Tomorrow I'm off for a three-day weekend in the Berkshires. What are the Berkshires? I don't know. I think it will be fun, though. I'm going specifically to see James Taylor and the Boston Pops, which should pretty much be the highlight of my life. It's all downhill from there.
I really need time away. Work is weird. It's pretty good one day and horrid the next. I'm doing all I can to keep up with my own mood swings. And I'm still trying to find my way in the job, in New York, in the States. I need some time to just hang out and decide what my opinions are. It's confusing to know what you want and what you think when Evil Dick is screaming at Jen all the time.
I miss my nephew and the sweet fat rolls around his neck. My brother called me today and left a message with my little tomato breathing into the phone. His little breaths were fast, showing what a tiny baby bird heart he has right now. I saved the message, of course, and thought of how over the next several years they'll be able to leave messages with him babbling in the background, and then saying a few words - I'll drop my teeth the first time those pouty lips call me Auntie - and eventually sentences. At some point my little burrito will leave messages for me on his own. I just can't wait to know him.
It's 11:00 PM and I leave in eight hours. I haven't packed so much as a Q-tip. I don't know why I always do this. It completely goes against my personality, and I suppose I'm at risk for having my Type A membership card taken away. All I can think is that I've traveled SO MUCH, and so often for work during my job in Japan, that I wait until the last possible second so that I can enjoy just being at home before another adventure starts. I have cleaned the entire house tonight and used the sticky roller to grab up all the cat hair. That earns me a little Type A badge, doesn't it?
It's my second week doing Weight Watchers, and I do not recommend crossing me right now. I'm six feet tall and hungry. A few months ago I decided that I wanted to go skydiving again, and I'd like to be able to do it without worrying that I'd die of a heart attack the minute the plane door opens. There's just a lot of life left to be lived. Don't tell anyone, but lately I've been enjoying getting older. Thirty-six is serious business.
In other news, $50 in beer, a big, sloppy kiss, and a one-point piece of carrot cake to anyone who can get me this, courtesy of Tugboat Captain.
Have a great weekend, kids.