A few last scenes from my life as a writer. Over the last few days, I haven't thought about being a massage therapist at all except for when a woman at the poetry reading asked what I did. I had to hesitate a moment to find the answer she wanted. Because she knew I was staying at Wellspring, she already knew I was a writer. She wanted to know what else I did. And despite the frustrations and bits of loneliness, I have to say that I don't want to do anything else. It's not that I don't miss my life in Portland, but I will miss the purity of this life and will have to work to bring more of what I've found here back home.