The dark green hillsides were lit with orange and red today as I drove north of Everett. Everett, then Marysville, then a nice wide stretch of road with a few less people on it.

Then, I hit Highway 20, which led to Highway 9 north. Outside of Sedro Wolley, the speed limit is 50 but I'm doing 60, and the road is lightly travelled among farms and small towns. I pushed Regina's engine a little bit, then a little bit more, keeping one eye on the road and the other on the tach, figuring out just what pressure here equaled in speed there. The road was just curvy enough to be interesting, and I blithely ignored most of the posted speeds on the curves. Regina stretched out along the road and purred for me.

I like driving, particularly when there's nobody else on the road. I missed my turn, drove all the way up to Sumas (on the Canadian border) because my directions were incorrect; I then drove all the way into Bellingham before figuring out that that wasn't right either. Finally, I found it: Cloud Mountain Farm. They're having their apple festival this weekend, and I wandered around for a while, nibbling on apples and grapes, looking at all the lovely plants in the nursery and listening to the live music being played on a little stage. The air was damp and cool, with a tinge of winter to it, and the clouds hugged the hills above us.

After buying ten pounds of apples and a gallon jug of cider, I set off back south, towards home. I could have driven through Bellingham again and taken the fast way home, but I decided that 9 was too much fun not to do it again.

I stopped by Burlington for lunch, and did a bit of shopping at the outlet mall; I picked up a new pair of wings, this pair are big butterfly wings for my costume this year. I also stopped by Mikasa and managed not to but the whole store; instead, I just got a metal fruit basket, something I've been needing for a while. And then, south again. I got home around 4:15 or so, unloaded the car, and sat down for a few minutes. I then made pie dough (thank god for food processors; I've made pie dough by hand and it is *not* easy), popped a DVD into the player, and sat down to peel five of the ten pounds of apples.

Halfway through the movie, the apples were all peeled, so I cut and cored them and popped them into lemon water to await the pie crust being chilled.

Rolled out the pie crust.
Laid the apples in the pie.
Sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar, dotted with butter, laid the other crust over top, cut slits for steam, pricked the top crust, sealed the edges with a fork.

Popped it in the oven.

Did dishes. Made applesauce with the rest of the apples.

Curled up on the couch.

I was going to clean while the pie baked, but I only managed the dishes; my legs were complaining, and I've just plain given into fatigue and the urge to write an entry.

And so here I am. The house is messy but it smells like apple pie, one of the best smells in the whole world.

And I am happy.

My watchword for this winter is "transform".

I bought some Philosophy face cleanser a few weeks back. It says on the bottle, "when you are clean, then you can start being who you really are."

Given that I have been Chameleon Girl for the last little while, I have no idea who I actually am underneath. I gave up my words, my language, and promptly lost myself. In the absence of rigorous self-definition, I became soft and pliable to whatever other people wanted of me. I am good at being whatever other people want; I haven't yet figured out how to be who I actually am.

So everything is undergoing evaluation. i am testing each of my premises; several already have been completely thrown out. I have outdated desires, neglected promises, and a crust of scars that I'm tempted to break through to see what might be beneath.

I have discovered a desire to work with my brain anomaly instead of against it, to see what would happen if I quit pretending to be a human and spent more time in that dark, wordless space in what would otherwise be the neurons that interpret audio stimuli. I've already thrown out what I thought I knew about music, the result of listening to other people's interpretations of music and adding it to a pool of knowledge that never actually touched me. What gets me going are lyrics, and I've noticed that the colors of the music are especially vivid when I can relate it to words. everything might be a muddy mess before I learn the lyrics, but give me words and two or three listens later I can hear the colors clearly.

Come spring, I may be very different than I am now. We'll see.

And today's pictures, taken outside my bedroom window:

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