honestly wanting for.

Perhaps seriousness isn't as elusive as I'd feared.

Be well, all.