I am looking forward to the day when I will not live twenty yards from a KFC Taco Smell. When my front gate is not a part of the Thoroughfare of the Crazy.

I was outside a lot this morning; by ten-thirty it was already quite hot out. Brian and I went to get pancakes and crepes, then we took the train to my future neighborhood. We walked to my new apartment and stood outside, listening to the chorus of songbirds, the freeway din much too far away to interfere.

Then we walked back, up and down a towering hill, past the pretty park. I stopped at a sidewalk sale and bought a tiny handmade picture frame with wee seashells glued around it, and Brian grabbed a bigass iced mocha. Our Sunday morning was swell.

My back has been hurting a bit since Saturday morning though, so no ninja class for me. I stayed inside, out of the rising temperatures, and completed countless apartment chores — from trimming my cats’ claws as they slept, to washing some area rugs. I probably didn’t rest enough. But I’m about to go watch the “Six Feet Under” season finale and drink some juice. Later tonight we’ll probably finish up the weekend with a movie at the Metreon.

I really need to start accumulating boxes. We are going to get out of here before the end of June, so I really only have three weeks to get it together.