Splashed.

I done did it.  And I raised $421 for the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network.  And I'm all swum out.. for now.  My shoulders and triceps have felt like they're made of lead-- not sore per se, but heavy.

I didn't do great.  I did downright awful.  But I guess everyone's got to start somewhere.

I'm sure I'll forget enough (the suffocating panic that set in through the first quarter mile, the poor performance, the extreme self-consciousness walking around in a suit among actual athletes) soon enough that I'll start pumping myself up for the next one.  Much like getting that diploma blotted out all of the stress and hardship of grad school and how I've toyed with the idea of going back ever since.

I confess.... I was back in the pool tonight.

Got to start working for next year, after all.

splash.

I'm about to leave for the pool for my last practice before tomorrow's big swim.  Just a short, kick-heavy practice.  My triceps were a little sore yesterday from Thursday's work, and then my contact started hurting on the one night I forgot my glasses and I had to cut everything short.  Bleh.  Not that it matters, because my practice has gotten so screwed up these past two weeks.

I can't say enough how I'm really tired of deaths/ funerals/ and all of that stuff.  But when I was telling my boss that, she told me that one of my coworkers is in hospice... so I guess there's going to be another one to get through before the year is over.  Joke's on me.

I've been seriously considering pulling out of the swim.  It was always going to be a stretch, and then this?  It's been terrible.  NOTHING has gone right.  Everything from a rash aggravated by chafing to a funeral to staying very late at work on a semi-regular basis has reduced time available to swim.  I am a textbook case of How Not to Prepare for Your First Open Water Event.

But my coworkers kicked in a combined $71, which put me over $300 for the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network.  And a few of them were so sweet and encouraging... well.  I was always going to be slow and make a fool out of myself anyway, right?  So here we go.  I just hope I don't drown or die from a rabid jellyfish attack.  As I said, I wouldn't even attend my own.

Swim, fat chick, swim!

On the plus side, I can tolerate a swim suit again on my toasted back (which is still pink and peeling for the second time-- EW-- but the pain is, well, not quite gone but acceptably deep seated enough to ignore).  On the down side, getting my first real taste of swimming out "there" in the cove (and not within the defined guarded beach) was a rude awakening.  I sucked, which...well, frankly, I expected.  But I did not expect to panic as much as I did at the first wave in my face, first inhaled water, first kicking and struggling in a group, and, well, those sorts of things.  I'm not happy with how much I had to rely on back and breast to recover.  And I did not expect to make such slow progress.  I can pound out a mile straight (an actual mile-- not the cheating indoor swimming "mile" of 1500 meters/ 1650 yards) in the pool no problem.  Sure,  it's ugly and slow, but it can be done.  Swimming with the tide and winds and boat wake and all that.. just a completely different experience that had me questioning my abilities as a swimmer.  But open water swimming has an undeniable attraction due to its oddly romantic nature-- just you and the ocean/ bay/ channel/ river/ lake/ etc-- so... let's all hope I can finish and not embarrass myself too, too badly.

crisped critter

Dear blog,

Long time, no write.  What can I say, it's turning into a hectic summer.  Which probably isn't the worst thing in the world, because that means a little less time to ruminate and cry, but it's also not leaving me much time for myself.  Or things like laundry and litterboxes.

The hollowness from losing my brother is cementing itself pretty well in place.  It's just this massive brother-shaped gap that I'm learning to manage around.  It's like I've lost a limb, but there won't ever be a prosthetic that can help me manage.  I experience this moment of sinking disappointment every time I arrive at my parents' house and know he's not there, and not just because he's out running errands.  And I cry with guilt every time I drive back to Baltimore because I'm leaving my parents alone.  But... nobody really cares about that anymore.  The rest of the world has moved on and spares little time or thoughts or sympathy for those of us still in mourning.  So there's little point in sharing the grief-- nobody's asking or listening anyway.

In my misguided attempt to give myself something to swim FOR, I registered for PurpleSwim Baltimore, an open water swim in the Bay.  It's... a little sooner than I'd like, especially because I'm nowhere near my best swimming shape.  And I managed to thoroughly burn my back this weekend when I went out to the bay to spend some time in the open water-- despite liberally applying SPF 30 water resistant sunblock multiple times.  So my back is an angry shade of magenta bordering on fuchsia, noticeably swollen, and unspeakably painful.  Even my limbs are slightly swollen.  I've used most of a 12oz bottle of aloe gel in the past 48 hours, on top of cold compresses, ibuprofen, and giving vinegar the old college try-- to minimal avail.  I sucked it up and got a bathing suit on tonight (no such luck yesterday), but moving my arms in the water caused too much pain.  So... now I'm in danger of falling behind on training thanks to sunblock failure.  I did order a rashguard today to minimize this issue in the future, but still.  OW.  STUPID STUPID STUPID.

Sigh.  Let's see if the NFL can give me some good news... oh wait.  DAMMIT, HINES.  DAMMIT, OWNERS.

Sorry, blog-- mamma's going to have to cut this little reunion short get herself a drink.  It's just one of them summer.

New year, new post.

Oh Baltimore, you funny little big city. With your pissing contest over a three letter word and painting yourself purple and dead fish. Wait, dead fish? Yep. Dead fish. Ew. Well, I guess that's one to remind me of home.

Being sick and all, I've spent an inordinate amount of time on my couch the past few days. The closest books within reach of said couch are Mandarin language instruction books and depressing Russian books (random history and Solzhenitsyn-- One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich and The Gulag Archipelago). (I've mentioned before that I met a guy once who actually claimed Solzhenitsyn was his favorite author. That still cracks me up. I mean, come on. Could you try to make it a little less obvious that you're a pretentious pompous ass overeager to be perceived as a politically aware intellectual?). Anyway, nothing light and non-challenging for my poor addled brain, so I watched far more television than I'm used to. Which? Really adds to the feeling of unreality brought on by high quality decongestants and a few days off from work. But now I'm back to work and still trying to shake this annoyingly persistent bug. Damn reality. And my poor cube neighbors that get to hear me hacking away.

Speaking of work, I had one of those days yesterday. It was a matryoshka doll of badness kind of day. That would be the opposite of the Mary Tyler Moore Moment day (which inspired the MTMM tag on this a-here blog)-- you know, the times you're just so freaking chipper that you want to throw your hat in the air while a disembodied voice from above intones that you're going to make it after all. Yesterday: not one of those days. Just one bad thing inside another, like evil nesting dolls. I actually originally coined the term to describe a situation at work where there were so many nuances and layers of wrongness that contributed to a bad situation, so I think I'm entitled to strain that metaphor to the breaking point. Thankfully, things are looking a little better. For the time being.

If only I could stop coughing. Consumptive authoresses/ heroines are so 19th century.

so let it be written...

• I know that a team with an excellent defense and mediocre-ish offense can still win Superbowls. Six words to summarize this radical notion: Trent. Dilfer. Has. A. Superbowl. Ring.
• I'm still laughing about the Metrodome collapsing after all the DRAHHHHHHHHMA over Favre starting and the Giants charter being diverted.
• Baltimoreans, scary drivers at the best of times, really need to accept that in temperate climes?  Precipitation happens.  Sometimes of the freezing/ frozen variety.  And it's okay.  People can make slight adjustments to their driving (perhaps not, say, average 55 in a 40 commercial zone as they do in clear weather) without overreacting (frantically slamming on the breaks) and thus avoid causing accidents.  Sheesh.  I thought Pittsburgh drivers were bad about freaking out over the weather.  Then again, Baltimore/ DC Drivers are about the worst in the country.
• While I draft this, I'm in the process of doing something drastic and/ or rash. When I do publish... le fait accompli. So let it be written, so let it be done.

emotional hangover

Thank god the Steelers won. The past week was horrible with the level of trash talking, verging on abuse at times. Jeepers spat on, someone picked at my little Steelers helmet sticker, accosted in a parking lot while wearing the black & gold hat a dear friend made me... bleh. Tiresome. I honestly didn't believe that we won at first. I mean, I was watching the last drive and just saw it playing out exactly the same way it did in October, and I didn't believe the Raven didn't convert. Wow. Funny enough, it's been quiet at work-- few Ravens fans want to acknowledge that there was a game Sunday. Figures. It's okay, though. I can be the gracious winner. And gloating too early is bad luck. I have to admit, I lol'd at Ben's broken nose. Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.

Speaking of nice guys, WTF Wannstache? Talk about a bummer, and I don't even like collegiate sports.

In other news, the Baltimoreans I've encountered tend to have very limited palates. I've already met two natives for whom falafel was a revelation. How do you go through life as a somewhat wordly person without trying falafel? I'm most perplexed. I assumed that as a Pittsburgher, I'd be more of a Midwestern-meets-Appalachian naif on the oh-so-cosmopolitan east coast. And yet certain things I've taken as normal, like really good family Italian restaurants in practically every neighborhood, are like novelties here. So weird.

Speaking of cooking, I think it's time to move this week's experiment off the sheets and onto racks. Peanut butter oatmeal chocolate cookies for work this week. It's nice to have a receptive audience, because now that I don't have family within spitting distance? I'd hardly ever do any real cooking. I mean, it's really just me now-- and I can only have leftovers so many times.

there's no place like home

What about my little key store? RIP, Leslie Nielsen.

My first experience of serious holiday travel (as in, not just a day trip) was not terrible, though not exactly pleasant. Take last Wednesday-- between Baltimore & Frederick (the first ~40 miles), I saw five accidents and four speed traps. Plus random backups (Frederick, the outlets near Hagerstown, about an actual mile of traffic trying to get off 70..). On the way home I only saw two accidents and avoided the Breezewood Turnpike-70 backup (thanks to my instincts proving correct). And my timing was spot on-- I got to Frederick just after the Redskins game started and before the Ravens game traffic picked up. Whew. I really don't mind the drive too much, but the heavy traffic and the bizarre propensity Marylanders have for forming backups in the middle of nowhere (let alone at actual interchages) for no discernible reason are taxing.

Of course, I was greeted by two extremely pissed-off cats. They weren't amused that I watched the (gasp! televised!) Steelers game with a Mancini's pepperoni roll (baked fresh the day before) with Penn Pils instead of begging forgiveness. Poor things. You'd think that I didn't drop everything in my arms to pick them up as soon as I walked in. Or that I left treats and catnip hidden around the apartment, the lights and radio on, new toys scattered around. Or greeted them with nauseating amounts of petting and treats. Though Pete did pull out a few hunks of fur (thoughtfully leaving them in the middle of my bedroom floor). Poor baby. I'm not sure which is more stressful on him, being left alone or being driven to a strange place for a few days. A strange place with a dog. I don't know. But he's currently nesting in my partially unpacked duffel bag, giving me a none-too-subtle hint that I'm either not going anywhere or not leaving him behind.

But it's good to be home. And it's good to have another W, even though we can't seem to pull ahead of the Ravens. We'll see what happens Sunday. It's a very tense time around these parts. A very, very tense time.

Speaking of tense, I have no idea how people commute to DC from Baltimore. The incredible storms today made everything that much more fun. And by fun I mean horrifying. I'm glad I wasn't driving. I'm home comparatively early from work, so I think I'm going to put up some Christmas decorations. But first, I've been tagged for the 15 authors meme. Let's see...

Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen authors (poets,playwrights and screen-writers included) who've influenced you and who will always stick with you. List the first fifteen you can recall in no more than fifteen minutes. Tag at least fifteen friends, including me, because I'm interested in seeing what authors my friends choose (To do this, go to your Notes tab on your profile page, paste rules in a new note, cast your fifteen picks, and tag people in the note.).

Kurt Vonnegut (precious few authors have defined irony half as well or warped my world view half as much)
CS Lewis (Narnia >> Middle Earth to me)
Stephen King (literary junk food is still literary)
George Orwell (those who would misappropriate 1984 should read Down & Out in Paris)
Leo Tolstoy (everyone should have a ponderous Russian novel to love-- Anna Karenina is mine)
TS Eliot (arrogant bastard)
Dorothy Parker (if only my wit were one quarter as biting)
Wallace Stevens (let be be finale of seem, the only emperor is the emperor of ice cream)
HP Lovecraft (eldritch! batrachian! squamous! noisome!)
EA Poe (the first short stories I ever read)
Oscar Wilde (see comment for Parker, Dorothy)
William Goldman (The Princess Bride is the best romance ever)
Lewis Carrol (first experience I can recall with logic puzzles, wordplay, etc)
Hunter S. Thompson (We can't stop here-- this is bat country!)
Sylvia Plath (predictably enough)

I'm chatty today. I guess I'm making up for those long bouts of silence-- plus, I haven't had my usual Sunday distraction of a Steelers game and/ or a several hour long drive. Tonight's game features the Cowboys and Packers-- really, as much as I'm enjoying watching the Cowboys implode, that sounds like a desperately boring match. At least Sherlock is on. I'm not sure which I like best-- Doctor Who with Ten, Doctor Who with Eleven, or Sherlock. Despite lacking Captain John Hotness, er, I mean Harkness, it helps to bridge the gap until BBCA starts running Who again around the holidays (as I assume they will-- I hope). And Moriarty totally reminded me of Simon Pegg in The Long Game. Or the Master. A little of both.

I got too late of a start yesterday to make it to Gunpowder Falls, so I spent some of yesterday at Soldier's Delight. While not encountering a single person on the utterly silent trails was creepy, it was eerily pretty with the rocky fields and stunted flora.

A west country girl with a big fat cat that looks into her eyes of green

Today marks four months since I drove a jeep full of plants and two miserable cats down the long road to Baltimore. I think the cats have finally more or less recovered, though the plants have been less resilient. And me? Well... that's more complicated. I miss home. I was in one of the most amazing areas for over a decade. But I needed to move on, move away, get away from the ghosts of the past and the familiar places so patinated with memories as to be petrified. Most days I think I took the right job. I like being closer to the coast and New York and DC, but I'm not sure that Baltimore is the city for me. The jury's still out on that. But I can always move. In fact, I think I will in the not too terribly distant future.

I've now worn my wool coat and scraped frost-- actual frost-- from my windshield two mornings in a row. I also wore non-khaki type pants today for the first time since wearing a suit during orientation. Woe. I'm not quite ready for it to be winter just yet. Though the summer was long and painfully hot (literally when sitting on seats that have baked in 105 degree heat all day), I feel like I missed something. Perhaps because fall has felt so short. Labor day came, but it was marked only by the closing of the complex's pool and the appearance of children waiting for buses in the morning. It remained unseasonably warm-- to me, anyway. True, I was born & bred a northerner and all, but it's not THAT far south of the Mason-Dixon line here. And then a few short weeks, not even a full month, of what I consider fall, and then BAM! We're into winter now.

Granted, this would be the beginning of the rainy season back home. November means perpetually leaden skies spitting icy rain that soaks through your hair and coat. It means trudging from a too-cold office to a coffee shop or noodle place with windows heavy with condensation to a tiny apartment where the radiator clanks and hisses all night while sleet ticks against the window. It's a fantastically cold and lonely time of year, even if you're paired up. Pairing up this time of year is really a desperate charade with the end game of keeping warm. Oooh, listen to moody, cynical me.

Which is probably why I'm in a Nick Cave listening mood lately. And doing my best PJ Harvey. Come take him by his lily-white hands, come take him by his feet.

core dump

In the past 36 hours, I've...

• driven 500 miles
• bought a drop dead gorgeous heritage variety pumpkin for cooking
• been menaced by pygmy goats performing a dramatic interpretation of Dawn of the Dead
• seen a civil war reenactor in full uniform fiddling with an iPhone
• met a new family member
• made a commitment to dye my hair red again (it's a strawberry kind of winter)
• watched PBT's absolutely amazing interpretation of The Three Musketeers
• had two cats and a dog sleep fall asleep on me while I watched TV
• enjoyed the dulcet tones of Bill Hillgrove calling Pitt on Saturday and the Steelers today
• looked like a suspicious person to the Somerset rest area patrons
• been rudely reminded that I need to drive as though east coast drivers are trying to kill me, because they are
• been attacked by two very irate felines

Now let's see how much shit I get from Ravens fans this week after they barely beat the Bills. I'm very disappointed in Buffalo. I mean, this week the Brownies apparently remembered that they're a professional football team whose primary function has been to spoil things for superior teams for the past few... well, for a while (sorry, hpo!). But nooo, Buffalo apparently looked in the mirror and remembered that they're still the Bills and they just suck. Oh well. At least we're still atop the division.

So. How was YOUR weekend?

We can't stop here. This is bat country.

Hunter S. Thompson made my little whiteboard this week at work. The resultant conversations made me nostalgic for undergrad days.

I turned my heat on. It was either that or I learn how to function with two cats permanently attached to my lap. I daresay fall is definitely here.

At some point, I'll get around to looking over my pictures from the Banks and post them to Flickr. It was a depressingly awful trip-- sick, almost non-stop rain, speeding ticket of questionable fairness, and cutting my part even shorter so I could skedaddle before the briefly nameable tropical system made the drive back to Baltimore even more fun. No sailing. I didn't make it to see all of the lighthouses. My swimsuit went unworn. Pretty pathetic. At least NuJeep got to ride the ferry and go on the beach. Talk about putting it through its paces.



I think the only drivers scarier than Maryland drivers are Virginia drivers. Seriously. I was on 64 between Hampton & Richmond in a driving rain, water ponding across the road, visibility down to 25 yards... and for about five miles, I had a tiny silver-grey car tailgating me. With no headlights on, for extra invisibility. Really freaking unnerving.

At any rate, let's focus on the positive. One week from today I'll be in NY, dragging my momma to MOMA to see Mats. Yay! I do so like New York, like any good East Coaster that doesn't actually live there. Not in the possessive kind of way that people who live in the New Jersey or Connecticut or Long Island exurbs do, but in the respectful, what an amazing city kind of way. Even though I'd still rather live in Pittsburgh over Manhattan. And now I'm only three hours away and a Megabus ride away. Speaking of which, I should probably finish going through my pictures from May...

When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro

God, what a godawful week.

And there's nothing like coming home from said godawful week, looking forward to the blissful feeling of just not. thinking. about. anything. for a few hours to find a past-due notice for a parking ticket I never received. I mean, I was where I was alleged to be, but this ticket that I allegedly received? Most certainly was not there. I know this for a fact because I did receive another parking ticket that day, which was paid, and for which I also received a past-due notice (though it has been paid in the parking awful-thority database). This appears to be a duplicate-- same violation, fine, issued within a minute of the one I paid, and a sequential ticket number with the one I paid. Hopefully I can resolve this without having to take a day off, driving four and a half hours back to Pgh, and everything that appealing a ticket usually entails. But let's be realistic. The parking awful-thority is nobody's friend, and certainly not reasonable.

Very frustrating.

Somewhat less frustrating was renewing my Flickr Pro account. Just in time for vacation. My mini-cation. The quality of my pictures has declined so much over the course of my Flickr account ownership, which is really depressing. I guess that's what happens when your camera wears out. Mine is a five year old basic point & shoot, so I think I really can't put it off any longer.

This week's Steelers game won't be shown in Baltimore, which means I need to find a safe haven to see it. Unfortunately, identifying an actual safe haven is challenging when all there is to go on is a five year old list that links to places that are out of business and defunct fan club pages.

Bleh. So much bleh lately. I think I need to go torture the cats with catnip and laser pointers to make myself feel better.

falling...

It's been a strange week. Summer is definitely over. Trust me. It may climb back into the 80s, but once you ascertain that the heater works in your new vehicle out of actual need for heat and not out of test driving need, you can't take it back. On the plus side, I didn't have to buy a new tire for said new vehicle this week. On the down side, there is a non-zero chance that someone may be messing with my tires because I'm in Ravens territory. That... blows, quite frankly. Something to keep an eye on, I suppose.

In the meantime, I'm doing a massive amount of training at work, breaking in a gift from an overgenerous benefactor, and getting ready for an actual vacation. Well, an abbreviated vacation. Down the Banks. Here I come. Think about them every time I'm on the water. Why yes, I may have looked at navigation charts and wondered how one would traverse the Chesapeake and Albemarle Canal on windpower alone. Daydreams are fun.

I spent so much time getting my tire looked at on Saturday that I missed my sailing class. Sunday, it was 65 and raining. The bay was downright toasty compared to the boat, and I got truly seasick for the first time in my life. How embarrassing. On the plus side, I still got my little red book (like a small craft sailing cert). And because the wind gusted to 20-22 knots during some of our classes, we got a big and small air signoff. Rock on. Though I still would rather another course before I would trust myself to spend much time on the water without an instructor. Sailors are that special kind of outdoor sports crazy that I've observed among serious cavers and climbers. I wonder how well my garden-variety eccentricity would mesh. I'm not a racer, definitely more of a cruiser. I think I need to find a sugar daddy down here with a nice sloop or cutter or ketch to try out. You know, so I can decide what kind I'm going to buy. Eventually. After a little place on the water. Priorities, people.

into the waiting arms of the Penguin's exploding octopus!

I'm home from day one of sailing. OW. Sailing small craft is for masochists. I'm banged up, all bruised and contused and abraded on my legs, torso, and head. Plus a small jellyfish sting on the wrist. But, wow. Crazy windy, but, wow.

Fittingly enough, Batman is on. Yes, I mean the shark repellent Bat spray Batman. The "Some days you just can't get rid of a bomb" Batman. Excellent.

The one oddity of the day? I'm actually chilly tonight for the first time since moving to Baltimore, chilly and not one overly air-conditioned conference room around to blame. And I'm not sunburned-- and I'm not sure that it's thanks to my SPF 5000 sunscreen. Fall is on the way.

Rock you like a...

Pittsburgh's generally spared overly dramatic weather (which is partly why it's so livable, damnit!), so this whole hurricane-coming-real-close thing is totally novel. It looks like Earlie is shying more to the east, which is good for us. I'm excited and a little nervous about sailing, period, and the potential complication of outer band winds and such (as diminished as they'd be coming in the bay) is a little scary. So I'm relieved.

The other part of the holiday weekend is going to focus on getting the last bits of my apartment settled once and for all. I'm reluctant to completely toss all of the collaped empty boxes I've stashed in my closets-- the spectre of moving again in a year is undeniable-- but I really need to find permanent places for certain things already. Plus, I want to finally unpack my sewing machine and finish up my quilt top. I've made some jewelry since I moved, but my latest work is hampered by missing tools. That is to say, I think that FatCat absconded with my rounded nose pliers. Most irksome.

It's weird to be able to watch the Pitt game (if I were so inclined to put my distaste for collegiate sports aside), but not the Steelers. Luckily DVE streamed the game audio, but I might be shelling out for FieldPass after a two year hiatus. Unless I feel like exploring the local Steelers bars... which is a possibility, I suppose, but I'm leery of outdated listings. Particularly in enemy territory (as it were).

full of hot air

So far, so good with 31. The only thing to report is that the day I actually bit the bullet and registered for an intro to sailing class is the day that Hurricane Earl has the entire East Cost in a tizzy. Here's hoping that Earl stays away from the Banks-- and that I don't have too much wind in my sails. Ditto ThePotentialHurricane Fiona. I tell you what, it certainly is weird to be back on the coast with a hurricane bearing down. The last time that happened (Felix, the '95 edition) I was hatching sea turtles in North Carolina, and safely back in Pittsburgh well before the storm landed.

I still need to renew my Flickr Pro account. Bleh. It'll have to wait until payday. I'm still so tired from driving so much this weekend (pushing 600 miles, all told-- could be worse, but that's enough). Oh, and I had a potential unadulterated MTMM(TR). I think it's coming. I'm due. It almost balanced out the awful, horrible, no good traffic today that swelled my 10 minute commute to 40+. I do not handle traffic like that well at all. But other than that, 31's been fairly uneventful. Which is not a bad thing in the slightest.

So pretty please, with sugar on top, clean the fucking car.

God, I love Pulp Fiction. How a movie that's now eligible for a learner's permit in PA remains just the epitome of goddamn cool is beyond me. Of course, that could be an indication that I'm getting old. Anyway, as the anniversary of my nativity draws nearer, I'm getting all those lovely automated greetings. Which is fine... until this downright offensive piece of crap made its way to my inbox today.



Yeah. Screw you too, NFL.com. That's not even funny.

My lone indulgence since moving that's not work-related clothing or apartment necessities arrived-- my BPAL order. I ordered Death Cap and Wolf's Heart, plus imps of Black Cat, Nuit, Ophelia, Anne Bonny, Mary Read, and Vasilissa. I got Deep in Earth again as a frimp (nice, but it smells way too much like an ex's cologne for comfort), plus Alice, Night-Gaunt, Has No Hanna, Santo Domingo, and Cockaigne. I don't really dig on smelling like food (other than ginger notes), so Cockaigne is out. Anne Bonny is amazing. I definitely need a full bottle. It's all woodsy, salt air, and hints of incense. I gravitate towards fresh woodsy, spicy scents with a touch of incense and unusual florals, so that's a bingo. I'd wonder what that says about my personality if I wasn't already certain that I'm all mixed up. Heh. But, practically speaking, I'm going to continue to smell nice for a little while. Which is always good.

Speaking of indulgences, I don't know what my birthday present to myself will be just yet. Two weekends of sailing lessons, or...

I LIKE:

1460 by
Dr. Martens

The lessons are about twice the cost of the boots. There's only one pair of the boots left in my size in green, but the seasons are turning and there won't be an more time on the water until the spring. Decisions, decisions.

tomorrow's just an excuse away

There's something vaguely ominous about this week being my last full week of 30. In seven days I am really, truly, irrevocably In My Thirties. While I'm hardly ashamed of my age-- no perma-29 for me, unlike my mother-- my response has been to be generally immature all week. Nothing major, just doing things like blasting Smashing Pumpkins while driving around aimlessly and eating breakfast for dinner.



(That really is a fantastic song)

I think part of the nagging unsettled feeling is the sadness that I'm officially closing out my apartment. My little piece of Pittsburgh will cease to be mine and become just another memory to gather dust and cobwebs. No going back now, no olly-olly-ox-in-free. No more studio that I mockingly called the penthouse and still imagine it waiting there (as it was months ago), waiting for me to come home (even as I sit on the same couch here in Baltimore). Now I don't even have a bed at my parents' (that now resides in my guest bedroom for when they visit). Believe you me, there's nothing that makes you feel more like you don't belong than having to sleep on a godforsakenly uncomfortable couch without even a pillow at "home."

But. Closing one chapter means truly starting the next. Now that I won't be driving to Pittsburgh practically every weekend (I swear, I know 70 & the PA turnpike as well as my route to work anymore), I can focus on developing a life in Baltimore.

If only I knew what to do with myself.

I'm sleeping under strange, strange skies

Nothing much to say just at the moment. Les parents visited (National Aquarium, Ft. McHenry, and driving my parents-- who make me incredibly nervous in the car to start with-- in a city where I just barely have an idea about getting around). Hopefully they approved of how my place is coming together (la mére certainly noticed the Russian beefcake that lifeguards the empty pool-- heh).

I feel old today. Probably because my birthday is in 20 days, and the prospect of spending it alone in a city where I hardly know a soul outside of work is kind of depressing. So I guess this is growing up.