These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things

After many posts of whining, complaining, and general bitching, I decided to make a happy post.

Things have been going so well. I have a new (freshman) roommate who is quiet but friendly and hardly ever here. All my handiwork is on my walls: the paintings I've done, my photos I've taken, my mixed media I cobbled together, and my posters. My books are on my shelves and in stacks under my bed, within easy reach.

I like the smell of the sky above and the sand below when I work Topper in the arena. The way he shies over a bit when he looks at the jumps and I can feel his ribcage moving under me is perfect, and I can predict everything he thinks about doing. He lets me put my forehead to his and rub the soft spot behind his ears, and he still talks to me every time he thinks I have treats. He's got the best neigh, a round, perfect sound that is him, and he always looks so damn excited too. Even though I bake under the sun in my black breeches and chaps when I ride in the middle of the afternoon, the stinging of sweat in your eyes reminds you you're alive. Pain doesn't hurt. (Wasn't that the motto of the U.S. men's gymnastics team last Olympics? It's one of my favorite sayings.)

The rock wall at the gym will smell the same and feel the same no matter where they move my favorite holds. I will always forget to wash the chalk off and my hands get tight and snapped feeling, and I will usually do something my doctor would definitely warn against, but I like walking away and feeling a foot shorter, compressed, and heavy when I walk away. I don't like the way the sun comes in through the glass in the afternoon, cos then it really is like being an ant stuck under a magnifying glass, but I'll be there anyhow. I like sitting around with my shoes unlaced and harness off afterwards, chatting with the people who work there. I can trust them with my life at the end of a rope, and I can trust them for entertainment or for a confiding ear.

Noel and Liam rock on. I mean, Oasis is great, and that N&L are awesome, but my fish is still the most entertaining beta ever and my car is just dead sexy (and back from the shop!). Noel will sit at the bottom of his bowl and stare at me until I make him mad by waving a ballpoint in front of his face, and Liam accelerates just fast enough to break away from stop lights first and get around traffic on the highway.

And speaking of fish bowls, I work in one. That one entire wall of the newsroom is glass and the hallway is just outside cracks me up. People walk by and look in at us all day, and thankfully my back is to the glass and I don't get distracted. I can sit at my desk and survey everyone, but I can also get up quickly to go to the design room and advertising office. It's nice to know that one thing is certain: something will get published the next day. It may not be perfectly written and designed and award-winning material, but it will get out and be in the stands, and it is our paper.

I especially love my friends and my family. I don't really have a lot to say about this, because it just is what it is. I hope they all know this, and if not, then the fault lies on me.

I like writing long babbling blog entires and plotting my advances for my next great American novel. I have everything right now. What more could I possibly want for?

Nothing.

Sick and Tired of the Crap

So I think my ex roommate took my earrings. There's this place in town called James Avery, and they have beautiful silver, and you can tell something is JA just by looking at it. I have two pairs of earrings from there, and I've worn each pair recently, and I keep all my earrings in a petri dish by the sink (yes, a petri dish, I have a whole package of dishes, they're very handy). JA has a policy where if you bring in one earring, you can get a second for half the price of a set--it's so if you lose an earring, you can get a second without buying a whole new pair. I think she snatched one of each of these pairs so she can take them to JA and get a pair for half price. She's from Fort Worth, she knows the policy. Dammit. If that's really what happened, I'm going to be so pissed. I don't even think they make one pair anymore; my mom got them from my dad when she was in college, and she gave them to me. For goodness's sake. Tomorrow I'm going up to talk to her, just to ask if they may have accidently gotten into her stuff. I know for hella sure I didn't put them there. Am I just jumping to conclusions? I've taken my room apart looking for the others and I always notice when I lose one because I take them off and put them away--if I'm wearing it and it disappears, I know. Man. This is exhausting. Sorry that everything on here has been roommate related, but it's really the central stress of my life right now. That's pretty pathetic, I know.

Roll Out

I'm feeling aggressive today . . . I think because things are actually going ok. I turned on my bullshit skills when I reassigned a reporter to another beat, I lived through the week, our final paper didn't have any major mistakes in it, and the roommate was not at the rock wall when I went. In fact, she won't be here much longer. She got reassigned to a room upstairs, thank goodness. It's like a miracle. I'm going to tell the Pope about it and it will go down in history. I also got Liam, my car back, and he always makes me feel like street racing people. It's cos he's small and slick and red and a 5-speed stick shift. I feel like I'm pimping in that car. I want to get some dark tinting to go with my air fresheners--one that simply says "dork" and one that has Beaker from the Muppets on it. Beaker is me. A lot of unintelligible talk, a little science nerd, and occasionally gets blown up. But not tonight. Tonight I'm already burnt out. This week: recovery. Tonight I'll hit the bed early, I'll ride tomorrow morning, go in and get the sports special section done, then go to the Rangers/Orioles game, and relax. Aaaah . . . . I need another margarita, or another pill. I don't have a blender so I'm going for the poppable stuff. Mmm, Tylenol.

And Then There Were None

My brain is completely fried . . . it's 1:20 a.m. Friday, technically, and I just walked in from getting our last issue for the week done. Wednesday was our first print, so I was there until 2:30 a.m. That stunk. Last night we were done by midnight, and then we had wire issues and feature problems and slipped again. I get into bed every night and my back pulses with pain. I sit through a class or two during the day, don't have to try yet, and then go out and snatch a quick ride with Topper whenever I get the chance. My sister stopped by to see me last night and tonight, which made me very, very happy . . . but I still hope I'll get to the point where I can leave earlier and no one has to come see me.

So the newspaper is ok. Classes are frustrating. No one in the damn journalism department believes in giving an A unless your work is of professional quality. I have a real problem with that . . . last time I checked, I was still a student. Not only that, but an honors student, on the dean's list every semester, I work my ass off, and I do the best a student could do. And now I'm getting B's. Reporting last semester set me back to under the limit for honors--I'm technically on probation, even though I have my final thesis and project to do this semester and it goes before the board in the spring. Even if I do it and make a high score on it, if my GPA doesn't inch up just a bit, I won't graduate with honors. It has me so mad I could throw something at someone, but I don't know who to target. Both my journalism profs this semester have pretty much said they won't give an A unless you win a Pulitzer. My GPA is doomed. I'm trying to be optimistic, but I can't be. I can only be a realist now and say well, damn, looks like the end. I know it's a cop out to say I deserve it, but I do. And there's nothing I can do. There was nothing more I could have done last semester, and I still got a B. That doesn't bode well for now, or the spring. If I can't graduate with honors . . . well, let's just say I would be humiliated, I've worked so long in so many classes.

So off one soap box and onto another: The Roommate. Good grief. We both went out Saturday night, to different places, needless to say. Sunday, I came back from the barn to see she'd re-wired my room and moved all my computer cords. She'd forgotten to plug something in, meaning my PC didn't work, and furthermore, she did it without my permission. While I go to see the guys and rant, my mom calls. My roommate had locked herself out of the building at 1 in the morning (2 EST) and called my MOTHER. What the hell is my mother going to do about it at 2am from 1200 miles away? And she started the conversation with "I'm looking for Liz?" which my mom took to mean she couldn't find me and I was dead.

My poor mom. Poor me. I am pitiful because my roommate is, well, herself. For goodness' sake. I never got the chance to talk to her about it because I never saw her (different schedules), so I left her a note on her desk Monday saying we needed to talk for a few minutes when I got home from work. She called me at the newsroom, asking what was wrong, and I said we had some communication problems and I'd talk to her when I got home around 7. I get held up for 15 minutes at work, no biggie, but I come back and she's already gone and left me a note saying she wants to talk about it and I can call her on her cell phone. No, honey, I don't do that. I do not call and tell you I have a problem over the cell phone.

And then Wednesday, I dragged my sorry tired butt home at 3 and she had an 8 o'clock class for which she woke up at 6:30. I'd been in bed for just about 3 hours and she's up, getting ready, packing snacks (what the hell?), and talking on her cell phone. Every time that bastard rings, I think I'm having a heart attack. The noise is abominable. Today she walked in on her cell phone talking to her mother about her awesome new job at the rock wall, where she has evidently decided she rules the wall.

This was the kicker. I've been handling stress extremely well, but I nearly cried when I overheard that. My last safe refuge on campus from everyone--from friends, from teachers, from class, from work--and now my roommate is there. Working, evidently. I was thinking I'd have to hang up my harness and call it over. My poor shoes, I love them so much, I'm awesome with my rock shoes . . . one of the magazine editors, who also does photo work for us, saw me today at work. She also works at the rock wall, and she's a serious climber. She said there's no way Kristen, the director of the wall, would hire my roommate. She knew exactly who I was talking about, too, when I said my roommate started going there. So now that looks good--she may be there a lot, but hopefully it's just a phase and besides, the wall workers and I have history. The roommate doesn't even have a chalk bag. But now I just have to make sure she's not there when I get there. But that's doable.

I am seriously aching right now, for sleep and drugs and cuddles and someone to get rid of my roommate, so I'm going to bed. I would take one of the things Dr. Inman prescribed for my back, but I don't know if it would even help. She said it was chronic now, but she could get it to the point where a good night's sleep would take care of most of it when it got too aggravated. The problem is, who ever gets a good night's sleep these days?

First Night Out (Return To Texas Night Life)

Went out to Billy Bob's last night--the biggest honky-tonk in the world, just a few miles from campus. It's so Fort Worth. I went with the guys, not knowing that this was a band thing, so it was me and mostly (young) band people. Some people I knew were there, and I did have fun, but the crowd wasn't even half as large as usual. Next week Maureen will be back and we can go and it will be full again. It was my first night out partying since Georgia.

And all the way back I thought about how nice it would be if Georgia were here.

Dr. Inman really did a job on my back this morning. I regret my fall back in January more than I ever regretted my fall after my freshman year, when I broke an arm, sprained and ankle, and couldn't ride all summer. Right now is just an annoyance. And it looks like it may be semi-permanent. As long as Dr. Inman keeps writing those presciptions, I'll be juuuuust fine . . .

What Else Is A Half-Breed To Do?

Today I was at work for quite a while, and even though it wasn't hard or even stressful, it made me realize how much I hate being in an office of any sort. My desk is in the far corner of the newsroom, giving me some privacy and a view of everyone--it's nice, because I'm a people-watcher. But it's still inside, under fluorescent lights, in front of a computer screen.

I drove like a bat out of hell to the barn because I really, really needed to go out riding. I think it's genetic. I like to think of my great-great-great-relatives two hundred years ago going out on their horses. Some day I'd love to just get on Topper, have a backpack of food and a lighter, and just for out for a few weeks. It'd be hard to do these days. I yearn for open land with no fencing and no people. Does anyone have a teepee they could give me? The Boy Scouts are the only ones who use them these days, I think.

The barn is nice because it's out on the other side of Lake Worth, to the northwest of Fort Worth, out of the city enough that there's plenty of open space and houses have acres instead of yards. The highway is the best way out there, so the drive is pretty painless and when you drive back you can see Fort Worth laid out before you in the dark, all the lights on and sparkling in the little valley. It reminds me of when we lived in Albuquerque.

When in the throes of wanderlust, it's hard to be in a newsroom. Even being in the car on the way to the barn was better--just cruising with Billy Joel on the cd player. I am a dork. And I love singing very, very loudly to his songs. Screw you if you have bad taste in music. What else was I supposed to do but get my work done and split for the day out to where Texas is till Texas and not a metropolis?

Cold Hard BItch

Today was my first day with all my reporters (28 this semester, ye gods and little fishes) and believe it or not, we got done two hours early. Man, we kick ass. Yesterday I was cranky and flustered and worked on newspaper stuff until midnight, but today went smoothly, I hardly have anything to look at tonight, and I may even be able to get to bed without hitches.

So far I don't think they hate me. I love all my editors dearly. They are without a doubt the most diverse group I've ever worked with, but we're all weird, so it works. They're spifferific.

But yeah, yesterday: not so good. Except for the three marriage proposals. That kept me from killing anyone yesterday. It goes like this: either I was having a really awesome Monday, to get asked that many times, or there were three people out there with HORRIBLE days if they had to ask me. *grin*

(And every single one came from Georgia. My goal is to get everyone from Athens to propose to me by the end of the week.)

My (freshman) roommate was supposed to check in today. How badly does it suck that a senior has to room with a first year? This is ridiculous. But the worst thing was she checked in a day early. That's right, yesterday I came home from work and encountered The Dreaded One. My door was unlocked when I walked in, and there was a purse on the floor and a few boxes. It was all on the floor because all MY stuff was on her bed, her desk, her dresser . . . I was going to pick it up, but she wasn't supposed to get there for another 24 hours. I shoved everything on my side of the room and tried to escape before she got back, but while I was searching for my sunglasses (WHY am I so unorganized?) she came back. With her mother.

Not only is she a freshman, but she's 17. She won't turn 18 until around the same time I turn 22, in the spring. And we were talking (I hate talking to new roommates) and she thinks we're exactly alike. For the record, I do not have knick-knacks everywhere, or anything that's glass. Even Noel lives in plastic. Her mother is overbearing and she's neat. My mother lives half a country away and I'm cluttered. Thank God I will always be either at the barn with Topper, in class, or in the newsroom. Poor Noel may have to move to the communication building.

I got away from the roommate and the mother, went to the barn, got dinner, visited my sister, then came back long enough to shower and grab all my work for the evening and stuff it in a bag to take it upstairs to work on (all the guys in the far east corner of Foster: your rooms are now my refuge, so watch out). I told her not to lock the door since I'll still be in the building, and I went on my merry way.

At one a.m. I was done, came back down, and my door was locked. The silly, silly girl had locked the door and gone to bed. I knocked for 5 minutes, made other people come out of their rooms and look at me, she still hadn't woken up, so I had to go wake up Courtney--my RA and the only other awesome girl senior close by--and get her to unlock my door. How humiliating. At least I was in my cool pajama pants with the cartoon zebras with crossword puzzles instead of stripes.

And then she left today (while I was at work) for Frog Camp, which will be 3 days long. Whew. Just enough time for me to enjoy coming home from work and being content with everything for a bit longer. Prolong the magic, just a bit more . . .

Oh yeah, I totally forgot, but I think this is awesome: we told the chancellor that me, the managing, the associate, and the news people want to meet with him briefly before school. He offered to take us out to lunch. When he came there was a profile on him and he said his favorite book was A Separate Peace by John Knowles. I knew someone who had the same favorite book as me had to be cool.

It's the end of the day, I've got no worries and a fish who loves me and the only problem is I said yes to two of the three marriage proposals so far. If anyone can send me information on polygamy for beginners, please do.

Guys

So this is a sort of random thing, but last night I was talking to a few people online and then was visiting some friends who moved in upstairs when it hit me: most of my friends are guys. Is that weird? I mean, the friend I've known the longest and I rely on the most for everything is another girl, but asides from that, most of the people I hang out with and I genuinely enjoy being around are guys. I know just as many girls but it's never as easy to just do something with them. And then I got to thinking about it, and here's why guys are great:

--They don't mind going outside and getting dirty
--They are usually better to have around as tech support
--It's ok if you get mad and need to let out a long string of expletives
--They (usually, hehe) won't borrow your shoes or clothes
--You can snuggle/kiss on them
--They don't think it's strange or slightly obscene if you can change your own flat tire
--They'll appreciate how really cool your car is
--They won't come barging into your room at two in the morning crying hysterically
--Actually, over-emotional drama hardly ever happens
--It just makes you feel better to get compliments from the opposite sex
--I don't feel like a huge dork because I call everyone "dude" when everyone really is a dude

Yes, so that's why most of my friends are guys. I read in A Tree Grows In Brooklyn that women only band together against another women, whereas guys will band together just for the heck of it. I have to say, other women out there are giving us all a bad name by driving like morons and being vindictive, manipulative cranks. Guys are by no means perfect (it is NOT cool to leave disgusting dirty clothes everywhere or do an over-the-top pimp-out job on your old, rusted car), but there's a lot to be said for being laid back.

Kramer explained about Elaine like this: She's a man's woman. She hates other women and they hate her. Am I just a Seinfeldism here, or is this the way to go? Besides, when you always hang out with guys, you're always the one that's the best dressed. I have no qualms about being the only one wearing mascara if we're sitting around drinking.

Gee, I Really Love You

So all day I've had that stupid "we're going to the chapel and we're going to get maaaaaaarried" song stuck in my head. It's not a bad song or anything, it's just so sweet and sugarcoated that it gets wearing after 4 or 5 repetitions.

My goals for today were as follows:
-have a good ride with Topper
-look awesome for the wedding
-not get lost on the way there
-not trip and kill myself in my shoes
-not cry during the whole shebang
-get all the free drinks possible and dance

Topper was good this morning, especially for his second time out. I came home looking a mess but cleaned up to the nines. I figured why not? I got directions ahead of time, didn't once trip, didn't cry at all, drank the wine and champagne, and then left before they cut the cake.

It was a pretty wedding--goodness only knows how much they paid for it. It made me wonder why they don't spend the cash on something else, like buying matching giraffes. It was elegant and beautiful weather and not an over abundance of roses (red roses suck; yellow and peach ones are so nice and cheerful and almost live up to my favorite flower of all, daffodils). Overall it was surreal, though--I knew only a few people, and I just felt out of place more than anything. I was surprised I'd even got invited, and now I think perhaps I should've just declined the whole thing.

Nothing about it was bad, mind you. It wasn't. It just wasn't the riot I thought it was going to be. I think I want to serve drinks before my ceremony, get everyone feeling good, and then go from there. It will just be more fun if someone is drunk during the solemn stuff.

There were only about 7 guys there anywhere close to my age, and all of them stayed firmly planted in their seats and didn't even look interested in dancing, so I left. Who does dancing before the cake, anyhow? You serve them drinks before, get the wedding done, then give them more drinks, some food, some cake, then let them choose to go or boogie down.

So needless to say, I didn't get my boogie down on. I also couldn't figure out my camera. The flash baffled me. So there's no documentation anywhere of how good I looked. Nuts.

And Erin pointed out a huge mistake yesterday in my wording--eye makeup can never be overdone, she's right. But the powder and foundation can definitely be over done. There's nothing sadder than melting bridesmaids when it's actually gorgeous and cool outside.

I think I'm going to break into my case of cider, wish better luck to those others at weddings today, and just be a bit remorseful they didn't buy giraffes. That would've been a great party.

Home Sweet Home

My dorm room is slowly but surely starting to look like it belongs to me again. I've decided to make my bed high without lofting it, so I can fit my chest of drawers and tack trunk under it, and my closet door will be permanently open so I can have easy access to my shoes at all times. Tonight I hung up my "Shakespeare and the Art of Insults" poster (including such favorites as "Were I like thee I'd throw away myself" and "Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon!") and my dry erase board. Tomorrow I'd like to get up my James Dean poster, my black and white London photo collection, and my anatomy paintings from the summer. Oasis will, as per usual, hang on the ceiling above my bed. Now I just need to find somewhere to hang my mixed media pieces--somewhere low enough that they can be contemplated, as they will be someday when they are in a museum. (You can never say I'm not a dreamer, at any rate.)

Noel has a nice clean tank and he's looking much happier, albeit still knackered. He sits on the bottom a lot and stares at me. I keep hoping he'll eat, but he doesn't. He's big enough I figure he can live for at least another week without food and without me having to worry.

Tomorrow I've got a wedding to go to--some friends from the church youth group I helped out with some. I'm so glad I didn't get involved with it again. As much as I love the kids, dealing with all the other college students was wearing. But anyhow, the wedding has got me seriously freaked out. Everyone I know who is going is going with someone. I'm not. I wish there were someone I could have snagged to take along just for fun, just a friend who can keep me company would be great, but no one is back in town yet. My parents love to tell me how they were engaged by the time they were my age. I like to point out that it's hard to find good guys at a school that is predominately women.

But I've got an awesome outfit ready, and I'll look sexy as hell, just in case. You can never be too prepared, you can only wear too much make-up.

I think I'll sleep better tonight knowing there's a few things hanging on my walls. White walls are too blank to wake up to.

Just enough

Today when I was meeting with all my editors for the first time I finally realized just exactly what I am:

Just shy enough to be awkward, just exhibitionist to somehow make a fool of myself publicly.

Asides from that, I think it went well. I took advice from the Cox guy with a mustache in Georgia and decided to take them Krispy Kreme donuts tomorrow morning for breakfast, since I've having them get up and be coherent before noon.

I also sifted through stacks of summer mail, ditching most of it, and cleared out drawers on my desk. No idea why last year's EIC had a battery operated drill in his top desk drawer. I didn't throw it away, though, since I figure I can use it to threaten people later on.

Then when I was about to leave I found a legal pad laying on a shelf with notes scribbled on it. They were notes from last year, when our last EIC went to Athens. Cecil actually gave a little seminar, and maybe he was just too windswept and laid back or maybe he was just boring, because there were more inane little doodles on those pages than anywhere else.

As soon as I get a chance to read all of them, I'll probably put some quotes up here. Who knows what kind of pearls of wisdom Cecil gave them . . . . but then, seriously, he loved us best, so we probably know it all already.

My goal for the paper for this semester is not to tame the wild beast, but rather the let it out of the cage. We can kick ass; I believe.

School Daze (isn't that a horrible cliche?)

It's Wednesday night, nearing midnight, and I should probably be well-drugged and in bed but I've been without Internet for several days and I can't tear myself away. It's sad when someone like me (a total geek but with no special technology skills) becomes addicted to computer junk. But I felt the need to get this move down and documented because I never want to repeat it again.

Not that the move from far northern Virginia to northern Texas was horrible, it was just long. Four days. That's what you get for towing horses. But Topper and the pony rode like the awesome boys they are and didn't have any problems, even when we stayed at a ghetto barn in Hope, Arkansas (down the street from Clinton's boyhood home, wahoo).

I will say that both hotels we stayed in were Holiday Inns (we be chillin' at the Holiday Inn, fo shizzle nizzle). Not Executive Tower rooms, but good enough considering there were no parties.

I rode with my sister in her car and my mom and dad went in the truck, pulling the horse trailer. My sister and I fought an awful lot over music. She's more of a ska/emo/some dark rock person, whereas I am a faithful classic rock/real rock n roll person. She has some great music, and some of our CDs are exactly the same, but some of her stuff . . . well, let me give you an example.

At some point in Tennessee we were mmm-bopping down the road to Hanson. She wanted to bring back memories. Some memories are better left dead. I couldn't believe she still had the CD.

And then we were gettin' jiggy wid it while listening to Will Smith. We also did Savage Garden, Jordan Knight, and some other junk. I got an Oasis fix at one point when I was driving and she fell asleep long enough for me to listen to Familiar to Millions. Noel and Liam kick ass.

Noel really does kick ass--Noel my fish, too. He rode in the back seat with his jar in my Shakespeare bag and was just fine. I put the goldfish (the motto "The snack that smiles back" still seriously creeps me out) on top of his jar and thought it had to be ironic or clever in some way.

We blew a tire on the trailer in far East Texas, got it fixed, had no problems, got the horses to the new barn and they were happy, then went to go pick up Liam, my car. He's a little red Honda Civic (I know people say a car should be a she, but that's ridiculous, it's my car and it's definitely a he) and he was being kept in this locked lot and when we showed up we were shown that a lock doesn't mean anything. Someone had backed into the left-hand side while trying to park or something; his tail light was oblitterated and there's a massive gouge down the side. The paint is gone and the metal is rusted underneath, so it probably happened months ago, when I first left him there. That was sad.

Seriously, things haven't been bad. Liam can be fixed, my dorm room is all mine until (knock on wood) sometime next week, I have plenty of muscle relaxers and Central Market (best place ever to buy alchohol) is nearby.

Repeat after me: With the right sort of chemicals, I can cure anything.

God bless science. That, ladies and gentlemen, is why I am a biology student and a journo student. Because it is too cool for words.

So the thing I'm just trying to keep in mind is the lyric, "You can have it all, but how much do you want it?" I've decided I want it all this semester. I want to have a kick-ass senior project, an organized year in classes, an even and ambitious hold on the paper, a fun time on the weekends, and some inspiration for writing. I spent last week kicking myself for things I didn't do, so now I'm gearing myself up not to miss things again.

Repeat after me: With the right sort of chemicals, I can cure anything.

Right now I want a good night's sleep, so I am taking something and going to bed.

And life is beautiful . . .

And also

I just saw that Erin and Adam read this. That makes me happy. You guys rock my face off. *big smile*

Just a few more hours

Seriously, my parents are driving me nuts. I've gotta get out of this place and back where I can go out for a margarita at midnight without anyone asking where I am. In my dorm room I can play my music loudly, leave my stacks of books everywhere, make the temperature nice and comfy, and keep tequila in the microfridge . . . or at least until my roommate shows up. Hmm. I keep praying she's not a freshman but she probably will be, just to spite me. Why couldn't Angela have stayed? Damn the whole thing. I'm looking forward to driving and getting back to some hotels (after a week away I miss them). It won't be as fun as Georgia, but it will be a nice reminder. Someday I'll see everyone again, and then I'll check what's in the Sprite bottle before I fill my glass with it.

To Cecil!

It was bound to happen

After several years of on-again, off-again online journal relationships, I've dug myself into another. May I present my blog. I didn't even know what a blog was until about a week and a half ago. Now I've gotten suckered into the fad and I'm wasting valuable internet space with my rantings . . . genius, innit? I'm writing this when I should be writing something better, like the next great American novel. (155 pages, 2/3 finished, and still no idea of how to end the thing.) I go back to Texas in two days--Sunday morning we'll pull out. It will be the first time for my sister and the two horses to be in Fort Worth permanently, and it takes both parents to help pull the trailer, so needless to say it's quite a caravan. We look like something out of the Grapes of Wrath going down the road. All we need now is a rocking chair strapped to the back of the truck. I don't know where my sanity is these days either; I think I left it somewhere in Georgia. Perhaps I'll find something back at school.