After I got Norton AntiVirus working properly (for the time being), I had this idea that, after Phillip woke up and we went to the University District Farmers' Market, I should redeem the See's Candy gift certificate that came in my Booklover's Basket. I'm not a regular shopper at See's, however, (and I'm not sure if I've ever shopped at See's) and I don't know where their stores are, so I went to their web site and found that the two closest are at Northgate and Westlake.

It didn't seem like it would be an enjoyable thing to drive to a shopping mall during the Labor Day Weekend, so I decided to wait until we got back from the market and, while Phillip's playing on Neopets, I'd hop a bus downtown.

Phillip had an insane idea, though. He reserved a computer at the Capitol Hill library and I reserved one for the same time at the Central Library, downtown, we'd spend an hour playing Neopets together, and then I'd stop by See's on my way back home.

I got to the downtown library 45 minutes early, on purpose, just because I like the place. I happened upon a book titled How Soon Is Never?, by Marc Spitz, and checked it out on an impulse. (I think I've gone one James Bond book too far - my reading tastes are heading in another direction.) This is a novel written by a rock 'n' roll magazine writer. It promises to be a story about a rock 'n' roll magazine writer who misses the '80's, and is love with the music of The Smiths. It also has something to do with the main character's attempts to reunite The Smiths. (In case you didn't know, I think The Smiths were the best band ever.) The title of the book, and many of the chapter names, are varying degrees of twists on Smiths songs and lyrics - "Hello, I Am The Ghost of Troubled Joe","Belligerent Ghouls Run Long Island Schools","Fifteen Minutes With You", and so on.

Phillip and I played Neopet's version of checkers, and I got whomped. (This is the real benefit of the internet: It allows two people, who live together, to go to libraries in different parts of town and play a board game together.)

When I got to See's, my memory was instantly jogged. I'd seen the store there for years, but had never paid much attention to it. No, I don't think I'd ever been inside a See's Candy store before today.

I'm listening to The Smiths as I type this.

I never did figure out how to activate Norton AntiVirus, but earlier this week, I formed a theory that perhaps Norton did not install properly during the last re-install. So I spent three hours this morning completely un-installing Norton (including manually deleting the Norton AntiVirus folder) and then re-installing it. Norton AntiVirus now has an Activation date - the same date, I suspect, as the first activation - and all of Norton's self-diagnostics are reading OK.

(I wish I'd had the opportunity to write this sooner, while the emotions were still fresh.)

Today was the first Friday of the month, which meant the Department of Spiritual Care held its Buddhist Meditation. This time, I was able to go. It was only Craig (the instructor) and myself. Craig said that happens sometimes. He said that he wished that his department had more support, so that more employees could get away from their jobs long enough to meditate.

Before we began, Craig and I talked about my meditation experience. Craig asked me what type of meditation I do. (What type? I don't know!) Since I couldn't name my type of meditation, I showed him how I do it.

Craig explained that it's natural for the mind to wander occasionally while meditating - to become aware of sounds or smells or thoughts. When that happens, he explained, it's important to focus your mind on the idea that it's wandering and then turn the focus back onto your breathing. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, until you're no longer aware of anything else.

It was a more intense meditation than I've been used to. It was longer, for one thing - a little less than a half-hour, rather than the five or ten minutes I do on my own. It was the first time I'd meditated with my eyes closed. ("We're going to focus on the breathing, not the eyes," explained Craig.) It was like nothing I had ever experienced before.

Craig interrupted once or twice to refocus me on my breathing.

As he ended the session, we chanted, first in recitation, then in unison: May all beings be happy. May all beings be peaceful. May all beings be liberated.

When it was over, I felt drained, in a good way.

I don't know if Craig was observing me, or not, but after it was over, he noted that my practicing has helped me to concentrate well. (It could have also been a comment on the fact that it was taking me a while to re-orient myself. He suggested that, the next time, I open my eyes a little slower.)

People-watching through the bus window on my ride home today, I started thinking about all the cell phones I saw. On every block, six or seven people were walking along the sidewalk, talking into cell phones. People waiting in line for an ATM were talking into cell phones. People were sitting next to each other on steps, holding separate conversations into cell phones. Riders on the bus were talking into cell phones.

I can almost remember the world before cell phones. There were pay phones in building lobbies and street corners. I don't seem to remember rows of pay phones to equal the number of cell phones I now see in use. I don't remember long lines of people anxiously waiting to use the precious few pay phones. Were people quietly starving for constant telephone contact all that time? Did cell phones somehow create a hunger that had never before existed?

Before 24-hour grocery stores, how many people felt the need to buy instant mashed potatoes at 3 o'clock in the morning?

I rode with Phillip up to QFC this morning, and walked over to the bus stop, intending to catch the 60. I had no reason to get to work so early. I just wanted to ride with Phillip, and when we got to the QFC parking lot, it was close to time for the 60. A 9 arrived, and I hopped on it instead. A familiar face boarded at the next stop. We recognized each other, but it took me a few moments to remember how I knew this person. My very first assignment I had with University Temporary Services was in early 2000. For one week, I did secretarial work for Cardiothoracic Surgery - a job I was not qualified for. (I hated that assignment.) I met a guy there named Michael. We never got to know each other, but for the next few years, we'd exchange friendly greetings in the halls of The Medical Center. We'd see each other on the bus home to Broadway. Now, Michael's transferred to Harborview, too. We both exited at that new building at Broadway and Jefferson. We didn't start talking until after we'd exited the bus. It was a short conversation, because Michael now works in that new building (which, I've recently learned, is housing several Harborview clinics). We both agreed that working at Harborview is a step up.

"It's funny," I said, "Harborview has this reputation, but in reality, it's a much nicer atmosphere."

"Of course!" replied Michael, "People are just people, after all."

I had the strong impression that, from first sighting to our parting this morning, Michael couldn't quite place where he'd recognized me from.

The thing is, I'm not entirely certain that I'm remembering his name correctly.

Last night, Squeak was anxious and excited for playtime to begin. We couldn't get the cage door open fast enough for her. Gladden chose to sleep in, and Phillip decided that we should let him. We lifted the cage door, and Squeak tore down the ladder, jumped from the second-to-last rung, zipped across the futon, and disappeared into the bedroom. She is certainly enjoying her clipped nails, which allow her to climb and explore without the risk of getting stuck on anything.

When she got close enough to me, I picked Squeak up and let her climb on my arm. Suddenly, while she was on my arm, Squeak made that bark'hiss sound of hers - twice. (It's all one sound, like air escaping from the valve of a bicycle inner tube, but starts out with a hard syllable.) From inside the house, Gladden answered with a single bark. Immediately, Squeak ran up the ladder. She stopped on the top rung, stuck her head inside the cage, and bark'hissed twice. Gladden climbed out of the house and halfway down the cage wall. Squeak climbed in and they met nose-to-nose. Then Squeak ran out of the cage and continued playing in the bedroom. Gladden, meanwhile, refused to come out of the cage.

So - my theory is that the bark'hiss is a sort of locating call. "Where are you?" - or something like that.

I vaguely remember a dream I had this morning. A group of us were trying to follow a roadmap. Upon reflection, I realized that that's a common, recurring dream of mine: I'm with a group (known to me in the dream - unknown upon waking), we're on a road trip (always by car) in an unfamiliar land, and we've stopped to look at a map to see our route ahead. I don't know how long I've dreamed that dream, but it feels like it's been with me for years.

I try to meditate every day, but I've been forgetting to do it lately. I haven't had any real visions in a long time, but when I do reach a deep enough meditative state, there is always that peaceful sensation of floating in mid air.

I worked in the office all day today (no doctors today), which meant eight hours of listening to KJR "Classic Rock." That stuff's starting to grow on me. This afternoon, I even entertained the idea of submitting my own "Perfect 10." I went to the web site, however, and discovered that my ten songs have to be from their playlist of a little over a hundred songs. I was reminded of why Classic Rock and I don't get along. If a friend asked me to pick out ten songs for them to listen to, I sure wouldn't pick songs from their CD collection. I'd pick ten songs that I thought my friend would enjoy, but it would be songs that would expand their horizons - maybe surprise them, maybe shock them - but it wouldn't be songs they'd heard many times before. The first "classic" rock song that popped into my head - "California Dreaming" - wasn't on KJR's list, nor was anything else by The Mammas & Papas. Maybe I don't get the concept of Classic Rock.

Gladden T Hart has never completely trusted me. He had bonded to Phillip before I moved in. I changed everything, and not for the better. He loves Phillip and tolerates me. But - is that correct? When Phillip is not in proximity, Gladden is very affectionate with me. Until last night, I had thought that I was playing the role of a substitute.

Last night, Gladden was extra cuddly with me, even going so far as to let me envelop him in my hands. He laid still on his back and gently licked the side of my hand. Phillip said something, and Gladden seemed to realize that he'd been discovered. He struggled free of my hands and ran off away from me. Add subterfuge to the emotional range of a sugar glider. The complexity of these creatures continues to amaze me.