AUSTIN, Texas, Feb. 5, 2005 — I spend a lot of my time in my own head. That seemed to me like a good deal today. I awoke at various times during the night with a taste of bile in my mouth. I don't know what I was dreaming. (I know that night before last I dreamed of dodging into various crevices and hiding places in the wake of giant machines and of being in a movie that was really reality only we could change it by going in a different direction.) When I finally got around to getting up, it was after eight, I think. I'd come up with a way to calculate the basis of the stock redemption that was giving me a problem.

Of course, it turned out the technique was wrong, according to something I found on the WEB. But it would have sufficed and, doubtless, not been caught by the IRS and been close enough. Maybe. Anyway, I found stuff on the WEB about this problem. The WEB is a wonderful thing. But the dream-state solution made me think to check the WEB and find it.

I go to the gym. FFP went, too, but earlier than I and then he shopped for groceries on the way home. I was in my little secret place inside my head while working out, reading, listening to a financial show on Fox. I also went over in the hallway by the racquetball courts with my book and some weights and did some sets, breaking to read a paragraph or two in between sets. I could see bits of the gym, reflected and my reflection in the glass in front of the dark court. I sat on the bench with my book when breaking and once just sat there, warm and sweaty, thinking. FFP spoke to me and touched my arm while I was on the bike and a couple of people said something to me about my consistency in coming to the gym. But I was in a secret place somehow.

I was thinking how chilly it was when I went into the gym but when I came out it seemed to be warming up a lot, the sun shining. People were out on the courts and I vaguely wished I was playing tennis.

I headed home, feeling hungry, wondering what leftovers I might find to eat. FFP was sitting at the breakfast table (which is a misnomer...most meals are taken here, those that aren't taken standing up...we usually move to THE room or the dining room when there is company). He was eating leftover catfish. He said that it was all of the catfish. I thought there was another container with another slice in the fridge. But first I had a ripe banana and some cereal and nonfat yogurt. I then got the piece of catfish out and heated it up and had some wasabi mustard sauce with it. An odd meal, surely, but with a couple of food groups represented.

I feel like goofing off, but I decide to make some copies and do some work on the dreaded taxes. Three 1099-INT statements lead us to sort through a bunch of stuff looking for answers. I make all the copies of Dad's stuff and a little summary for the CPA. Would that my life were that simple. You just have to keep your sense of humor and perspective. You have to feel lucky to have enough money that it's a headache. (Even though we don't have enough to really have someone else worry about it.)

Finally I go downstairs and have a snack and enjoy having a leisurely shower and grooming session, looking at newspapers, watching TV.

I work on packing lists for my trips and some e-mails, sort some more through my New York stuff that is littering my floor and we go off to a dinner to raise money for Project Transitions.

At the dinner I enjoy the Champagne toast with live piano music by the host, one of the best jazz pianists in town. I enjoy the leek tart, the herb salad with ricotto cheese, the bread soup, the chicken with garlic and the plum tart with lavender ice cream. It's all delicious. There is an interesting Italian white, a red and a Valpocella dessert wine that isn't too sweet and is a great complement to the dessert. The dessert was made by an amateur but he's quite a dessert maker. The rest was prepared by a one-time professional chef. Her place was on Bee Cave Road. For some reason restaurants in Westlake don't seem to attract us. We rarely go over there except for parties. Occasionally we used to drive to the book store out on Cap of Texas and Bee Cave, I don't know why. We hardly do that anymore. (We actually seem to go to bookstores less although I read more.)

The whole time the conversation flows with tales of relationships and personalities. I add a bit here and there but, mostly, I stay in that private place.

We run late for the dessert reception. Some people are going to the gig where the piano player/host of the earlier part of the evening is working. We hear people are downtown celebrating mardi gras (yeah, I know it isn't Tuesday) and I have socialized all I really need to do. At either place we might go we would see people we knew, talk. But we'd have to drink expensive bottled water as anything else to eat or drink would put us over the top.

So we head home and, amazingly, go fairly immediately to bed.