My cookie tolerance is insanely low. I really can barely eat more than four or five nowadays--I used to be able to down a package of Oreos in a couple days. Ah, how the mighty have fallen.

I'm moving! I'll have pictures up as soon as I can display them in a way that doesn't broadcast the address (or, alternately, I can check with the new housemate to see if he really cares). It's a 2+-bedroom Craftsman sort of house; I get the second bedroom, the small office/walk-in closet attached to it, and one of the garages. There are three garages, because there are actually two buildings on the property and it's all co-owned by my housemate and his friend who lives in the rear building. Looking at the whole situation, I'm really focusing my life: instead of going from Richmond (new location of Aikido of Berkeley--don't ask) down to Redwood City (home of the loved one and the other dojo), a distance of 40-50 miles, now, since I'm moving to northern Redwood City, everything I go to regularly will be within a ten-mile corridor. In fact I don't even have to take a highway to work, if I don't want to. And instead of having this huge geographical range coupled with living in a huge, huge house, with many rooms and a giant kitchen and 9-10 foot ceilings, I will live around a small area and live in a vastly smaller house with just a few rooms and ceilings where I can't do quarterstaff moves inside.

It does have hardwood floors throughout, a nice little fireplace which I assume works, funky builtins all over the place, and a really, really cool handle on the front door.

I worked about 12 hours today, which is a lot, but sort of an accepted occasional thing in the software industry, and I think maybe in any job where you come up on hard deadlines. I suppose I could have left at a normal time, I certainly had that option...dunno. In part I wonder if I could have been more focused and been less late, and I hate the idea of people thinking me incompetent. I imagine that's pretty difficult with computers, where I tend to be especially conspicuously smart, and they're much more likely to think "trouble meeting deadlines" than anything else. But I hate that, too. Besides, it's not like I work myself to death most of the time, and they're paying me to get shit done. I just found out in a meeting Thursday, by way of putting my foot in my mouth, that they expect 8 hours of work each day, and lunch falls outside that.

Uh...oops?

It's also that this project is part of a tightly-drawn schedule with lots of dependent projects in the coming couple of weeks, so my chunk being late adds stress to other people on the team, because they're late even before they get a chance to start, and they have more responsibility in having to answer to/fend off the rabid monkeys who hand us these tight schedules. So I can put in some extra work to make everyone's life easier, including mine, and gain more office cred (which I was seriously accumulating on Friday by fixing broken shit while Jerry was out of town). All good things.

I've been moody recently. Except not about anything in particular. Which gives me some good ways to think about why exactly I'm moody. I sort of float aimlessly and I'll pin the moodiness on something in my life--aikido has been a frequent target lately, since it's easy to be concerned about appearing competent and being ranked and what not. But when I get down to it I know that it doesn't matter, and there are scores of other things that don't matter, and eventually I run out of stuff to be cranky about, and I'm left with the raw unease. On Sunday, probably because someone thought I couldn't do it, I managed to decide not to be cranky. But then Monday it turned out I did actually need some time to myself.

I am so looking forward to having moved.

I had this awesome dream this morning: I was in a train station, trying to get a train, except instead of catching the train, you stood in front of it and when it would have hit you you were teleported to wherever you were going. I was trying to speak to the woman behind the counter, but she couldn't understand, so I spoke in Spanish, and then she answered in perfect American English. I needed to change money, but when I was at the counter my American money had disappeared, and all I had was (I thought) Hungarian money. So I left the counter, and when I checked my wallet again, I had American money next to the Hungarian. Not that I've ever seen Hungarian money, but that's not the point.

I had a couple anxious moments, at least two or three, where I "lost" my wallet, the way I usually do in real life, by putting it in the wrong pocket or something. But the train was the beginning of a grand and exciting adventure, if I could catch it.