AUSTIN, Texas, June 29, 2005 — There are plenty of examples. Performance art. Where an action, done long enough and in public, is art. If art is healing, then the journal can be art. Are maybe the words aren't meant to be writing. Maybe the letters are mere decoration. Mere 'greeking' to accompany the lines, the symmetry of the calendar and the photo.

I've been in a good mood lately. Part of being in a good mood is seeing what you are doing as the right things for you. That comes and goes for me, of course.

I had several ideas for the 'course' of my day. The one I settled on was to get a workout, come home, take my films back, go to a noon meeting. This meant get to the gym and a reasonable hour. By 8:30 I'd done several things at my computer (printing out trip info for the parents, printing e-mail stuff for my dad, updating the journal), talked to my dad (reminding him of his PT appointment, reminding him how a new medication needs to be taken), had several cups of coffee, talked to FFP about some books and something he found in one of the papers. If I got off right away I'd have three hours and thirty minutes before my meeting. Should be enough time, don't you think?

Well, I did get to the gym before nine. I blew away an alleged four hundred calories on the recumbent bike, did a few exercises for the pecs and shoulders and triceps and, telling myself I might come back later (ha!) I went home. There was time to see Roddick and Grosjean hitting some balls (I was recording it for later, too) and to get a shower and get dressed.

I wandered down to AFF and returned films and talked to some of the staff. Then I went to the club. I was early. I got through my meeting. This is my brush with 'corporate life' these days...non-profit meetings. Meetings are the opposite of art.

I ran an errand and went home. I watched tennis off the DVR and did various little packing things. Deciding what to put where, what to take. Except for some things that I don't want to pack until the last minute, a lot of the packing is done. Way, way ahead. Packing is an art, sort of. Getting it all in. Leaving the right things out. Being prepared. And getting it packed so you can find it and have what you need at hand. I've never mastered it. Sometimes I think I'm getting closer and closer. Other times I think I'm getting further from the ideal. I think I'm overthinking and overcomplicating. I mean surely it's just a matter of throwing in a toothbruch, clean underwear, a clean T-Shirt and taking along lots of money and being done with it.

We spend the evening waiting for the cable guy to allegedly fix the problem with ESPN. Actually we don't really wait wait. We watch TV. I read some of the paper. I fool around on the computer. I think (overthink?) the packing. I'm also thinking about people I care about and things that are happening with them. I feel lucky but I worry about friends and family. So it goes.

The cable guy calls around nine and alleges he'll be here in ten minutes. Heck, there is no more Wimbledon on ESPN. What do I care? But he gets here. He says it is the connectors and cables. He screws one in and says 'see it works.' Only it quits in a bit. Can we get rid of him without him screwing up the Internet service. That is my only question. Well, we don't really get anything fixed much but we do get rid of him without upsetting the Internet. He works hard, too. Replacing many fittings and cables. Ain't technology grand? He can't get to all the connectors. One day we will have to hire someone to move a giant TV from an armoire. The connection in our bedroom seems to work pretty well. It's the one with the DVR. We decide not to worry about it. But it is eleven o'clock. Eleven o'clock. The guy says that had three hours of overtime before he did this job. I think Time Warner and ESPN better rethink broadcasting a signal so sensitive to the least bit of a nick in the cable or a loose connection. And, of course, I better not be charged for this service. They put all these cable connections in.

So I'm tired. I didn't get to watch shows I wanted to while we watched Major League Baseball screw up on multiple TVs. Whatever. Maybe it's time to just watch less TV. Or go to Grande for TV? But wouldn't it be sad if we had the same problem after switching? I hate technology. But I like sleeping. Think I'll do some of that. It's an art, really.