... Thinking ...

Have you guys heard about the federal judge who barred Illinois schools from holding a daily moment of silence?

Hmm, that sounds too much like the setup to a bad joke with a really unfunny punchline. Let's try this again.

The Illinois General Assembly has a law that says all public school classrooms must observe a non-religious moment of silence at the start of the school day. A radio talk show host who’s an atheist and whose daughter goes to an Illinois public school filed suit to stop enforcement of the law on grounds that it explicitly -- and illegally -- suggests prayer. A federal judge ordered a preliminary injunction stopping enforcement in that family’s school district, then, receiving no objections from other school districts, extended the injunction to all schools in Illinois.

Well, that’s the 30-second version. The news itself is really just incidental to this post, so I'll quit talking about it and instead direct you to the full story at the Chicago Tribune.

I was half-listening to Headline News' recap about the ruling until one phrase caught my full attention: the anchor said the injunction will stop a moment of silence intended for prayer or contemplation.

Prayer or contemplation, huh?

Assuming you choose the latter option, how much contemplation can you do in a moment of silence? How long is a moment of silence? A minute? Thirty seconds?

I can’t decide what to eat for breakfast in that amount of time, much less wrap my brain around anything of value.

Then again, speed contemplation forces one's brain to work faster, putting total enlightenment within reach of the common man. Think on your feet! Be decisive!

It takes Zen masters years to determine the sound of one hand clapping. In one minute, I have determined it sounds like the idling engine of a Ford Fiesta stuck on the L.A. freeway in July.

What about the riddle of how many angels can dance on the head of a pin? In 30 seconds, I’ve concluded it’s 37, assuming it is a standard-size pin and that the angels are the actors from the 1996 film Space Jam.

Both the Tribune article and the law itself go beyond Headline News’ “prayer or contemplation” statement – but only slightly. The Tribune article phrases it as “a moment of silence suitable for prayer or contemplating the day's activities at the start of the day.”

Well, that makes more sense. Most people can figure out the day’s schedule in a matter of seconds. Most days, mine goes something like this: Work, lunch, work, dinner, mindless entertainment, bed.

That took me about 15 seconds, which leaves me 45 seconds to figure out the meaning of life.

Ready, set, contemplate.

Charleston calling (and an update on Paul's back)

Paul met with the neurosurgeon yesterday. The doctor said it's a ruptured disk and that Paul's a good candidate for surgery -- and likely will need surgery when he gets older -- but that it's not critical he have it now. He also said it's interesting how Paul's back has rather quickly healed itself numerous times in the last 13 years or so. (Paul's so much like Wolverine!) :D

Paul came home with a list of 10 exercises to do 10 times twice a day. Ooh, ooh -- maybe I can get him out of bed to be my walking partner in the morning. ... Probably not. I wake up before my alarm clock and reply to e-mails, check for new stories on the wire (easier than rushing when I get to the office), and blog when I have leftover time. Paul wakes up an hour and a half later, usually bearishly grumpy, and drags around for at least another hour after that. Oh, how I sometimes wish he drank coffee.

One thing I did appreciate about our business/pleasure trip to Charleston was having the chance to sleep late. (Nothing new to him, but I don't sleep in often.) We stayed in two hotels over the course of the week, and in a rare hotel occurrence, both had really comfortable beds. So we closed those heavy, sunlight-blocking curtains and slept late. Who needs an alarm clock when you're (kind of) on vacation?

Speaking of Charleston, I came home with some momentum from the trip -- that is, I came home ready to take the next steps in moving, such as planning packing strategies (Smacky: You're right. My strategy is to have Paul pack everything -- kidding!), calling the moving company for an estimate, and trying to figure out how much furniture we can fit in a place less than half the size of our house. I even have momentum in putting off a garage sale! :D

And yesterday, I took another step in the moving process: I called Verizon and set up an account with a Charleston phone number. T-Mobile doesn't have coverage in Charleston -- we were completely roaming the entire week we were there (groan) -- so I had to pick a new carrier. I went with Verizon because I can get a family plan that includes my phone, Paul's phone and the OnStar phone in my car. For now, I just have one line with a data plan and GPS nav.

Of course, my old phone doesn't work with the new carrier, so I had to buy a new phone as well. ... The entire experience became rather expensive, but it had to be done at some point anyway. Phones -- well, nice phones -- aren't cheap.

So for the next three months (at least), Paul and I will have T-Mobile phones with Memphis numbers (and a $200 bill), and we'll share -- but I'll likely carry -- a Verizon phone with a Charleston number (and a $100 bill). But we decided it's important to have a local number there to start giving out, and it especially will come in handy as a contact number when we set up appointments for things like utilities and cable.

For a long time, and likely because I've never been in this situation, everything about moving has been surreal. But it's starting to come together in my head as things click into place: getting the apartment, meeting his coworkers, driving through campus, buying a phone.

And now that it's really sinking in, it's even harder because I feel like I'm living a dual life right now -- phasing out of one place and into another. Yuck.

My new phone is supposed to be at the house by 3 p.m. today. Paul, don't you dare open that box! That's my $142.01 phone (after rebates with a 2-year contract, for a limited time only)! I'm kidding ... sort of. You can at least open the box and plug it into the charger. ;-)

Home is where you put your house keys

Hey, look! It's Charleston Harbor!

We're back in Memphis and I head to work this morning to serve out the rest of a three-day sentence. I'm kidding; I really do love my job. But it seems short weeks drag on longer than they should, probably because no one's head is in the game. But anyway, it's back to work I go.

I have new photos in my Friends gallery and have created a new folder of Charleston pics. I spared all the pictures of an empty apartment, but I did include some picturesque photos from the complex's two piers onto Shem Creek.

Visiting Charleston was surreal at first because moving is still a nebulous concept. But having put a deposit on an apartment now, coming back to Memphis is a little surreal as well. It almost feels like we have a home in each city now, but all of our friends and family and things are still in Memphis.

But as far as places go, I couldn't be much closer to home than in Charleston. I mean, it's 11 hours away, so obviously it's not close to home, but Charlestonians are so similar to Memphians that the two places really seem made for each other. Everyone we met was friendly and laid back. They talk slowly and move slowly. The leasing agent at our complex said the 8 a.m. rush hour is smaller than th 9 a.m. rush hour, which doesn't surprise me. Obviously, the two areas differ in more ways than I care to list in a blog post, but my point is that the people I met made me feel right at home.

I know I'm going to waffle about it, but as of this moment -- 7:15 a.m. Wednesday -- I like Charleston. The idea of moving is a totally different beast.

Paul visits the neurosurgeon Thursday to check on his back ... well, I guess the problem is really his leg, which is all tingly. Here's hoping they can get to the root of the pinched nerve so he can start a course of treatment, finish his dissertation, pack everything in the house, and move.

Okay, I had more to say, but it's time for me to get ready for work. I'll be back later. Have a good day! ^_^

Paradise ... lost?

Paul and I put down a deposit on an apartment in Mount Pleasant, S.C., today. (Paul never gets tired of saying it's a very pleasant town, but the joke is getting old.)

We actually toured two places: Hibben Ferry (Mt. Pleasant) and The Islands (James Island). Both of them looked good on paper -- they were in decent locations and had the amenities we needed (cat-friendly, washer/dryer connections and whatnot).

Paul and I toured Hibben Ferry first and were impressed by the property and the staff. Okay, the name is rather annoying and sets off my editor bells, but I'll let it slide. I have pretty high apartment standards, having lived in the most amazing place right on the riverbanks in Downtown Memphis. But this surpassed my expectations. Open floor plans, tennis courts, pool, free gym membership to a 20,000-square-foot gym across the street, two grill/picnic areas, screened-in porches on every unit (a big deal in the South), screened gazebo, and (!!!) two piers onto a big, beautiful creek. The creek empties into the Atlantic, so you can catch saltwater fish from the piers.

After leaving Hibben, we toured The Islands, and it was pretty much the complete opposite of Hibben Ferry. I should've been clued in by the neon-colored banner outside the leasing office with a picture of a cocktail and the tagline, "The closest you can get to paradise." The complex is -- I'm not kidding -- behind a Wal-Mart Supercenter. Construction is shoddy and the average age of residents is about 18. Nobody other than the leasing agent was wearing anything other than a bikini or swim trunks.

Even before we left the parking lot of The Islands, I was 100 percent dead-set against living there. But to seal the deal, Paul and I passed five vultures on the way out of the complex. Consider it a divine sign.

We went back to Hibben and reserved a first-floor, two-bedroom unit with a view of the dog play park. I think Fred and Joe will get a kick out of watching the fuzzy puppies running around.

These are my actual photos from the complexes. The heron was on the creek at Hibben Ferry; the vultures were on the side of the driveway to The Islands. Good versus evil indeed.

Birthday cake recap

Thanks for all your suggestions for a birthday cake. I printed out the list and took it to the woman who orders the cakes. She talked me out of all of them. For real.

Sigh.

We settled on a caramel cake, which I later found out that -- despite its name -- is really a white cake with really sweet and not-at-all-caramelesque icing. Hey, it's the thought that counts, and I'm fortunate that I work for a company that buys a cake for each employee's birthday. We have free cake pretty much every week!

Here's what my cake looked like:



It didn't taste horrible, but it had to compete with a far superior (and cuter!) cake. The man who owns the paper stopped by to drop off leftovers from his son's high school graduation party. He had an Xbox cake!!! Most of the Xbox was gone, but the controller was still mostly intact. Pretty cool, huh?



Oh, I do have to give props in the ice cream department. I requested chocolate-chip cookie dough ice cream to go with my cake, and they bought it! Yum!

Miscellany (Notes to Smacky, E; update on Paul)

I'm in Charleston! I'm going to start uploading photos and probably will post one or two tomorrow.

Smacky: I've added a shout-out box to the left of the page to accommodate Twitter comments. You technically can leave comments via Twitter, but you have to join and that's a big pain in the butt. So now we've got a comment widget. Use it. But still leave me comments. I love comments. :-)

E: Do I know you in real life? I thought you said I did. But I've gone through the laundry list of people I know (a rather small group) and can't figure out who you are! I feel really silly because I asked a coworker who used to work in indie radio if he knew anyone who liked The Kills, and then had to give him the elevator speech about why I wanted to know. And, Perhaps even sillier, I visited a friend's MySpace page four times in a day to see if the clues match. (He's into jiu jitsu; not so sure about taekwondo.) Anyway, somebody's suggested you don't really exist, but I believe you do. I just can't figure out whether I know you in real life.

Despite a herniated disc, Paul made it through the ride to Charleston. I did all the driving -- not really a big deal after doing almost all the driving to New York last year. I was really tired when I got here though, and my shoulders are really sore. I think I must've hunched over the wheel for the entire 12+ hours I was in the car, and I was tense anyway because we drove through a really (really) bad rain/hailstorm.

We went to the South Carolina Aquarium today and drove around the city. Seafood for lunch and dinner. I'm not completely enamored with Charleston yet, but it'll likely grow on me. Tomorrow: a look at the first apartment complex.

I miss my cats, my friends and Rock Band. I can't wait to go home ... I mean, my real home.

Back tomorrow with pics.

Nursing Paul *back* to health (it's a pun, people)

Wanted to let you guys know why I've been AFK the past couple of days.

Paul has had back issues for years. Nothing critical, but it flares up from time to time. We spend Christmas Eve a few years ago in the ER. That was an experience.

His back started hurting a couple of weeks ago after mowing the yard. A few days later, he reached down to pick up the cat food bag (and it was just a little bag, not like a 50-pound bag or anything) and it popped. He spent last Friday and Saturday hardly moving; by Sunday afternoon, he was glued to his chair. Monday, he visited the chiropractor, who did some normal chiropractor-type stuff (pulled this, pushed that, whatever ...), then used ultrasonic and electro-gizmo treatments to release endorphins and get him moving again. The chiropractor told him to come back all week (Tuesday-Saturday and the following Monday) for the same treatments.

The treatments kinda sorta helped; he was moving someone by the time I left for work Wednesday. He went to the chiropractor Wednesday morning then to the University. A few hours later, he called to tell me his back pain had become severe and his leg was numb. My question: "So, where are you?" His answer: "Driving." He had called the chiro's office and they said they couldn't do anything about the pain. They suggested he go to his primary care doctor's office. So that's where he was headed.

I'm not really sure what happened at the doctor's office; I now know they gave him a prescription for a muscle relaxer and called the insurance company to get him preapproved for an MRI. But the next time I heard from him, he was in so much pain he couldn't speak and was driving to the ER.

They took him back fairly quickly (thank god his mother works at the hospital and knew one of the ER nurses). The bad news was that because insurance had approved him for an MRI Thursday, they couldn't do an MRI in the emergency room. All they could do was make the pain bearable in the meantime. They gave him a bunch of shots and wrote prescriptions for Flexeril, Lortab and Valium.

I took a half-day off from work to take him to the MRI yesterday. Results should be back soon (today I hope). He's stayed pretty doped up and is sleeping right now. I'm kind of lousy at taking care of other people, but I'm trying. He says he should be well enough to travel when we drive to Charleston Tuesday. ::sighs:: I'm leaving that decision to him. I usually do all the driving on road trips anyway, so that's not a problem.

I've been fortunate -- I've never had back pain. Those who have seem to have some "been there, done that" camaraderie, and plenty of people have sent good wishes. Paul's a special guy, and I hate to see him in pain. ... Of course, with the number of prescriptions he's on, I can't imagine he's in much pain at all. <3

I printed out your cake suggestions and have made a decision. More on that later.
ks

Let them eat cake ...

... but which one?

My office buys a cake for each employee on his or her birthday, and with mine coming up Monday, I have some decisions to make. I'm not strictly limited to cakes; coworkers have chosen donuts, ice cream cakes, and various pies. Yesterday, we had bagels and flavored cream cheeses from a restaurant across town.

All that said, the woman who orders the birthday confections has requested (and I have veto power) that I order a cake; lately, everyone's picked ice cream cakes (which she can't eat) or bagels (which are becoming passe).

This will be my fourth birthday while at the company. I don't remember every year's picks, but I'm pretty sure last year I chose a chocolate-frosted Neapolitan cake, which as I recall was good but not spectacular.

At this point, most people would elicit suggestions from coworkers -- who actually will be affected by the choice -- but instead, I'm going to ask you guys. What kind of cake (or not-cake) should I order for my birthday?

To E (A: The Racquet Club)

This is the answer to the snail-mailed E clue. Here's what it said:

Kate,
LOVE AND ACES
ARE SERVED IN MANY PLACES
BUT NONE IN MEMPHIS
ARE QUITE LIKE THIS

EACH WINTER THEY COME
PERFORM FOR THE BLEACHER BUM
TO WIN MILLIONS OF DOLLARS
AND FOR CHAMPIONSHIP BLISS

IS IT JUST A GAME
OR DOES EVIL HATCH
WHEN THEY ARE DEAD SET
ON WINNING THIS MATCH

LOVE,
MR. E

So there you have it. The Racquet Club of Memphis, home of the Regions Morgan Keegan Tennis Championship in February. ^_^

Mr. E: Eric says hi. No, not really. Monday, I went to him and said, "Okay, I have two yes/no questions. Say nothing but yes or no. One, did you know that you know Mr. E?" (He looked stunned and said no. I believe him.) "Two, do you know anyone who was in Destin last week?" (Again, no. Again, I believe him.)

I told L.W. you said hi to Eric but not him. ;-)

Weird taco dream

As I said in my Twitter update, last night I dreamed that Heath Ledger brought Paul and me a bag of tacos. Everyone was barefoot. Here's what it means, according to this dream dictionary. (I've cut out parts of definitions that don't apply.)

Celebrity: "... To see a celebrity in your dream ... represents your understanding about him or her and the feelings he/she generates in you. Something in you waking life has triggered these similar beliefs and feelings. ..."

Tacos: "The taco is a dream symbol of possibilities. If you dream of eating one, you're off to a fresh start in your life. ... The spicier the taco ingredients are, the greater the chance your flexibility will soon be tested. ..."

Barefoot: "To dream that you are barefoot represents your playful attitudes and relaxed, carefree attitude."

Sigh. I feel no more enlightened than I did five minutes ago. Surely there's a better interpretation, right?

E's letter and handwriting analysis

I got a snail-mail letter from E at my office today. Snail-mail! I love mail ... and I never get it, especially at the office! So it looks like I've got a photo-hunt picture to take this weekend.

Oh my god, did I mention I got real mail?! Like post-office mail?!?!

E, do you know my coworkers? If so, L.W. and E.S. said you probably sent a letter to a friend in Pensacola to mail to me to throw me off. Johanna said it was kind of creepy. Paul looked for a watermark on the paper ... but he's kind of weird like that. After this is all said and done, ask him about all his crazy E theories. ^_^

Let's review what I know: guy from Memphis, brown hair, blue eyes, loves rock. Birthday between April and August. School named after a tree. Was in Florida last week. (Had it been this week, I would've assumed you were at Bench Bar. Not sure what was going on in Destin last week, but I can probably find it out.)

Now comes the fun(ny) part. I own The Complete Idiot's Guide to Handwriting Analysis AND The Little Giant Encyclopedia of Handwriting Analysis. (I found this very fascinating in college.) I don't buy into much of it, but it's fun in a "about as reliable as palm-reading" kind of way. The clue was typed but the envelope was printed. Here's what the envelope says about E.

The location of the address shows he is emotional, outward-looking, restless, unwilling to take initiative. The style of the letters of my name show he is ambitious, honest, talkative, lacking control, an underachiver, critical and quick-thinking. The "M" in Memphis shows he is ambitious, envious, immature and seeking approval. The TN means he's intelligent, excitable, expressive, lacking discipline, unrestrained and unstable. We won't get into what the J means.

Charleston: a "glass half full" approach

This is highly overdue. And chances are I'll be following it up with more reasons once I'm back from vacation.

31 reasons why living in Charleston will rock
(In no particular order)

1. New scenery: The ocean! And palm trees!
   
2. I’ll have Paul, Fred and Joe to keep me company.
   
3. Good manners … really good manners.
   
4. I can work on my Southern accent. (Some people say I have a strong one, some say it’s not very noticeable. Anybody who’s heard me want to weigh in?)
5. And speaking of Southern accents, what about Gullah -- a whole 'nother language? Maybe this is a Southern thing too, but I actually understand it no problem.
   
6. “It’s a beautiful city!” (If I had a quarter for every time I’ve been told that in the last five months …)
   
7. “It’s a beautiful city, and you’d better have an extra room because I’m coming to visit!” (Yes, we’ll have an extra room. And yes, I expect you to visit.)
   
8. Paul in a uniform
   
9. Twenty or so golf courses give me an excuse to learn to golf.
   
10. Six hours to Orlando
    
11. Five hours to Atlanta
    
12. Four -- not 14 -- hours to Jacksonville … and Carrie
    
13. Teavana
14. Pirates!
    
15. Cultural overload: Spoleto and Piccolo Spoleto
    
16. “Going away” means being able to “come home.”
    
17. America’s only tea plantation
    
18. Taking a break from Memphis to try somewhere new …
    
19. … But not being too far from authentic Memphis barbecue …
    
20. … And maintaining a long-distance editing gig with Memphis Downtowner Magazine.
    
21. Hurricanes! (“… Is she crazy?”)
    
22. An aquarium that isn’t six hours away
    
23. More history and historical places than you can shake a stick at ...
    
24. ... And speaking of sticks, a huge, 1,500-year-old, 65-foot oak tree that provides 17,000 square feet of shade.
    
25. Stephen Colbert
    
26. Robert Jordan
    
27. Rhett Butler
    
28. A chance to get a master’s or another bachelor’s degree on my terms -- when I want, where I want, in what field I want
    
29. Friday afternoon parades at The Citadel
    
30. Ghost tours! More ghost tours!
    
31. Hey, I’ll try anything once.

[Edit: Actual conversation last night:
Paul: "You know Robert Jordan is dead, right?" Me: "Yeah, I know. (pause) ... You know Rhett Butler never existed, right?" Paul: "Noooo ... Who's that?"]

Musicfest recap (and a note to E)

Mr. E: I saw the sign below on Front Street after leaving Musicfest Saturday night. It made me think of the photo hunt, so I had Paul snap a pic of it. Consider it a bonus on my end. I've seen it before -- you know, during all my trips wandering Front Street (?!) -- and it makes me smile every time. So, um ... I'm still in the game if you are.

Speaking of Musicfest, I had a great time and can't thank Johanna enough for the tickets, her early birthday gift to Paul and me. Friday night was a washout -- literally. I knew it was going to rain, so Paul and I rushed around town to find raincoats before we went to Tom Lee Park. (No, we didn't own raincoats. I'm not much of a coat person.) I'm glad we bought them; the storms were way worse than I thought they'd be.

The Ben Folds concert was canceled because of the rain, as was The Roots concert on the same stage afterwards. I didn't care so much about The Roots, but I was sad about missing Ben Folds. The stupid thing is that nobody came on stage to say the concert was canceled. We were clued in when the crew started wheeling the instruments off stage. Man, that sucked.

I was already about to cry as we headed toward the exit, and some dude walking past me just jumped in the mud for the heck of it and yelled, "Hey, I got you muddy!" Well, that pushed me over the edge. But, from what I hear, dealing with the rain -- and drunk jerks -- is part of the Musicfest experience. Consider me experienced now.

Saturday night, we were back at Musicfest and met up with Matthew and Paul's dad to watch the Seether concert. (See previous post for a pic of Matthew, Paul and me.) It wasn't raining, but it was insanely muddy from the previous night. A lot of people were in flip-flops or barefoot, walking through an area where Paul Sr. and Matthew saw some dude pee on the ground. Eww. The two of them were staying at one stage to watch Disturbed, so we parted ways and Paul and I went to another stage to catch the end of John Butler Trio followed by Matisyahu. Good concerts all around.

Also on Saturday, I got a surprise package from Mattie with new marbles to wrap. (See picture a couple of posts ago ... or click here. Those are my favorite round-nose pliers in the middle.) I happened to be talking to him when the package came and was SO excited. He said he felt like an asshole not telling me the package was on its way but that he wanted it to be a surprise. It was indeed a surprise, so I think I can forgive him for being an asshole. :-)

It's going to be rough splitting my free time between wrapping marbles and The World Ends With You -- and thats not even counting Rock Band. So much fun, so little time.

My enforcers

Matt, me and Paul at Beale Street Music Fest. If Matt wasn't scrunching down so much, you could see how much they both tower over me.

I feel totally protected when I'm between the two of them. It came in handy tonight when I found myself standing in three inches of slippery mud, pushed around by a huge throng that was mostly comprised of angry, cocky 17-year-olds drunk on Bud Light and wandering barefoot through the spot where some dude had just peed on the ground.

So, yeah. Having family that doubles as bodyguards is the most awesomest awesome thing in the world.

New work order

Perfect day ... V 2.0

Three years and a handful of days ago, I posted what my perfect day would be like. I’d forgotten all about that post until Smacky mentioned it in his May 1 retrospective. So I figured I’d rewrite my perfect day – v.2.0 if you will – without looking at the 2005 post ... and then compare them. So here goes nothing.

My perfect day 2008:

Wake up. Sun’s shining and I’m grateful that I’m on the side of the bed facing the window because I’m totally a morning person. Two glasses of water, then a steaming mug of jasmine tea as a reward. Shower. Makeup (black eyeliner, pink lip gloss; life is better with pink lip gloss). Baggy jeans, black hoodie, Birkenstocks.

Watch an hour of cartoons. Maybe spend half an hour playing whatever video game currently has a grip on me ... and not get angry at the game. Half an hour on the piano.

Drive to the bluffs; lo and behold, My Spot isn’t flooded. (Night shot at the left.) It’s quiet and not too cold, thanks to the hoodie. Write. Read – maybe reread my favorite classics: Walden or anything by Eliot. Lunch is tacos and homemade (but not by me) banana pudding, washed down with Framboise.

Toss on the iPod and drive for a while. Get a massage and a facial. Ooh, and a pedicure. Shop – lipstick, new purse, various electronics (120GB iPod; full-size, weighted-hammer, MIDI-compatible keyboard).

Dinner with all my friends, including a few from out of town. Sushi/hibachi. Pineapple boat and a Polaroid picture (not shaken). Live music in an intimate setting. Rock Band and Uno at my house until 3 a.m.

Crash in bed because the sun’s going to be back up in a few hours and I’m taking a road trip to anywhere, baby.

Hmm, okay. Let’s see here. Three years ago, I was much more centered: meditation and yoga on a soft blanket in a botanic garden. Lunch was Zoe’s potato salad (now closed), Abita root beer (now hard to find), red velvet cake (requires effort to make). I’ve changed from a black skirt (which I tripped on and tore a hole through) to baggy jeans. Still wearing a black hoodie and Birks.

Still reading Eliot, but I gave up my e-books (Neverwhere, Anarchists’ Cookbook) for Walden. Still writing. Didn’t bring my kite with me like I did in 2005, although, in retrospect, that would’ve been a good idea.

Sugary Earl Grey has become jasmine tea (I’ve cut my sugar intake). Traded a Jacuzzi bath for a party with my friends and staying up all night. Added in some shopping and a massage.

My writing has become a lot more utilitarian and less elegant, but whatever. It’s not killing me.

... So, from this, I determine that three years of bipolar meds, reuniting with friends (!!), getting on supplements for the anemia, going through a cancer scare, getting two cats and spending more non-school time with Paul have made me more outgoing, less anxious, more energetic, less self-aware, more social, less socially awkward.

Also, I've broadened my taste in music and lipstick, and you know what? I'm having a lot more fun.