I got in officially this afternoon! My letter came in the mail, and I will be clapping my hands and singing at French middle schoolers in Besancon. I'll take off for France in late September, hopefully make it for the classical music festival, and stay 'til May.

SO HAPPY! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Besan%C3%A7on

Working at Emory, my favorite person is Oksana, the office manager. She's always polite and quietly funny. I think it was my third day at work when she asked me for help with her ESL homework. She has a ridiculous pile of PhDs in her closet, in things like Russian poetry and linquistics. She is an amazing person, and she speaks English very well, but she needs to improve it to teach in this country. So she took the job at Emory so that she could take classes on things like how to write research papers in English. In exchange for my help she's taught me a few sentences of Russian and bought me chocolates. She's Ukrainian, her husband's from the Congo, and they have the most beautiful, brilliant children I've ever met. She's invited me over for dinner a couple times. I mean, she's awesome.

She's been receiving these letters from the homeowner's association in her subdivision, and when she had me read them, I could tell they thought they could get away with charging her for ridiculous things and writing her threatening letters because she's an immigrant and I am just so appalled at that. I am so, so angry that they are trying to take advantage of her. She came into my office crying, letters in hand, and my jaw just set.

I'd like to airlift them all over to China and watch them flounder for a while. Try to get some food. Try to figure out where they are. Everyone who has ever been impatient with someone trying to speak English ought to go to a non-English speaking country and find out what it feels like to be at the mercy of strangers, because it's just so goddamned humbling that it forces you to be a better person.

Studying abroad, I learned kindness in a whole new way. I am not naturally patient, but when people would wait a half an hour to hash out what I was trying to say with the most elementary Cantonese, I'd feel so grateful for their help. So, when Oksana came to ask me for help with her ESL homework, I was so happy to help, because I knew what it was like to be smart but be completely immobilized by language. I think that my proudest moment in China, outside of being told I really knew how to handle my chopsticks, was the moment when after four months I successfully cracked a crappy joke in Chinese, and my friends all laughed because it was just so bad. That's what learning a language is. It's learning nuances. It's dealing with not being funny or clever because you just don't have the tools.

So, again, when Oksana came to my office crying, I was furious. We wrote this letter, my mom would be proud, laced with tiny, terrible criticisms in perfect English. I had her list her Ph.D., and I hope they feel like assholes because that is exactly what they are. They got back to her five minutes after we faxed it over, apologizing profusely for the misunderstandings. She gave me a high five, and I insisted on buying her a congratulatory coffee.

There's a beauty to the little justices, the one's you can help dispense and really see through. I find that I am continually frustrated in the quest for larger justices, though it doesn't stop me from trying. The little justices are the ones that make me hopeful.

The cosmos put in a song request for me this morning. Driving to work, fed up with Marketplace on NPR, I switched up my presets and rocked out to "Refugee" by Tom Petty. It was just so good! Like Chicken McNuggets with sweet and sour sauce after months without McDonald's good. "It don't really matter to me, baby. / You believe what you want to believe."

I am swilling some coffee and enjoying the unnatural quiet of Emory on the Friday before Spring Break starts. It's funny, on a gray day like this one, to see all the students dressed to catch their flights to tropical-er climes. The only appointment I had on the books for today just walked out of the office shivering in her 3/8ths of a skirt. Bon Voyage! I plan to spend next week playing typer shark, shopping online, and applying for summer jobs. If I maintain radio silence and look busy, I think I may be able to evade major assignments from my supervisors.

Emily is coming to visit this weekend. I went grocery shopping for fruits, bread and beverages last night. My refrigerator is the most stocked it's been since I started buying food for myself. Also, I had to rearrange my spice shelf thing. I can measure my tenure in adult life by the variety of condiments and seasonings I have. I started out with a bottle of soy sauce, and mustard and ketchup. I now have crazy shit like oyster sauce and not one but two vinegars. It's very exciting.

I need to clean for Emily. Oh, piles of dishes in my sink, why don't you have the decency to wash yourselves? People shouldn't have to live this way.

I'm sitting next to Sam in the big house, watching Curious George and doing laundry. This has been a long, hard week, and I must say he's the best company I could ask for right now. He's flopped upside down, rolling around and giggling. Every once in a while he shrieks, "Tickle me!" I oblige. He's a good kid, and I really enjoy Curious George, and, as I said before, it's been a long week. It was all demands, each more difficult and unrewarding than the last. Sam's request is so small and easy by comparison- it's a relief, really, to just give a ticklish little boy his wish.

I'm shiny in the nose. I washed the stress and mascara off when I came home from Emory. My skin is oily and my hair is limp. I should shave my legs and repaint my nails. Luckily enough, my date seems genuinely disinterested in my appearance as he is in his own. Sam's and my ugly pajamas are in love with bright patterns in primary colors, they are soul mates.

This is as a good a way as any to spend a Friday night. I'm comfortable. After Sam goes to bed, in about fifteen minutes, I will open a Peroni and watch something slightly trashy on-demand on the giant flat screen monstrosity downstairs. Like the L-Word. I will indulge my smut-loving hermit side for a while.

It will be wonderful, and I will reemerge on Saturday.

Hannibal Rising was the most unintentionally hilarious horror film I've seen since Jason X, a particularly ridiculous installment of the Friday the 13th series. That's the one where Jason's in space. But let's talk Lector. ( Spoilers ahead. )

Beyond that, I'm having a good Valentine's day. David sent me flowers, good man. Roses in shades of pink, yellow, coral and white. I sent him a pizza with a pepperoni heart in the middle, as I've gone soft in my old age. Tonight I get to babysit (so romantic) but that's alright. It's always nice to get flowers, but I don't wear this day particularly well. I get all awkward, and that brings out my bitchier streak. I don't want to pick a fight with David on a day when he gave me a dozen roses. I don't know exactly what it is with Valentine's Day or what it means that I feel this way, and I do hope I'll grow out of it. Still, today I woke up and changed into my obligatory pink skirt and felt annoyed. Oh, Valentine's Day, I'm having a wonderful time. I just don't want to be associated with the kind of girls I think enjoy you. Is that so much to ask?

That's all for now. I'm exhausted, and it's Wednesday. The weekend seems so far away.

I'm going to follow suit, and show you my personality. You can take the Mejers-Briggs personality type test, here. I have taken this test many times, and have received three results, but ENFJ (extraverted intutive feeling judging) is the one I receive most often and that I feel is most accurate. ( This next part is taken from typelogic.com. )

Famous ENFJs:
David, King of Israel
Abraham Lincoln **
Ronald Reagan **

Ok, so the reason I go in for this type, more than my other most common result, ENFP (extroverted intuitive feeling perceiving), because ENFJ (extraverted intutive feeling judging) gives me credit for a level of introversion involved in my decision making. ENFP considers my sum total to be my "zany charm." I know I am both zany and charming, but I'm also a big worrier and an overthinker, and I like those qualities to be considered. To be perfectly honest, I have also tested twice as an INFJ (introverted intuitive feeling judging). Again, out of total of 15 testings (I keep a tally in the front my diaries), I have been ENFJ 8 times, ENFP 5 times, and INFJ 2 times. I have not tested INFJ in three years. My introversion is mainly in remission. It's definitely not my dominant trait these days.

The most important thing I want to mention in this entry though is that I have a new computer, and what's more I finally have internet in my apartment. While I started this entry there, thanks to the glory of autosave, I am finishing it at work.

But let me tell you, nothing is as cool as my new computer. David let me name the model, since it was custom built for me, and I decided it would be The Magic Box. Now I need to give her a name of her own. She is definitely a girl, so I need something charming. Initially, I thought she'd be Houdini, but that's out the window. I'll post pictures soon.

In the meantime, let's all have a moment of silence for Todd, my Emac, who was pretty and tempermental, but mostly served me well. I am sad to see him go. I've put him on craigslist to see if someone will adopt him. If that fails, he'll be sent to a recycling facility.

I really can't be that sad though, because I have internet in my apartment! After 7 months! *dances wildly* I will have Skype by this weekend, and I will talk, talk, talk your ears off, my friends abroad. Also, I will be back on AIM constantly. Yayayayay!

That's all for now. Talk to you soon! Hooray, internet!

**Robyn, do you think part of the reason we are friends is that my personality type reminds you of Lincoln and Reagan? I think it must be.

This week has me tired and scratchy all over. My throat, eyes and ears itch, the result of my lingering cold. My skin is dry from the weather, and no matter how I moisturize and condition I wind up scratching behind my knees and at my scalp. I went to sleep at 7:30 pm last night, and woke up 10 hours later to get the kids to school. I have been ready to climb back into bed since 7:30 this morning.

I am, further, tired of the jobs, the kids, the lack of free time. And I have the itch to run, as always. I am resisting. At least I have a few excellent reasons to stay and stick it out.

So far though, judging from these four days, I like 2007. Much better than I liked 2006. Last year my dominant emotions were high expectation, academic exhaustion, and premature nostalgia. This year, I hope rather than anticipate, and when I get out of these jobs I will not miss them. I spent so much of my last two semesters at Agnes missing it before it was gone. The whole year was a long goodbye. When I get my ass out of Dodge this time, I won't feel much but exultation.

This New Year's Eve was strange, different, and nice. David took me out for dinner and then promptly collapsed, leaving me a couple hours to go to a party before waking him up for a kiss. Did you know that I'd gone to the same party for years? In a basement in Indiana. With people that I have loved forever. The nice, different thing about this New Year's was that I wasn't running the party and that I just got to enjoy it. It was nice not to know everyone, too. The only big plan I had to make was my outfit, which was killer. A turquoise tube dress with a gold shrug and some leopard print heels. I was stunningly costumed, if I do say so myself.

Still, I missed Valpo. I missed the same old party. I missed my oldest friends, particularly the expatriates. I'll always miss something, I guess.

You might wonder what I've done with 2007 so far. I've processed some summer applications. I've tried to find a new haircut. I am so tired of this one. It's long! It keeps finding its way into my eyes and mouth. But mostly today I've been dorking out on Song of Ice and Fire, trolling forums, and sorting through theories about Jon Snow's parentage. Oh, yeah. Fantasy literature. It's my biggest geek weakness.

Can I take a moment to complain about one super geeky thing? I suppose I can because this is my livejournal and I feel like embarrassing myself online with my epic proclivity. Ok, so Melanie Rawn is, generally, one of those mediocre fantasy writers that gives the genre a bad name and inspires skinny boys with sporadic facial hair to paint ceramic models of dwarves and other bullshit. I do not do that, by the way. I have never played a game of Dungeons and Dragons, and I often make fun of people who fake fight with styrofoam swords in so-called "Role Playing Games." I felt that needed to be clarified, because I'm defensive of things that I like that are not cool. I am a pretentious fucker. I am a discerning dork. Cut me some slack. But anyway, Melanie wrote one trilogy that has held my heart and imagination captive for some years. The Exiles trilogy. Or, rather, almost trilogy. As of a week and a half ago, I have been waiting for the third book for TEN YEARS. *blinks* Fuck all, ladies and gentlemen. I want my book! I NEED IT!

I am frustrated about this. Genuinely, gut-bustingly frustrated, and I wanted all of you to know it. Now that I've typed it I feel better about the universe, and I think I will return to work. Tonight I will reread Game of Thrones until I fall asleep.

I hope your 2007s are treating you well. Rest up. I have the feeling this one's going to be a strange ride.

It was a wonderful winter break. Four short days of friends, family and fooooood.

I miss it already. I guess I just have to catch my plane and gear up for New Year's.

This Christmas haul was magnificent. Not in terms of quantity but in terms of unexpected awesomes. I have an autographed poster of Eddie Izzard. It's beautiful. He's beautiful. I think I've always had a little crush on him. Thanks, Binder.

There were other highlights. Robyn gave me an instruction book for setting alcohol on fire. One step closer to molotov cocktails and the revolution. I have new music! The Marie Antoinette soundtrack, some lost Simon and Garfunkle, and a mix. Thanks to Adam, Dad and Kathryn.

And Krull! It's one of my all-time favorite overlooked 80's scifi fantasy epics. It's inspired Nissa and I to start a band.

Got to go catch that plane. I hope you've all had a magical holiday.

My babysitting assignment was cancelled this evening, so I will have time to ACTUALLY clean and to ACTUALLY pack before looking pretty and swapping presents with my boyfriend. I'm going to give Penny a bath. I've taken tomorrow morning off from babysitting, so I can sleep in until 7:00 or so.

Valparaiso, Indiana, I cannot wait to rest my weary head in your midwestern cool again. Let's get together soon.

Next week, my schedule falls in just the way I like it. I'm going to work two half days before New Year's break. You know what I can do? Work two half days. I get the afternoon off once, the morning off another. I plan on watching movies and lounging. I think I will make a trip to the library.

It's back.

I can almost hear the universe laughing. I'm taking my early twenties too seriously. It's time to mold my mood to the cosmos.

*happy dance*

Last night, my phone took a bath in Diet Dr. Pepper and died. Following that up, at a red light in downtown Atlanta I couldn't manage to slow down my car fast enough, and I tapped a very nice woman's bumper hard enough to leave a scratch. Motherfucker. What I really wanted for Christmas was an insurance claim.

Anyway, if you need to call me during the day, try me at work. My number is 404 727 2240.

I'm stressing the word "need" here. You can always email me, and I'll respond promptly.

That's it. I can't wait to stick a fork in this year.

It feels like my brain is collapsing in on itself. Ouch, ouch, ouch. And I am so tired.

Today I emerged victorious, though. My application for the Teaching Assistant in France program will go out tomorrow. Right on schedule!

12 hours a week. Next year, I can work just 12 hours a week, if that's what I want. I can be a bum in France. My grad school apps will be out and out of my hands. There will be nothing to do but wait and eat delicious cheeses. I'll probably find something to fill in the empty hours, but I will also have time to read and lounge, to languidly sip hot beverages. I miss those things. For now I will work and nanny and lie still and think of the Empire.

Last night, crying on the phone to David for an hour and a half, I believed that I had screwed up the nannying gig and that I would have to move out of my cozy house. I am inclined to get attached to places. It's all nesting instinct and security issues. But anyway, last night I forgot that I'd promised to nanny for a couple hours. So when they called and I was at Chantal's, I promptly offered to hop-to and get home.

I fucking hate phones. I hate them, because you're just two voices. Expression and inflection can be misconstrued. When the Management said I should, "Just forget it," I was sure that I was about to be kicked to the curb and replaced with a Poppins-bot.

Living rent free means that I have very few rights as a tenant.* If they decide one day that I am unfit to nanny, they can just tell me I have to go. I don't think they will. They're good people, very likable, and they seem to like me. But, I am still the Help. It's not something I dwell on often because it's profoundly disturbing, but last night I was inclined to dwell.

So, again, I cried. I woke up this morning poofy eyed and contrite, and my employers were stunned by it. They weren't mad at all. I am such a doomsayer sometimes. Poor David the Boyfriend was kept up past his bedtime for nothing.

And everything else fell into place too. My medical form for France had been a bothersome issue. It's just four questions, but getting an appointment at Emory during the holiday season is impossible. Agnes came through for me though. Carole Holcombe, she runs the health center, is a saint. She is a saint who is willing to vouch for my fitness. Madame Knowlton, stealthy chair of the French and Modern Foreign Languages Department, came through with a recommendation form.

That, my friends, is how it is done. Or that's how I do it, anyway. I freak out and everything comes to rights the next day. The universe lies in wait for me to go all bat-shit and then points and laughs when it turns out to be for nothing. I don't mind being laughed at or crying myself to sleep when it works out like this.

That's how it's done.

*Hey. I just wanted to say I know that it's crap that I'm bitching about living rent free. However, it's not "free-free" it's second job free. I work about 55 or 60 hours a week. That's 40 at my job and another 15 or 20 as a nanny. That said, I respect your right to be annoyed with my whining.

I fall into habits in my speech and action so quickly that I have a hard time coping when I start to find them embarassing. Recently, I've been tipping an invisible hat to everyone who leaves the office. Christ. I also can't stop calling clever or smart moves, "slick." Objectively, these are far from the worst ticks of my history, but I would like to be able to wave goodbye again. Instead, it is happy trails to every Emory student. My go-to adjective can be used to describe a good lube. I recognize that these too will pass away, going the way "swank," "choice," and the opera voice. They'll be haunting my old habits graveyard by January. In the meantime, though, they are coloring my normally sitcomesque life cartoonish.

I am no Bugs Bunny. I am no Wile E. Coyote. I feel oddly out of place. If this is the way adult life is going, I hope the Acme anvil drops soon and ends my misery.

It was like Georgia finally recognized December. Two nights ago, the temperature dropped so fast and hard that after I got off work that I was scrambling around my ancient apartment in my skirt and heels, fighting with rusty window frames to get everything sealed up.

Sitting in my favorite chair afterward, with Penny at my side and a cup of coffee to breathe in, I was so happy. For the first time in a long time, cold felt nice. I think winter and I may be coming to terms.

Ok, so I've really hated winter for four or five years now. One of my college admissions essays was about how I loved Indiana winter, but it was three quarters lies. I'll admit that I like parts of winter. Winter in the Midwest is painfully cold and long. It is also gorgeous and heartening. I mean, it's flat, where I'm from. The trees go black and leafless, and the snow coats the long smooth planes of fields, and everything is a charcoal drawing. It's starkly lovely. It's a sight I love waking up in my old bedroom to look over.

Speaking of the old bedroom, which is no longer mine, and my old journal, which deserves a proper burial, it's time for the year in review! Oh, 2006, the things you did to me, and the times we had. What follows is the first-ish sentence (or two) of the first entry for almost every month of the year. In March I couldn't be bothered. You understand.

January 21, 2006 - Oh, long silences. My winter break was marvelous.
February 12, 2006 - In the spirit of good timing, I've fallen in love with David at the edge of the "real world."
April 7, 2006 - Instead of seeing you, or typing to you, I've been:

1. Growing out my hair.
2. Getting a tattoo.
3. Going to movies.
4. Giving up my secrets. *
5. Turning my fan on and off.

*Everytime I tell someone, I feel simultaneously lighter and emptier. Something that was only mine is being taken away.

May 5, 2006 - I finished the last thing last night a 11:30. The last BA thing.
June 7, 2006 - On the eve of his 22nd birthday, Aden Draper received an emergency signal from the House of Awesome.
July 11, 2006 - I work at a glass palace called the Hurt Building.
August 1, 2006 - My grandfather died yesterday.
September 5, 2006 - It's been a month or so of major happenings.
October 31, 2006 - I had a truly magical Halloween experience.
November 1, 2006 - So, I'm 1,987 words into my novel, and I think it's going well.
December 4, 2006 - It was a good weekend in most respects.

It's been a good year in most respects. Let's do the count.

Undergraduate Degrees - 1
Deaths - 1
Dogs - 1
Boyfriends - 1
Jobs - 3
Pairs of Boots - 5
Trans-formative Near Death Experiences - 0
Halloween Costumes - 2
Lost Tubes of Lipstick - 8
Good Horror Films* - 1
Bad Horror Films* - 6
"Oh God, Oh God I'm Old" Adult Life Conniption Fits - 3, maybe 4
Plans for The Future - 3
Plans for The Future Approved by Committee - 1

That's the story of a year. I hope for magical things for all of us in these last 22 days.

It was a good weekend in most respects. I got through all the questions on my teaching assistant app, now I just need to revise my answers. I went to the Cobb County library sale and got three bags of books. Not small bags, mind you, but big bags. Highlights include a Bobby Kennedy biography, I Capture the Castle, The Long, Dark Teatime of the Soul, a Chinese cookbook, and the latest Mallory (I didn't know it existed). It was a good time to pick up books I counted on my parents for. In particular, I was pleased to find a tawdry romance novel that was always a personal favorite of my mom's collection.

Lindsay's Musings on The Rich Are Different by Susan Howatch

Ok, so basically Howatch scores points early by transitioning the classic romantic tale of Caesar/Cleopatra and Antony/Cleopatra to 1920's New York and London. Our Cleopatra, Dinah Slade, builds a cosmetics empire, beds two bankers, and burns her manor house down. Believe me when I say it is awesome! So trashy intellectual. The title eludes to an F. Scott Fitzgerald short story, "The Rich Boy." "Let me tell you about the very rich. They are different from you and me." Throughout the book she references classic poetry, tons of Catullus in the original latin. There're also doses of Tennyson for measure.

Howatch loves continuity as few authors do, and it's the details of history she seeks to parallel that are most interesting. At one point in the novel we learn about Paul's (Caesar) rise to power at his bank, during which he takes out a Sulla type figure and of course a Pompey too. When Dinah visits the bank, their portraits aren't on the walls! Just like Caesar had their statues and monuments removed during his regime! Isn't that great?

Anyway, I sat in bed with The Rich Are Different after I got off babysitting on Saturday night with Penny curled at my side, a cup of hot cocoa on my nightstand, and my glasses on the tip of my nose.It was perfect and chilly. If my bedroom had a fireplace, and I had had a fire going, Saturday night would have fulfilled all my adolescent dreams of adulthood.

Things that were less great about this weekend include missing LCA's birthday party because of prolonged babysitting on Saturday. Sucktacular. Additionally, any weekend in which I wind up babysitting both nights is hard because, well, it gets me into fights with David. *rolls eyes* And because I would like to have a free night on the weekend. It would be nice.

But, you know how it goes. It's Monday. In another four days, it will be Friday again. I'm only slated for one night of babysitting this time around, so I ought to be able to be Good Girlfriend again in a jiffy.

Bleck.

( This comes from Ella. I like the name more than the result.  )

Who wants to come raid the Cobb County Friends of the Library Book Sale with me on Saturday?

Ok, so in the interests of really meaning it, I have decided to put forth a tentative timeline of the next two-ish years of my life.

1. I will get my French teaching assistant application in the mail by no later than the 15th of December.
2. I will be home for Christmas!
3. I will get my new computer in February. Todd served me well but he is dead.
4. I take the GRE in February or March, whenever I feel most comfortable with the material.
5. I will save A Little Money for France between February and September.
6. During my year at Emory, I will compose an awesome personal statement for grad school, and get a couple of official transcripts for the apps. Maybe I'll have an epiphany about research focus. Maybe I won't.
7. I will attend Brigitte's 21st birthday blowout sometime in the summer.
9. I will quit my job in September, giving me a couple of weeks to get my grad school applications together for submission.
8. In October 2007, I will travel to France and work as a teaching assistant for 6 to 9 months.
10. Following my time in France, I hope to spend two to five months working with a humanitarian organization in French speaking Africa.
11. Barring tragedy or transformation, I will enroll in a political science Ph.D. program in the Fall of 2008.

Feel free to submit events for the timeline. Large or small. It will help break up my months and years.

So, I heard back from one job possibility almost immediately. But, last night, after I got the kids into bed, and walked back to my apartment, I realized that I need to stop throwing tantrums about my professional life. I am making good money, I have access to Emory's library, and if I can hold out for a while longer, I can take a course or two here before I take off for France next October. I have a right to be upset about the lack of depth in my professional life, but it's finite upset. It's not my career, it's just my job. And I have dental insurance. I need to stop bitching.

I can do this. I can do this job for a year. It's put me in a great position to save money for a three month Eurail pass, some reasonable French apartment, and the cost of living in an industrialized nation. Working this job means that when I'm abroad in Europe I can do the travel thing. If and when Brigitte and her merry men do the Ireland thing, I will be able to meet them there.

I'm not the most visionary person. While I can imagine my future, I am inclined to maximize my present. I don't do wishlists, and I don't stick to my New Year's resolutions unless they're easy. I am a spender, not a saver. I have a hedonistic streak. I'd rather be happy now and later, thank you. What I mean to say is, I don't have a real perception of the long-term. I've been impatient, and I've been lucky. What I've demanded of life is pretty much what I've gotten.

It's not time for a drastic shift in my perception, but I do need to consider my priorities. I need a good job for a year, and I have one. It pays well. I like my co-workers. After my time at Emory, in France and Africa, I will be a better PhD candidate.

I know I can do this. I've done a couple harder things.

I finished my book. 54,216 words. I thought about going all J.K. on you, telling you the last word on that last page, but I'm not going to. It will probably change; I have started a little editing. As I was finishing up Coin Trick, I realized it wasn't working for me because it was too slow to get started and there just wasn't a clear conflict in the book. So, I've changed the beginning entirely. It opens with Sophie and Molonowski giving a show at the Fox. They're in the middle of a transposition, wherein Sophie, Molonowski and an audience member switch places in an instant, when Sophie disappears. From there, we jump back to my original opening about how Sophie found the job.

It feels like nothing is working today. It's not bad, just painfully boring. The copy machine is broken, and not one student has come for an appointment. If summer and winter break are this way, I will probably wind up stabbing myself in the eye.

The past two nights have been glorious, though. Sunday, I got back from Indiana and cleaned my kitchen till it could pass even my mom's inspection. I got hungry for avocado, so I drove to Kroger, bought one, halved it, peeled it, and sat in bed munching. I drank a cold fizzy drink, finished A Feast for Crows, and relished living on my own. Penny got into an altercation with a particularly nasty Southern spider, and wound up so poofy in the face that I was briefly inclined freak the fuck out. But, Binder calmed my nerves as only she can. So, it was back to the almost guacamole and fantasy literature for me.

And last night, I did some laundry, went grocery shopping, and watched House.

I love, love, love the mundane beauties of life on my own. Yes, there are times when I manage to fuck something simple up and then dwell on it long enough to ruin a day or a week, but those don't happen very often. Before Thanksgiving, for instance, while trying to weatherproof my seventy year old windows, I sliced my hands up and cried. On other occasions, when I pay too close attention to the fact that I am paid to make copies and repeat the phrase, "It will be alright," before handing over the relevent form, I can become morose. Still, I am not naturally inclined to be sad or overly critical.

Most days, I have a rare knack for happiness. I am so happy so consistently that people are kind of annoyed by it in the early mornings. Did you know that cranky people mocking me makes me happy?

I also applied for two more jobs today. By now you know that exit strategies make me happier than almost anything.

So, I don't really like my climax right now. I'm going to let it go. I'm going to walk away from the book for a couple of days this Thanksgiving break. I'm so, so close to my conclusion. Two chapters, tops. Five thousand more words maybe. In a few days, I'll be golden, sitting on top of a pile of 52,000 of those fuckers altogether.

I'm going to sleep in tomorrow. LATE. I think I'll try to sleep till 10, then wake up and sit in my ugly-ass pajamas until Mom makes me peel something. Anyone in Valpo is cordially invited to my ugly-ass pajama party. Your pjs don't have to be ugly. Later, we can get dressed and go do something.

Selfishly, what I am most excited about is not having to deal with a small child for five whole days. I don't talk about my babysitting gig very often, do I? They're good kids, S-- and E---. They just make me toss them in the air until my arms fall off. Working two jobs means that the most critical analysis I've done in a couple weeks was all a musing to myself on God and goodness according to Thomas the Tank Engine. Ten or more minutes into the muse I found myself thinking, "Fuck. Am I Tao of Pooh-ing? I am Tao of Pooh-ing. Fuck." It was almost, nearly, kind of a palindrome. I need to let you know that these are smart, verbal children. I am simply overexposed to them and their media. I don't appreciate Eric Carle anymore, and I don't want to read Goodnight, Moon ever again.

I am ready for a break. Thank you for Thanksgiving, November. And for a sunny election day. And for my novel too.