My Valentine

Saturday was Valentine's Day, and I didn't get roses or chocolates or diamond earrings. What I did get was a husband who took me to the urgent care center while I hacked and wheezed. Not once did he whine or complain about the long wait, the fact that I didn't give in to his early morning suggestion that I see a doctor until lunchtime, or the fact that the pharmacist took a long time to get my drugs together. Personally, I'm not sure I could have been as patient about the lack of food for so long had I been in his shoes. I would have meant to be patient, but I probably would have whined anyway. Then he brought me home and waited on me hand and foot while I laid on the couch, sleeping and reading Steven King*. He brought me glass after glass of water, and even went to the store to buy orange juice and salt and vinegar potato chips.** And not once did he act like I was being a pain-in-the-Ay-double-Ess.***

Happy Valentine's Day, Sweetie. You're what it's all about.


*I don't know what it is about being sick that makes me want to read his books, but I worked my way through The Shining, The Stand, and The Dead Zone.

**Another thing that I can't get enough of when I'm sick.

***Which I probably was, even if I didn't mean to be.

Proustian

It's so very strange, the things that imprint themselves on our brain and swim to the surface cued by some small event.

I was in a particularly boring meeting, doodling across my agenda. My preferred doodles are freeform swirly things, especially since I don't draw very well. For whatever reason, though, I started doodling stars in a little row all along the edge of the paper, and found my inner voice chanting "down, up, across, down, up".

As a small child, I had a lot of trouble with fine motor skills. Tying my shoelaces or folding a piece of paper in equal, even halves were insurmountable problems for me, and the adults around me didn't seem to understand that, especially since I picked up other things-- reading, composition, understanding fractions-- so much more easily than most of my classmates. I can vividly remember crying because the art teacher told me that I was folding my paper sloppily because I was lazy-- there was simply no way that someone in the gifted program could not understand her instructions, and there had better be an improvement in my attitude, or else.

By the time second grade rolled around, I was still struggling with writing. My ability to form words on paper lagged far behind all of the things that I wanted to say, and my frustration levels were rapidly getting out of control. For some reason, I became especially obsessed with my inability to draw a star.

My teacher, Mrs. Peters, picked up on this. I imagine that my body language must have been broadcasting the sheer anger over my inability to do these things that everyone else did so easily. One day, she crouched down next to my desk while we were all supposed to be practicing our cursive writing and slowly drew star after star, narrating her actions as she went: "Down, up, across, down, up". Over and over again, I tried to imitate the way her pencil glided across the green-lined paper until suddenly the words matched the motion and much to my own surprise, I produced a series of wobbly stars. I can still remember the thrill of that moment.

To this very day, every time I make a little star next to something on my to do list or, say, doodle a line of stars across some paper during a particularly boring meeting, I hear Mrs. Peters chanting "Down, up, across, down, up" in my head.

Laundry Night

Jenna's favorite day is laundry day.



It was still sort of warm from the dryer. Another few minutes and she would have been burrowed completely into the pile.

Nice Work If You Can Get It

Ash and I are in his hometown overnight, on our way to a wedding in Defiance, Ohio. The groom is his best friend from high school, who also stood in our wedding. Ash is his best man, and I'm really looking forward to dancing with him all night, as we didn't get to at our own wedding.

This morning, we got up at 5 a.m. so that we could visit his father before he left for work, since we'll be gone by the time he gets home and we may not get another chance to see him before next Christmas/ Thanksgiving*.



It was a nice but short visit, though we only got to see his dad, and not his sister (who grunted when Ash's dad tried to wake her up, and promptly went back to sleep) or his stepmom (who was busy getting ready for her own early workday). I did, however, get to share some special time with their very adorable cat, who was good and wound up, and took a good nip at me just for the fun of doing it, then ran crazed circles around the living and dining rooms, jumping on random things and pretending to scratch stuff.



After we left his dad's house, Ash and I made a little trip to Tim Horton's. Having spent two years living in the City of Light, I have more than a passing familiarity with Timmy's, and I can't say that I've ever understood the adulation for this chain, and especially for it's coffee, that I encountered everywhere I went. I mean, it's not bad, it's just nothing to write home about. Ash, like others who grew up in Timmy's sway, loves the place. Once we had consumed 8000 calories a piece in fat and sugar, we took our coffees and stopped at a park where Ash used to come and feed the ducks with his dad.

Apparently, this park has undergone a major renovation, and according to Ash, it's not for the better. There were only a handful of ducks around, including this fine fellow:



There were also lots of little signs posted, telling us that feeding the ducks is Evil. It makes them sick! And they become dependent on humans! And they get eaten by predators! Now, I am certain that these things are true, and it may be for the best that people don't feed the ducks at the pond. But. A) The tone of the signs was "If you feed the ducks, the terrorists win!, and B) Each sign ended with a phrase like "Enjoy the waterfowl responsibly!", which made me want to laugh for some reason.

Being disgusted with the changes in this park, Ash took me back to a park I'd visited with him once before.



On our previous visit, it was wintertime, and we were freezing, and it was dark. The highlight of that visit was the discovery of a piece of graffiti that read "This town is ours bitchs", which has since occasioned many choruses of "Bitch-S!" in our house ever since. This time, it was sunny and cool, and everything was just bursting with life.




Remember that scene in Office Space where Peter is talking about how back in high school, your guidance counselor would ask you what you would do if you had a million dollars and didn't need to earn money, and whatever you answered, that's what you're supposed to be? If we won enough money that we didn't need to work ever again unless we wanted to, do you know what I would do? This:




* The holiday schedule has not yet been negotiated.
** He's declawed, so it's all for show.

What Is This Strange Feeling?

I do believe it's a sense of accomplishment. And not because of the bar exam. I rode that high for about three days, but now I'm on to my real life, and I have been seriously busy.

I'm officially working in my new job and it's been an interesting week. I've done something new every day. On the one hand, that's so awesome! I'm learning a ton and gaining a bunch of new skills, my days fly by, and I'm getting to know a lot of people in other departments. On the other hand, this is so stressful! I'm completely outside my comfort zone, I never quite know exactly what I'm doing, it's difficult to get a good routine going, and I'm pulled in several different directions. On the third hand (what on earth is in the drinking water here that I'm growing extra appendages?), I'm not really doing the things that I'm "supposed" to do in this job. Most of the time, I don't mind. It never hurts to get a reputation as a team player, nor does it hurt to learn skills outside your job parameters. In fact, I'd think those are two very good things. And I'm getting face time with the department head.

What's really strange to me is that there's been a subtle shift in my... status within the department. I can't really articulate it, but I overheard someone telling one of the other newbies that if they had questions, they could ask Mary, Sarah, or Katze. To understand exactly what that means, you need to know this: Mary and Sarah are two long time employees of My Company who are widely considered to be among the most knowledgeable people in the department. And suddenly I've joined their ranks?

Back when I first moved out of my parents' house and got a "real job" for the first time, I was dogged by the feeling that I was playing dress up-- that I was, if you will, a fake grown-up. Some small part of me kept an eye out over my shoulder for the people who were going to see through my disguise and call me out in front of everyone. "HEY!" they'd yell, "YOU! YOU'RE NOT AN ADULT! GO TO YOUR ROOM AND STAY THERE, YOUNG LADY! YOU'RE GROUNDED FOR IMPERSONATING A GROWN UP!" It wore off, eventually. But in the last week, I've felt echoes of that feeling once again. For example, today I took a form to my manager because it needed a company signature on it, and she told me to sign it myself. Who decided that it was a good idea to give me so much responsibility? What if I mess it up? What if they find out that I don't know what I'm doing? And of course that's ridiculous: they gave me responsibility because I can handle it, they know I don't know what I'm doing yet, but they have reason to believe that I'll be able to learn it, and if I mess up, the world won't come to a screeching halt. In fact, all evidence suggests that if I own up to my mistake, fix it or get help to fix it, and take time to figure out how to keep it from happening again, they'll be perfectly understanding. So I squelch that stupid voice whenever it pops up. Still, the vague feeling of cognitive dissonance remains.

Last night, I finished assembling the Save the Date cards for the wedding. Tonight I finished addressing all of the ones I have current addresses for-- there are about 12 or 13 that I still have to track down. Each one has been stamped and they are ready to go into the mailbox tomorrow. It feels so good to check one thing off the wedding to do list. I'm also going to order the bridesmaids' dresses either tomorrow or Friday. Next we have to schedule our engagement session, find hotels and book blocks of rooms, and pick out the men's tuxes. I'm feeling so much less overwhelmed by the whole process, but I cannot wait for the wedding to get here. I think it's going to be so much fun, and I can't wait to see all of our friends and family together. And it goes without saying that I cannot WAIT to be married to Ash. We went to look at wedding bands last weekend, and seeing the ring on his hand made it all feel so much more real, sort of like seeing myself in the wedding dress did. I just wanted to run around the mall yelling "WE'RE GETTING MARRIED". I thought my heart would swell up and burst right out of my chest I was so happy.

I've also officially started packing. The first box is full and labelled. I put my bar review materials up for sale and started a list of things that I'm going to post on craigslist before we move. I even remembered to pick up the address change cards from the post office and filled them out. I'll throw them in the mailbox tomorrow when I mail the save the date cards.

Right now, I feel so on the ball, it almost seems like I could conquer the world.

How Do You Know When Your Life's About to Change?

A year ago yesterday, I had no idea that I was about to go on a date with the man I'm going to marry. In fact, when I woke up a year ago today, we hadn't even made a date with each other. I asked him to accompany me to a Halloween party being thrown by a mutual acquaintance on the spur of the moment, fueled by a minor crush I'd been nursing for a few weeks and some conversations we'd had that could be construed as flirtatious, and figuring that the shared connection to the party thrower gave me plausible deniability if he didn't have any interest in me that way.

Which was good, because he turned me down when I asked him out after Estates and Trusts class.

So, really, I can't explain what possessed me to call him back after classes and ask him out again.If I had been thinking logically, I certainly wouldn't have! But, oh, am I glad I did. And even more glad that he said yes the second time.

Ash, I never knew life could be so sweet, and it's all because of you.
Every day, I marvel at my incredible good fortune, and I love you more than I could ever say.

And if you want to hear the song, you can listen to it here.

Meeting the In-Laws: Mother In Laws Are No Joke

The part of Michigan that Ash is from reminds me a great deal of the part of Ohio that my aunt's farm is in. The same not-quite flat terrain, the same country roads lined with the same houses and small farms. There were even lots of soybean fields, just like the ones that surround (and make up part of) my aunt's farm. I actually slept through a lot of the drive from MSU, and Ash woke me up with about 15 minutes to go so that I could de-groggify and run a brush through my hair.

I was especially nervous about meeting Ash's mother, not because she's a bad person, or anything like that, but because, well, there must be a reason why there are so many mother-in-law jokes, right? Ash places such a high value on his family relationships, and I really wanted to get our relationship off to a good start. I must admit that I'd planned my wardrobe very carefully, asking myself exactly which sweater says "This is a lovely woman who will make my son happy, and who we would be thrilled to have in our family". Those carefully planned outfits were scuttled by the very cold weather, so I was wearing the only warm sweater I'd brought, which meant I couldn't really obsess over it the way I would have had I had a choice of sweaters. So I obsessed over my hair instead, fussing over the minor flattening caused by the very cute red hat I'd been wearing for our walk around the MSU campus. And then we were turning onto a street and into a driveway and we were there and the herd of butterflies in my stomach took off en masse.

Ash's stepfather came out to meet us as we walked in the door, and we made small talk for a few minutes before Ash's mom came in and joined us. In a stroke of good timing, we'd arrived just after they both got home from work, and after a short bit of "hello, how are you, nice to meet you, how was the drive?", we all piled into the car and headed out to dinner.

The drive took me through part of the actual town and I got my first real look at Ash's hometown. It's a small town. A really small town. I can't really wrap my mind around the idea of living in a small town. I grew up in a city, I live in a city now, and even though I lived in a couple of small towns in Germany, they were so connected to the areas around them that they seemed like part of the nearby large cities. My cousins grew up in an even smaller town, and I remember when the cousin closest to me was in high school, she was very into "cruising". I was (and still am) utterly mystified as to how someone could be so excited about the idea of driving a half hour to the next larger town so that you could spend two or three hours slowly circling the same two blocks, sipping on milkshakes from the local Rax's. I cannot conceive of a high school class where it's actually feasible to know everyone-- there were about 700 students in my graduating class.

As we drove through town, Ash's mom and stepdad kept up a steady stream of chatter, telling stories about things that were happening in town, occasionally asking us questions, and I started to relax. I am terrible at small talk, and I cannot tell you what a relief it was not to have to slog my way through awkward silence and stilted conversation. I don't know if they were conscious of it, but I cannot begin to express how grateful I was that I could just kind of ease into the flow of the talk, joining the family talk naturally. We ate at one of those timeless family restaurants that you find all over the country, in small towns and big cities alike, where the decor, menu, and clientele remain unchanged over decades. Ash had been talking about fried chicken from this place for weeks before the trip, and the family style chicken dinner was the special of the day, so of course that's what we ordered, and we ate and talked our way through the rest of the daylight. Apparently his family has a long history of eating at this particular restaurant, and they've got lots of memories of family dinners there. I really liked the idea that I was in a place and sharing an experience that played a large role in Ash's own childhood experience, like getting a window into the boy he'd been and how he's come to be the wonderful man that he is now.

Then it was back home for Ash's birthday cake and big glasses of milk, sitting out in the sunroom, laughing at the story of how their neighbors' dog got stuck in their backyard after it wandered in when the lawn cutters came while Ash's mom and stepdad were on vacation, and accidentally got locked in. After the sitcom-worthy rescue mission staged by the neighbors, which involved an eight year old scaling the fence and boosting the very fat beagle over to her waiting mother, the dog is apparently afraid to come over now.

It's funny, because the more I was around Ash's stepdad, the more he reminded me of my own father. He has many of the same mannerisms, and makes many of the same corny jokes. He works hard in a factory job, putting in too many hours so that he can do nice things for the people he loves. He doesn't have the formal degrees or education or certifications, but when something breaks or goes wrong, he's the person they call to fix it, and he'll get it up and running, even if his methodology doesn't match what it says in the training manuals. And his mom, although utterly different in personality from my own mother, could have been part of my own family as well-- maybe another of my mother's sisters. In fact, if my mother had her druthers, I'd bet her house would look eerily similar to what Ash's mom has done with her own house-- except there would be rabbits everywhere instead of owls. And when we ended the evening watching "Deal or No Deal"-- which happens to be my own family's current obsession-- I felt like I'd wandered into a new branch of my own family.

We were, however, utterly shocked to find that we'd been put into the same room. I'd been warned-- and expected, honestly-- that we'd be sleeping in separate rooms. When we go to visit my parents, I assure you that will be the case. In fact, we'll be on separate floors, though that's actually due to the way the bedrooms are placed in the house, not so much to my parents' house rules. And I was perfectly okay with that, because first of all, when you are a guest in someone's home, you conduct yourself according to their house rules, and second, I'm a little weirded out by the idea of sort of... displaying our sexuality around relatives. I mean, it's not like we were announcing that we wanted to go off and do the nasty together, but sleeping in the same bed carries a certain assumption with it, you know? So I was a little weirded out by that, and I'm certain that I turned a rather deep shade of pink. I wonder if I'll feel the same way after we're married, especially at my parents' house. I mean, we'll be "legit" then, so really it shouldn't be a big deal, but I suspect that it will be.

The one thing I think I'd love about living in a small town is the silence. The constant noise of traffic and other people makes me uneasy, which is what I hated most about the place I lived with Hulio when we first moved to Our Fair City. My current place is mostly very quiet, though the occasional train or bus can be heard, and my downstairs neighbor occasionally plays Cher very, very loudly (thankfully only for a short time), while my upstairs neighbor walks like an elephant when she's home (thankfully not usually when I'm home). The utter silence of nighttime in the countryside was so restful and soothing, especially after the long work week I had just finished. I slept better than I had in days, feeling so very relieved that The Meeting, Version 1.0 had gone so much better than I'd dared hope. The Meeting, Version 2.0, was on the agenda for the next day, when we were scheduled to move on to Ash's dad's place.

And Why I'm On Cloud Nine Anyway

Saturday evening, I had a rare night off. My first in a week, in fact. I tutored in the morning for a few hours, then I was blissfully free until Sunday afternoon. Ash and I took the opportunity to do something we've been talking about for a while now: we went ring shopping.

Yes, that kind of ring.

Now, I am not a material kind of girl. But I still want a diamond engagement ring. I can't justify it other than to say I just like it. In all my life, I've never envisioned having anything else for my engagement ring. It doesn't have to be enormous or anything, but I want sparkly, my friends. Ash, however, has moral qualms about buying diamonds. I understand that, and I respect his feelings on the matter, but I really want a diamond. So we've been talking about estate diamonds or possibly a Canadian diamond.

We are, however, total babes in the wood when it comes to this stuff. I mean, we know nozzink. So, we thought we'd just go to some random jewelry store and start looking at rings to find a style I (we) like, and kind of find out what's what. We picked a large chain jeweler's and walked through the front door holding hands and being all lovey-dovey and starry eyed-- which, frankly, is how I feel almost all the time when we're together. A very nice saleswoman approached us, and we told her we wanted to look at engagement rings. She very kindly offered us coffee and led us over to a display case full of settings.

The only thing we'd really agreed on was that we both wanted platinum, so she led us to that particular case and invited us to sit down. Aaaaand then we kind of looked at her expectantly, and she looked at us expectantly, and suddenly it dawned on her: "Are you just starting the process, or did you already have a good idea what you want?" Oh, honey, we're complete rubes. Better lead us by the nose here.

She put a traditional Tiffany-style solitaire setting on my finger, then came back with a diamond in a little carrier. As she lifted it out and laid it into the setting so that we could see what it looked like, she oh-so-casually mentioned that this was their "ideal" cut 1 carat diamond, the top of the line, so to speak. And it costs $7900.

My hands started to shake, and all I could think to myself was "Oh God, don't drop the diamond. You will go to jail and never get out because you cannot afford to buy a diamond that costs... about as much as two days of law school." It was totally noticable, too, because the very nice woman took the diamond away from me and stuck to empty settings and pre-set rings after that.

I think we must have been very frustrating customers. We weren't sure what size we wanted, what style setting we wanted, and we certainly didn't know what we wanted in the "four C's". After trying on a couple of rings, we settled on a setting that we liked (the very first one we'd seen), and then we settled on a range of sizes (during which the saleswoman commented-- as has every jeweler I've ever bought a ring from-- on my tiny little fingers). Oh, but we certainly weren't finished! Oh, no, you silly things!

From there, it was off to the diamond room, where we did a little interactive computer thing that let us look at different diamonds in a specified range of colors and clarities. And that's when the shock started to set in for both of us: diamonds are so expensive!

I mean, duh, right? It's not that we expected to get them 2 for $1 or something, but we certainly didn't expect a .8 carat round cut diamond with a fairly, but not entirely colorless ... um, color (I think it was F), and not flawless (I think it was VS1) to cost nearly $5,000. Ash and I looked at each other, and each of us was, I think, relieved to see the other just as shocked.

See, here's the thing: even if we had an extra $5,000 laying around, we both kind of feel like there are at least a thousand other more useful ways to put that much money to use. And I would feel a little queasy about walking around with $5,000 on my hand.

So I don't know what we'll end up doing. But I do know that he makes me happier than I've ever been in my whole life, in ways that I never even thought about before. I am the luckiest woman on Earth to have found someone so utterly perfect for me, so intensely loving and caring. I can't wait to spend the rest of our lives making each other happy ever after.

Silver Screen

Sunday night, Ash and I had the wonderful opportunity to see Casablanca on the big screen. The tiny art house theater in our neighborhood has been showing old movies on Sunday evenings all summer-- in fact, they're starting a series of "classic" (read: MST3K-worthy) horror movies in the month of August-- and we decided to make a date of it. The place was packed, far more crowed than it's been the handful of times that I've been there in the past, and the crowd was in a good mood. It was really great to see the wide range of ages there, and there were quite a few families who'd come out together to see Bogart and Bergman.

I love this little theater. There is only one screen, and the whole place is ever so slightly shabby, but lovingly maintained. The tickets are still reasonably priced, and with a student discount, we got in for only $5 each. The concession stand sells popcorn and soda, but they come in human sized containers and are about half as expensive as what you get at any of the multiplexes. They also sell tea and coffee and juice, all good quality stuff, not cheap Lipton crap. The staff is all youngish, maybe in their 20's or possibly early 30's, and they're extraordinarily friendly and helpful, almost as if they're happy to see you there, excited to share something good with you.

The movie started with no previews, which was a little jarring. I don't think I've ever been to a movie with no previews before. But almost immediately, we were sucked into the story. I've seen bits and pieces of Casablanca over the years, thanks to Turner Classic Movies reruns, but I've never sat down and watched the whole thing start to finish. Now that I have, I'm totally suckered in; I think the movie is magic. And seeing it together with Ash made it even more so. It was just lovely to lean my head against his shoulder and watch the movie with our fingers intertwined. I guess we're a little past the age where people go to the movies to make out with each other (do kids still do that nowadays?), but he still brushed his lips against my hair a few times, and we snuck a small kiss in at the urging of Ingrid Bergman, probably grossing out the gossipy teenage girls in the row directly behind us ("Ewwwwww, gross! Old people making out!), but who cares? We're in love!

Another thing that made the experience so much better than just ordering Casablanca on Netflix was the audience. They were extremely appreciative, laughing at the jokes, gasping in the appropriate places. People were, for the most part, far more courteous than any of the other crowds I've had the "pleasure" of sharing a moviegoing experience with in the past few years.

After the movie let out and people were leaving the theater, happy and content, the magic seemed to linger on the air. Couples held hands in the night as the stars began to peek out from the rainclouds that lingered from earlier in the evening, friends laughed softly together as they walked to their homes or to their cars, more than one of them humming "...and when two lovers woo, they still say I love you...

*Make sure to click on the title of this post for a little mood music!

Charmed

...by Ash's spot on impression of Jon Stewart doing an impression of W.

And even more charmed by the fact that, after making me laugh far too loud the first time he did it, now he does it often and looks at me out of the corner of his eye every time, clearly hoping to make me laugh again.

It always does.

Spooooky!

Ash and I ate a metric ton of chinese food tonight (and I had most of an order of Crab Rangoon because I am a pig and have no sense of what's good for me). After dinner, I was so gluttonously stuffed that I just went back to work on my research project. Ash, however, cracked open his fortune cookie, and his subsequent laughter made me waddle right back over. His fortune?

"You would make a good lawyer."

Fortune cookie baked by Professor Trelawny?

In a New Element

Ash and I started swimming recently. This is a huge step for me. I didn’t learn how to swim until I was 27 years old. People usually look at me as though I’ve just announced that I still use Betamax when I say that, but there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for it. There was no money for swimming lessons when I was growing up and we didn’t live anywhere near a body of water that people might swim in, so I had never had opportunity or particular reason to learn as a young child. Then, when I was fourteen, I was at the beach with a friend. We had waded out a little way, until the water came up to maybe halfway between our waist and our chests, and then were riding the small waves on little inflatable rafts. I lost my grip on the raft and when I splashed after it, I got caught in a small riptide. Then, suddenly, I was in much deeper water and I couldn’t stand any longer. I tried to “swim” in a line parallel to shore, but I knew I wouldn’t last long, and started to feel panicked. I called to my friend, but it took a while for him to understand that I was in trouble. Luckily, he didn’t try to save me himself, but yelled for help and soon a lifeguard was headed toward me. I have never been so frightened and I could feel how tired my legs and arms were, waiting for help, trying to keep my head above water, but it was getting harder and harder.

For several years afterward, I could not get into water any deeper than my knees, or maybe my waist. Not even in a swimming pool, where there is no such thing as a riptide. My heart would start to pound, my head would feel dizzy, and I would feel an utter panic that I knew made it dangerous for me to be in the water, both for myself and for the people around me. The fear gradually lessened. I forced myself to wade into a pool as far as I could before the fear started and stay there as long as possible while trying to think about how safe I was and how different a swimming pool is than a large body of water. A friend of mine in Germany was a great help in this regard. His family actually took me to the Baltic Sea and to the North Sea and he literally held my hand through my first subsequent experience with the open water. I still feel incredibly uneasy in any water where I can’t see the bottom or where there might be a sudden drop off. A few summers ago I was at Laga Di Garda in northern Italy and while my girlfriends swam in the warm, sunny water, I was left behind. Now, don’t feel too bad for me: I was in Italy, it was sunny, the sand was warm, there were hot Italian waiters at the nearby café, and yummy, frothy cappuccino. Not exactly torture. Still, it would have been nice to join them in the water.

Sometime during college, I finally came to the realization that I needed to learn to swim, not just for safety’s sake, but because it was the only way to conquer the fear totally. I finally got my chance when I went on vacation to Walt Disney World with Finbar. Over the course of the week, I learned the basics of freestyle. It was incredibly liberating. Not that I had any strength or endurance at all. But I felt a little less helpless.

So, now I’m learning how to be a better swimmer. I’m learning how to breathe properly, how to use my arms more efficiently. Today, Ash started teaching me to do the breaststroke and I’m enjoying myself in the water for the first time since I was fourteen. I want to feel capable and safe in the water. I’d like to be able to swim in a lake again. I’d like to not feel afraid to go kayaking with my friends. Right now, I’m still very slow and I have no real endurance to speak of. But I’m getting a little better all the time. Every time I get in the pool, I feel like I’m getting stronger, and I don’t mean physically. It’s very empowering to be taking steps toward conquering a terrible fear.

Lucky

How could a girl not glow when she gets a phone call that starts with the words "You are so beautiful! I miss you!"?

The Night the Bed Fell

My bed has been broken.

I'd love to pretend it's for that reason, but the fact is that it's because a piece of the bed frame that keeps the slats that hold the box springs and matress in place has broken off and is missing. The slightest movement makes the slats on the left side of the bed fall off the track and takes the box spring and mattress on that side with it. Ash and I had fixed the bed several times only to have it fall apart immediately before we finally figured this out. The bed is less than four years old, but it has been taken apart and put together at least three times because I’ve moved so often. In addition to the missing piece, the metal track is pulling away from the particle board frame at one point.

It was with this frame of mind that I read this hysterical post to a new blog which features Megarita as one of the contributors. Thank God I was at home when I read this and not in class, because I laughed myself sick.

Problematic

How am I supposed to concentrate on future interests when he’s directly in my line of sight, looking all delicious and stuff?

Happy

Well, there was no reading in the sunshine with a bottle of wine and the Certain Member, and although we went to the park, it was for a lovely nighttime walk. And we did have coffee and pastries in the sunshine. Really, I wanted to completely blow off school and other responsibilities and spend the whole weekend with him, talking about Gott und die Welt and maybe smooching a little (a lot), too. Stupid grown-up obligations...

I had really been dreading dating again, but now I'm not sure why. This is fun. I'm enjoying getting to know the Certain Member better and he makes me feel like the most beautiful and interesting woman. It's been a long time since I felt like that. It's amazing. He's amazing.

What Do You Get When Type A People Get Together?

Only among a group of law students could a game of Duck, Duck, Goose turn into a competitive full contact sport. We should start a league or something. I would also like to point out that this is the first time in my adult life that I came home from a party with grass stains on my clothes.