I've subjected you all to enough introspection recently, so I wanted to make this entry a positive, light, happy one. There's only one problem with that wish - I'm not feeling terribly happy. Since being sick, I've been feeling so tired and run down that by the time I come home from work, I barely have the energy to prop my eyes open, let alone go for a run, or do something social. It doesn't help at all that I've run into another period of relative inactivity at work - the boredom feeds my fatigue and it becomes a vicious cycle. I'm fairly dreading the party I've committed myself to having this Friday evening. But I first told my friends about it weeks ago, and I can't back out now.

Just about the only positive thing I have to write about, then, is my looming two-month trip back to Europe, which is starting to fire up my imagination. I hope that my energy levels pick up so that I won't feel so ... dragged out ... by the time I'm on vacation.

Yesterday, having nothing to do at work that was sufficiently interesting to prevent me falling asleep at my computer, I took myself off to Borders Books in Union Square, and bought a small guide book to Northumbria, the place where I grew up and where, now that my parents will be upping and moving down South, I'll be spending five days by myself exploring the places I used to visit with my family when I was a child.

Northumbria doesn't really exist on any maps anymore - it's an ancient Kingdom that is now split more or less into four English counties - Northumberland, Tyne & Wear, Durham and ... I forget the other one - Humberside? Reading my new book, I'm already exploring this kingdom in my mind, and saying aloud the colorful, ancient names. Amusingly, I'm finding that I automatically pronounce these names in the same Geordie accent I grew up with, saying, for example, "Seahooses" for "Seahouses", and "Cullacuts" for "Cullercoats".

The other book I'm reading right now, Edith Wharton's memoires, is subtly penetrating my imagination, preparing my mind to look and record with the powers of appreciation of beauty that drove Wharton. Her description of the effects that the Berkeshires countryside of Western Massachussets had on her writing remind me of my trip last Summer, when I first started keeping this journal. I particularly remember the day when I drove through Wharton's Massachuessets. I think, looking back, that the countryside had a similar effect on me as it did on Wharton, wakening me up to a new sense of beauty. I almost wish I was a painter myself, and that instead of taking a laptop and camera with me on this coming trip, I was taking an easel and paints. I just hope that I can capture effectively in this journal some of what I see and feel on this coming trip. You know, sometimes I imagine what it would be like to retire from a "real" job and just take up a life of reading, writing, and travel. Maybe I'd learn to paint too. Sounds idyllic, doesn't it?