A free afternoon, a little prodding, and a cup of coffee. I write again.

Here I am in the James Johns coffeehouse. A place opened up right next door to Starbucks. And this is something I love about Portland, a place where people have the chutzpah to compete with the big boys, and where other people care enough to buy coffee from them instead of the megastores. Now whether they care about coffee or free trade I can't say for certain. I'm here for the stumptown.

This place is weird. Huge, with a high tin ceiling, and long, like old bar-style. And empty. I'm seated at one of only 3 tables in the place. That's it. And two modern reject couches, but man the coffee's good. Less than 12 hours old from roaster to my cup and served up hot and black. A little touch of molasses and bitter cocoa. I can tell right now I'm going to drink too much of this stuff.

Two dogs are watching me outside with their brown-eyed and saddest expressions on. Watching everybody that comes by. They're waiting with their heads below their haunches for somebody to come around the corner, but they've just about given up hope. Strangely they've taken almost no notice of the scores of other dogs that have come strolling by. St. John's isn't that busy today, but everybody brought their requisite dog to town.

Why no writing? Busy. Lazy. Too many team deathmatch an co-op missions at Tom Clancy's place. Take your pick.

Let me talk about the busy thing first. Looking back at my timesheets for that last couple of weeks, I've seldom put in less than nine hours a day billable, and the last day I had off in its entirety has faded into distant memory. Maybe not so bad. I get busy, I get stressed, I get dramatic.

Work has made me boring. That saying about the work and play? It's not just for crazy people. Turns out it's true. I get off of work. Fried. All I can do is plug in to alternate no-space. Poor Erin. We go out to dinner and I just stare into space. We start to talk about dogs or books and ten minutes later, somehow, I'm thinking about work. I wake up in the morning and I'm thinking about work and wondering, "was I thinking about work in my sleep, too?"

Hopefully this will change soon. I just finished with several TV spots that were eating my brain and my time. Done now, but than of course I've got Mel taking her maternity leave and that Sharp work star...see what I mean?

Let me leave this crap behind and write down some important stuff:

Erin has decided to change her name from Erin Wilson Hanlon to Erin Wilson Hanlon-Couch. It's got a nice ring to it, I think. I should know, because I gave her the ring it's got to it. To be in Paris, in the wintertime and in love. It was the thing to do.

Erin and I will be wed in July, in Minneapolis. Or North Dakota. We'll probably have a second reception here in Portland afterwards.

Thinking about it; I'm totally not scared at all. Not even nervous. I mean, I guess the date is kinda far away. I'll probably get nervous as the day comes closer. I guess right now I'm still in the bewildered stage.

Last night Erin told me she thought she was more excited than I about our wedding, that maybe I wasn't very excited at all. Of course this isn't the case. Things with me just kind of stay under the ice more than with most (it was a cold winter when I was born). Things just aren't real until I can see them close up.

When I was a kid, really young, I didn't know I needed glasses, or maybe I just wouldn't wear them. My world was one of generalities. Trees to me were green blobs, houses were square blobs. I guess a part of me still sees the world this way. Once I decide something. It's done. The decision is the crux and the details pale and fall out of focus.

But of course I'm excited! I'm going to marry a super hot girl who likes scrabble and lets me play RPGs and somehow thinks I'm occasionally funny and doesn't mind if I'm sometimes retarded. The only way she could be hotter would be if she had super powers or was a librarian. And she's thinking about getting a degree in library science....