Cartography

I decided today that one thing I enjoy about going to a big school, that I did not get to enjoy at my tiny undergraduate alma mater, is the BUS. More specifically, the campus shuttle.

Holla!!

While I do not exactly enjoy that my parking spot is on the far, far end of campus*, I don't mind the shuttle ride onto the main campus. In fact, I quite enjoy it. It's urban, cosmopolitan, and academic all in one...sort of.

I will also say that in many ways I feel more like a freshman now than I did when I was an actual freshman. Today I was riding on the shuttle with my campus map in my lap. Yes, I've been here for going on four weeks now. But hey! When that shuttle drops you in the middle of campus, it's hard to find another specific building!

Anyway.

So I was sitting there, charting out my walk for once I got dropped off by the shuttle. I bonded with the map for a good two, three minutes. Crowded bus. Plenty of know-how-to-get-around-wouldn't-be-caught-dead-with-a-campus-map undergrads all around me. Do I care? Absolutely not. What I do care about is getting lost on campus. Because it's already happened three or four or five or six times and my feet are threatening to develop blisters. And what for, when I have my handy dandy campus map right here in my backpack?

I've also definitely stopped at those maps on the sidewalks for reference, like the ones you find in parks or malls, i.e. little "You Are Here" placards. Which is another thing we didn't have at my tiny undergrad. Not exactly necessary when you can see all major buildings from where you are currently standing.

One time our freshman year Nick and I were walking across campus, toward the (huge) chapel, and this car slowed to a stop at our side, rolling down the window. "Excuse me, where's the chapel?" Nick and I managed to be polite enough to point straight ahead and wait to laugh until they drove away.

On a tiny campus, that is your map. Two freshman walking back from their game of racquetball.

*by the veterinary school, where I discovered today there is a building called the "Livestock Center," of which the door was propped open today and I looked in to find an arena with a dirt floor to show off livestock! Unfortunately it was not showing any cattle while I was there, but I walked away hoping for a rodeo later this year (student discount?).

1st...2nd...3rd...ah, let's have a snack

I'm really bad at this thing called the home stretch. Today I cleaned, I got groceries, I organized, I labeled. But I didn't exactly finish strong.

Here's hopin' for a better shot at week two of Grad School: The Journey. Readers' prayers are appreciated! Blessings to you! Thanks for all your support this past week!

Rainbow Blight

I was having a gender role discussion with Mike tonight (you should always brace yourself if I invite you to one of those), and I started to tell him about my plans for my children, to ensure that they become loving, pro equal-rights, non-violent people.

Yeah, that's right, I've got this.

My first plan, to create pro-pacifism, is to never give my sons any sort of weapon toys. Absolutely no guns*, but also no swords, knives, etc. I was driving down the street today and saw a little boy who was probably three with a pair of nunchucks.

What kid needs nunchucks???????

I also told Mike about the children's book I have called "Cornrows," about hair that is obviously not European. I plan to read it to my kids (note: who I am not necessarily assuming will be white; point being, I will read it to my kids whether they look like Mommy or are biracial. But I digress*) and I have permission from my brother Patrick to read it to his (white) kids.

I then told Mike that because I assume I won't have money to travel the world, I will teach my kids about it, forcing them to eat Indian food, read books about Africa, go to Middle Eastern film festivals, etc.

But I also explained to Mike about the gender neutral toys I plan to get for my kids, and his response caught me so off guard that he had me cracking up. I told him that my children will play with gray toys; no pink, no blue. To which he responded,

"You're like, taking away color from them."

*Sorry, Dee. I thought of you as soon as I typed that. Growing up on a pig farm in Iowa where wild birds fly around and your family uses actual guns to kill them is completely different. (But for the record, my children won't have actual guns either, and I don't support guns as a whole. Dee is probably not enjoying me right now. But I think she still loves me.)

**Okay, I realized as I typed that parenthetical that the entire sentence was getting more awkward as I went forward with it. I was not implying with my note about my hypothetical biracial children that there is no chance I will marry a white man and have children who are not biracial with him.

And! I was not trying to imply that my children will definitely not be white, which would perhaps imply to curious readers that I would never consider marrying/having children with Mike (who is white). I thought about putting all of this info (and more) into that set of parentheses, but look at how long this footnote has become (and there's more).

Also, I would have to add that I am also not saying that I will for sure have children with Mike, because we have been dating less than two months, and that is a little awkward to be discussing just yet, don't you think? Except not, apparently, too awkward for me to discuss it here publicly on my blog.

So you see how the more politically correct I tried to be the worse I got? And the more I tried to flatter, not reject, my boyfriend, the worse I got? I'm gonna go nibble on my toes now. Smooches, Mikey! I miss you a ton!

Navigating the Puddles

There are multiple underpasses on one of the trails I run, here in my new town. The concrete path in one of them is always about 50 percent wet, based on my experiences with it so far. It is not pitch black in there, but it is pretty dark, and I usually take my sunglasses off as I toe my way through it.

The ground is somewhat uneven in the tunnel, with various pockmarks and substantial sections that house puddles. The puddles aren't very deep, probably less than an inch so; however, they're just deep enough that were the mesh tops of my Mizunos to be splashed with the standing puddle water, the rest of my run would be a tad to quite a bit uncomfortable.

So when I reach the tunnel, I take off my glasses for a better view, and I slow my pace as I navigate my way around the puddles.

My first week of graduate school,* if I may put in my two cents here, well it sucked. I did not have a fun week. I cried Sunday night, I traumatized my animal by driving him away from his home on Monday, spent the rest of the week feeling inadequate, out of place, exhausted, bored, and stressed, was caught off guard by another crying session this afternoon, recovered, headed to yet another meeting while still feeling pretty deflated (and did I mention exhausted?), spent 20+ minutes walking across campus, and then finally, finally! came home. I was in the door about ten minutes before I cracked open a Coors Light.

My friend Sarah had the great timing of planning a J-school get together for tonight, so I rejuvenated myself amongst new friends, food, a couple of lovely international accents :), and beer. So I am okay. Michael and Mom offered up supportive emails in response to my sad sack ones, Michael and Nick offered phone support, and Dibby offered what he specializes in, and we call that Cute Support. When a little furr ball is eager to see you when you walk in the door, when you realize he needs you and missed you while you were out, that he sees the value in you even if your fellow J-students seem to be getting so far ahead of you and you feel worthless, a cat's allegiance really means a lot. You either have a pet and know this, or you just need to trust me.

Am I excited for week two? No, not really. I like the prospect of a fresh start, but to be honest I never fully expect myself to follow through on my intentions in life. That right there is probably my overarching fear in this entire journey, that I will never overcome my own doubts in my ability to buck up and keep on going until it's done, done right, and done well. I have always been too good at quitting. Thinking about this, really staring it in the face, gives me tremendous, terrifying pause.

So no, I'm not excited. I hope, hope, hope that I will be caught up in the sleep department come Monday morning. I hope that I will have some more mental, physical, and spiritual energy to tackle these first semester courses that I am not too thrilled about but that will take me to the portion of the path I'm more excited about. The part where, in Michael's e-words, I "will shine." I hope I can learn to be an adult! and ditch my shitty attitude for an innocent childlike one, one that accepts, loves and encourages my peers as I work toward my turn in the success line.

My goal for week two is to navigate the puddles. Keep my eyes open, take off my blinders (or in some cases keep them on, to shut out my biggest temptations of self-doubt or angst toward others), slow down, and focus on the details of the path. Then one day, I trust--and when I can't my friends and family will remind me that they trust--I will emerge from the tunnel, enter the shining sunlight, and carry myself forward on dry ground. In the form that has been natural to me all along, not thinking twice about my foot placement or the pattern of my breath. But better, having navigated the puddles.

Dibby is sniffing the apartment. He's making an effort to navigate with his senses and adjust. It's my turn.

*Well, to be technical, this is my first week of graduate school, take two. A little trivia about yours truly: I completed a semester of graduate work in social work, but did not continue with the program because I didn't feel I should remain in that particular field. So technically, this is my second "first" week of graduate school.

Hide & Seek emerges as hobby for suburban tabby

You wouldn't think that it's possible.

But it is.

I have lost the cat in my essentially-one room, studio-style apartment on multiple occasions in the past four days.

Each time I think I am losing my mind, or that he has escaped through his only exit without my knowledge.

The first time he was under the bed (searching error on my part, obviously not that hard to locate an animal under a bed--but he was being very quiet).

The next time he was under the recliner. I doubt I would have found him there, unless I reached a panic mode and started looking in all nooks and crannies including the microwave and VCR (yes, I still have one of those). I had seen him approaching the chair and sniffing its baseboard moments prior to his disappearance, however, which led me to sleuth my way to his cute little furry self. Where I was regarded, of course, with the universal cat look, that which says, with blank eyes yet coy demeanor, "What?"

Finally, this evening, he just disappeared (don't worry, Mom and Dad--I found him!). I had no clues. I searched the obvious places twice, to make sure he wasn't switching it up on me, or that I just wasn't paying attention on the first run-through. And then I found him. In a cabinet (doors partially opened, cat-wide, apparently), on a shelf. He purred when I tugged on the folds of his neck. Content to be found, even though his initial goal may have been to hide without being sought.

My baby

D utifully napping while Bailey is in class
I n denial that he can no longer go outside
B rat (often)
B ailey's favorite
S O cute

T errified of the ceiling fan
H ungry before sunrise (meows to alert Bailey of this)
E xtra soft

C urious where his dad (also Bailey's dad) is
A djusting
T agged with a golden collar that distracts him when it catches light :)

Let's try again tomorrow

Well.

Today was...

Hmm.

Let's just stick with "not my favorite day" and leave it at that. I don't know if anyone else got this memo, but grad school is jam-packed. And then when you think to yourself, "Oh I have time to squeeze in some sleep at night, or a crossword puzzle, or a five minute call to Mom," then school decides to jam itself just a little more packed. (That last sentence was probably improper English, but I'm gonna take a pass.)

Dibby is adjusting to his new life and home, I think. I hope. He isn't meowing a lot--except for this morning before sunrise to say "Hello! Wake up!"--but he does purr for me and I've received a few "drop and flops." Drop and flop is a term my papa made up, for when the cat suddenly falls sideways to the floor and stretches his belly for petting.

As promised, here's a pic of me and the pumpkin:

Baby Dibby Wibby

The little pumpkin loaf named Dibby officially joined his mama today in her new home. He is not available currently for a webcam pic (sleeping under the bed), but we will get back to you on this. He had a rough trip (not a huge fan of the car), so he will accept your cards and flowers expressing your sympathy.

Night night from both of us.

Band together!

It's amazing how in one day's time, you can have moments where you feel (and act) like a responsible adult, and then within that same day have moments of incredible juvenile procrastination and throw-everything-to-the-wind practice.

Meh. I never signed up for the perfect category of life. And, there's this thing called fatigue (of the body and the mind) that has a pretty killer pull on vulnerable, worn-out me.

Who's with me?!

Yep, it's been one of those days

At one point during a meeting today I looked down because for a second I legitimately felt the need to make sure that I was wearing clothes. I've been doing and thinking about so many different things today that, following my quick afternoon shower, I wouldn't have been surprised had I forgotten, say, to put on a shirt on the way out the door.

Uhh, yep.

DBPSC

I have a problem.

Well. Actually. Lots.

But one in particular: I worry when people leave their garage doors open at night. Close them, People! Do you want people just walking into your house in the middle of the night?!

I don't worry about people getting robbed, I worry about their personal safety. If someone takes your TV, well that's unfortunate, but I would think, 'Well I'm so glad you're all right.' But if someone walks into your house and causes you harm, or they try to rob you, you start stumbling around because you hear them trying to rob you, and then they cause you harm...Friends, for the sake of me and my overactive imagination, please just take the extra second to make sure your garage is closed. I will (literally) sleep better at night if you do.

Sincerely,
The Daily Bailey Public Safety Commission (DBPSC)

Blargen

"Meeting adjourned." I could have kissed the mayor when he said those words at 11pm tonight.

(I just broke two major reporting rules there, by the way; starting my post with a quote and saying both "pm" and "tonight")

After sitting through the five hour city council meeting, I walked out to my car and there was what appears to be ice cream flung all over my windshield, car doors, back window, and roof. There was also the plastic cup that SHOULD STILL BE HOLDING THE ICE CREAM!! on the hood of my car, a plastic spoon resting on my wipers, and a piece of already-sucked-on candy stuck to the hood.

Happy camper? Absolutely not.

But thank you, Mayor, for finally setting us free. And thank you, Michael, for still being awake at midnight to call me in my distress.

Oh, did I mention that I got a parking ticket today too?

Cue Annie: "bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow..."

Regifting of the hand-me-downs

I just tried to make this my facebook profile status and was told I had too many characters to post. So the phone conversation I just had with Patrick will now make its appearance here on the DB:

Patrick: Bailey, I have some CD's I don't want, do you want them?
Bailey: Sure.
P: [lists off CD's]
B: Oh, I don't want Ace of Base [quick overview discussion of how I do enjoy Ace of Base, but they got so overplayed in the late 90s that I need a solid five year break from them before I can appreciate them again].
P: Do you have any friends at school who would want it?
B: Sure, I could take it to class and get rid of it in about 5 seconds [because even though I'm not a current fan, the A of B CD is a hot commodity].
P: I'm not sure you want to be that girl who brings Ace of Base to class.
B: I already am that girl.
P: I know. You're a lovely person, but you've gotta ease people in.
B: I've been here a week, are you kidding me? I've already crossed the line.

C'mon, Patrick. Anyone who knows anything knows that there is no stopping this awkward train.

So. That said. Anyone want an Ace of Base CD?

Education

I have a new best friend. Okay, maybe the "best" title is too much.

His name is "User Manual." Maybe I should change it to User Manuel, because I have a feeling we're in this for the long haul, and a romantic Spanish pet name might be appropriate.

This week, a curious symbol appeared on my phone. It looked to me like nothing more than a small blue square. All I knew was that I was pretty sure it hadn't been there the last time I had looked at my phone. I tried pressing buttons, but to no avail.

So I turned to Manuel.

Who told me that the little blue square was in fact an indicator that I had missed a call. Thanks, Manuel.

Today I ran into a whole new icon-identification problem. This time there was a little blue (faceless) torso displayed on my phone, with some triangulated lines pointing away from his or her head. Wanting to be sure that this didn't mean an alien had tried to contact me, I turned yet again to, yes, you guessed it.

Manuel.

Who informed me that I had not one, but two new voicemails. (Note: it is my understanding that the alien-like blue torso will appear when there is only one voicemail as well, but I will have to test this theory to be sure.)

One message was from Dad, the other from Mom. In case you're wondering.

That darn (cute!) cat

I was planning on writing a snippet on car doors (slamming, etc.--perhaps we will see this post in the future), but I just opened an email in my inbox and decided that tonight we will have a guest writer here on the Daily Bailey. Ladies and Gentlemen (and pets, if any, which I hope there are--reading pets), please welcome my little bro bro, Riley. Here is the email Riley sent me tonight, recording the actions of our father and our family cat, Dibbs, after my parents arrived home from vacation:

"So Mom and Dad just got home.

Here is the cat's response (all within the first 30 minutes):

-fluff tail
-sniff duffel bag
-run away from people
-sniff suitcase
-run away from people
-lie down and submit to petting from Mom
-run away from Riley to back door
-go outside and immediately go nuts chasing bugs
-come back inside, greet Dad
-begin doing his "bury the coffee" move [Dibbs has what Mom calls a "trick," in which he will paw the area around a mug of coffee as if he were burying his litter, because he does not enjoy the smell] all over the living room floor (while Dad flirts with cat)
-continue burying the living room floor (Dad continues to flirt)
-Dad starts cursing
-Dibbs has proceeded to poop right in front of Dad*
-Dibbs lies down in entry way as if nothing is wrong [well in his mind, I suppose nothing was]

the end."

This email was sent with the subject line "dibby...:P" (complete with the tongue-out smiley face emoticon)

*Dear kind landlords of mine, Dibby probably did this because he was confused/excited to see his "dad." He also probably did so because his litter hadn't been scooped in multiple days (usually Mom's or my job). I will be sure to faithfully scoop his litter when he arrives here in his new home so this offense is not repeated. Please do not kick me out. :) Sincerely, Bailey

Statistics

I've had a cell phone for just over a week.

Here's what I've learned:

People called me more when I had a landline.

"Bailey, you have a landline? How am I ever going to get ahold of you?"

"Bailey, you have to get a cell phone!"

People, I'm not exactly seeing the evidence here that my recent acquisition has really improved my life or yours. So either get to dialing or don't ever plan on telling me again that cell phones are superior to landlines.

This may be a little harsh, I realize, but the facts speak for themselves.

Infi-blog-ity

Dear friends, readers, fans from around the world.

Ha.

Maybe? :)

I just wanted to inform you that I'm cheating on you. Okay technically not yet, but before I go to bed tonight, I plan to.

Hey, calm down, simmer down. I am trying to be proactive and honest here by telling you ahead of time. If that doesn't help, just know that it wasn't my idea. In my journalism crash course that I'm taking these next two weeks--both lovingly and terrifyingly nicknamed "Boot Camp"--we are required to post things on the class blog.

So I'm sorry. I love you. It's not you, it's me. I love you, but I'm not in love with you. And I will be cheating on you with another blog before the night's up. But this doesn't mean we're breaking up!

Oh snap. I'm gonna lose all of my followers by morning.

Please forgive me. Please understand. Please support my future career, that which you have so faithfully supported thus far, and just ignore these next two weeks of peripheral blogging that is against my will (well, sort of, except that I support commands made of me that will get me a master's degree).

Remember: I looooooooooooove you.

I do.

I really do.

Please keep reading my blog.

Please.

Big Bad Grad (that's me!)

Hellooooooooo!

I know, I know, I know. So many days since my last post. Slacker! Except, not really, friends. Because in the past week I have been, let's see...

-moving
-unpacking
-reading for class
-traveling
-witnessing my brother's wedding (hey, witnesses are needed to make them legit--Congrats, Kelly and Jenny! <3)
-traveling again

And today...

Going to day one of class! Yay! I survived! Can I have my diploma yet? No, not yet? Okay, fine, I guess I'll go back tomorrow.

Overall, feeling good about day one. Missing my cat, the fam, friends from home. I am going to count tonight's reading assignment as a blessing, as it will be a distraction from the homesickness.

Other items of note:

Wonder of wonders, there is another person in my program from my tiny undergrad institution! Say what?! He and I had an excited little meeting during our first break today. Would tomorrow be too early to offer him half of a "Best Friends" necklace?

Two very handsome, tall gentlemen drove me home last night, and were oh so sweet enough to drive the whole way and let me sleep the whole time (thanks are also due to Tylenol PM).

Next week I will be reporting, yikes! Nervous, but excited. Talked to Michael tonight, I would say at this point he is even more excited for me than I am, but don't worry I am getting there.

Riley just taught me via (cough, cell, cough) phone how to add favorites to my Google Chrome task bar. Thanks, Bro.

Are you guys bored yet? Hey, I am a busy graduate student, don't be so demanding of my time and talents for creative, entertaining blog posts! They might suck for a while, you're just gonna have to deal. The good news is, eventually lack of sleep will set in and these posts will ideally become hilarious. Or maybe just funny to me. And then you'll have to continue to deal.

On that note, if you'll be so kind as to excuse me, I'm going to do some yoga, eating, and reading for the evening.

Big fat smooches!

Love,
(Big bad grad student) Bails

Sharp intake of breath

Okay I am officially nervous.

I am not ready to be a reporter. I have a book to read by Monday morning, and what will I be doing Sunday night? Getting my beauty rest? Reading the final pages of my assigned reading? No no, none of that. I'll be driving in the middle of the night to get back to my new home to crash for a few hours and go to class the next day!

Sad. Tired. Oh so very tired. Nervous. Anxious. Excited, but wondering if and when I'll reach the moment in my semester where I'll feel like I can relax, because right now I'm wondering when I'll ever sleep without an alarm again. I would say Thanksgiving break, but I'm guessing I'll have homework then.

I always seem to accomplish hard work when I'm not aware of the demand that I do so. But when it's right in front of me, labeled ominously and pretentiously with the declaration that "This will be very hard work," I cower. Somehow I tore up the GRE, got into one of the best journalism programs. But I am suddenly terrified for my first day of school. Having nightmare visions of the professor calling on me, stumping me. Things moving too fast, Bailey racing behind, taking sharp, scared breaths. Faking it but not making it. Who will pack my lunch? Certainly not me. What will I eat? Pistachios and Oreos? Unacceptable. All the other kids will laugh at me and point fingers at my Ziploc baggies with their lack of nutrition inside.

I think I can safely say this because neither bride nor groom will read this until after Sunday, but if you can ever control it, please refrain from scheduling your wedding--or any other major event, for that matter--the day before one of your siblings begins graduate school. It's just very hard for said sibling. (Bride and/or Groom, if you do read this before your big day, know that I do love you both dearly and am truly happy to be there, wouldn't miss it for the world. If it weren't this weekend there would be some other complication another weekend--such is just life.)

Okay I suppose that's enough paranoid exhalation for now. Pray for my journey tomorrow, for energy levels, stress levels. May the hugs abound and may they keep the emotions calm and loving. And please pray that I can get ahold of my textbook that I failed to realize I needed to order a long time ago!!!!

Hopefully I will learn to better master the deadlines required of journalists....yikes. Whose idea was it to let me into this program? Meh, must be some reason. I'll leave that up to the Big Guy. ;)

Smooches!

Are we there yet?

There is your last night in a place. Your town, your apartment, your home. The last night before you move away. The literal last night, your last night in the room/bed you've been sleeping in for however long, your last night with your roomies, your last night with the familiar rhythms of the A/C, knowing so easily which moments the furnace will shut off and kick back on that your gut doesn't even flinch but eases into it like the touch of a mother's hand on your face as a child; you roll over and hug the blankets without even waking. It is on this night that you don't even think about the fact that the next night the furnace will wake you. You will wait for the air conditioning to shut off so you can fall asleep, but you won't be aware of the reason for your insomnia. You've taken your nightly rhythms so for granted that you never suspected that you would have to create and adjust to new ones. Just like everything else in life.

But there's a night before this night, that is your actual last night in your current home. This one pulls the rug from underneath you with even greater stealth. It's the final night that your routine is intact. The final night that everyone eats dinner together, the final night where "regular" things are discussed,

how was your day?
there's clean laundry downstairs
oh we're missing Wheel of Fortune

After this night the cat is sleeping in the wrong place, conversations are replaced with swappings of information as bodies pass hurriedly in hallways.

Did you remember to stop at the bank today?
Well then make sure you do tomorrow.
Could you hem this skirt for me before I leave?
Thanks, I love you.

I've passed this night. We could maybe say it was Sunday, but even then we had already passed the threshold that afternoon with a family meeting concerning the ins and outs of Bailey's move/Riley's drive back to college/Mom and Dad's visit to Grandma/Kelly's wedding. And the snuggle with Dibbs was less than stellar, which is our normal caliber for human-pet love.

When you pass the night, you don't go to your normal place in the morning for coffee. You make a pot at home, because you are crunched for time. You spend your days busy and sweaty, wearing the clothes that are nearest and doing emergency loads of laundry, flitting (or trudging, depending on the moment's energy level) around the house in your bathrobe while you wait for your undies to dry.

Hearing your boyfriend call you "beautiful" just a few more times before you leave becomes a higher priority than playing solitaire on the computer, so you spend more time with him, yet your day feels off without the mindless clicking of cards. Stacking twos on aces instead of paying bills; this is your normal schedule of procrastination. In the final days before a move, after you've passed the actual last night of your normal life, in your normal, intact home, you feel dirty playing solitaire. You no longer feel like you're spending innocent time putting off a chore that you know will get finished; you feel like someone is going to come around the corner and scold you for being so irresponsible.

And I feel sad when that moment comes! There's just something so mean about the disruption of one's everyday. We know that giving children an unstable environment is unhealthy and hindering to their potential growth, especially emotionally; in the most extreme cases it can border on being classified as child abuse. Yet we do it to ourselves all the time. Oh sure, I'll have another drink and stay out for dinner another hour. I won't be that tired at work tomorrow.

I am eating shortbread cookies and drinking V8 at 2am. This is not a normal combination for me, just to clarify in order to make my point, although I would not be offended if you suspected that I eat this way every Tuesday at 2am. I am eating cookies because even though Michael so dutifully fed me three pieces of pizza hours ago, I am hungry again. And I would drink milk, but we're out, because each one of us in the Daily household is preparing for a stressful weekend of travel and when the calcium supply ran out none of us jogged to the grocery store to replenish.

Plus I like V8.

So here I sit. I would like to take a shower, but it's pretty late. The practical side of me (which is really more of a tiny sliver than a side, really) says "wait 'til morning" for a shower. But the uncomfortable, tired, stressed side of me (that is, 99% of me) wants a piece of her daily routine, even if it is at the wrong time on the clock, because it is soothing. Showers are my reset button. When I shut off the water and dry off, I can move forward and tackle to-dos. Or I can spritz on some perfume and let Mike spoil me with dinner. Either way, it is not an activity that is usually piled amongst hundreds of others.

But I shall hit the sack instead. I told Mike tonight while we were taking a late night dip in the pool that I just need school to be started already, because once it's in motion that will mean that my stuff has already moved to my new apartment, textbooks will be purchased, all the major details will be taken care of. But until then I just have to grit my teeth, learn to sleep on a stomach full of tomato juice and cookies, soak up the moments I have to receive hugs from family and friends, and just trudge through until one night I go to sleep in my new place and wake up to my first real morning there. Not the literal first morning, with boxes opened and silverware unlocated. But the first real morning, when my hot pink coffee pot (thanks, Deanna and Joe!) brews the java, Dibbs gets a snuggle, the crossword gets some attention, and, without realizing it, my gut realizes ahead of me that I am home. The first morning when that last night, the sad night when all steadiness for a time ended, is forgotten and but a memory.

Prayers for me as I pack my way toward that memory are greatly appreciated in the next few weeks. Thanks, faithful followers, my apologies for the lack of quality posts as of late.