Shit.

I don't know what I just did to my blog, but I don't think I like it. And I don't think I can go back. Hence the profane title. Motherfuck.

Honestly, though, I was sick of looking at it the old way. Weren't you? I've been thinking of migrating to something new anyway, perhaps this will be the start of it...

I'm not fit to live with. No, seriously.

My college roommate used to refer to our apartment as "cluttered, not dirty". Sure, there were piles of paper everywhere and the place stank of cigarettes, but we cleaned well and we cleaned often. At least, relatively speaking.

Along the way, I've slid backwards. Living in West Newton my bad housekeeping could have been attributed to the small size of our quarters, but in Eastie, I had no excuse. Hardwood floors, new countertop, plenty of space to spread out and organize, and still. What a mess. When I made jokes about the state of things my friends would nod gravely instead of laughing it off, and at times even Jake seemed offended. I'm not suggesting our apartment was filthy, but let's just say I learned to filter out the stains on the side of the bathroom sink.

In addition to being a negligent housekeeper, I'm also the kind of person who doesn't really clean up after herself that well. You can tell I've been through a room by the trail of items in my wake: a scarf here, a lipstick there, one shoe then two, or my computer, open and running, on your couch. I think my mother's at her wit's end with me, to be honest. I'm trying to improve.

Somehow, though, all this cleaning up after myself has been making me worse instead of better. The clutter that would have been in the rest of the house seems to have migrated to the bedroom I now occupy, and I can barely get around without having to leap over something or other. To make matters worse, my eating patterns have shifted and I'm now lulling myself to sleep every night with a box of cereal in one hand and a Trazodone in the other. Cereal in bed. Hm.

The other night, I pulled back the sheets and found a whole Triscuit.

But that's not the worst part. The worst part is: I ate it.

Kaia, help me, I've crossed the line.

My friend Ben has an internet startup.

Check it out.

Free advice: Don't start your week off like this.

I woke up this morning in as reasonable a mood as I ever wake up, which is usually middling to poor. I hate waking up - your bed is so comfortable, so warm, and the prospects of the day loom large before you. Waking up means you have to get out of your pajamas, put on clothes, possibly shower, definitely straighten your bangs, and I'm just really not a fan. Anyway.

So I get up, do all the requisite morning chores (wash face, wash self, eye cream, baby powder etc), and head out to Staples to fax back a wedding contract for my one and only confirmed client. I don't much like faxing things at Staples, either, so this little chore adds nothing to my exuberance about March 22, a grey and drizzly Monday. My Focus is in the shop today, so I'm driving my dad's huge boat of a car, I can barely park the thing, and there's people EVERYWHERE. Everywhere. And everyone has carts from Market Basket.

Oh yes. Market Basket. I've posted about it before, albeit briefly. I don't know what happens to people when they enter that store, but let me tell you, they emerge a whole different species of stupid. After faxing my contract and edging the ocean liner out of its parking space, I sat in a crosswalk for a good five minutes waiting for the sea of MB shoppers to part long enough to pull the car through. I needed coffee. Bad. Finally, seeing an opening, I made my move. Then, from behind me, this woman starts yelling at me about not letting her pass. I say this: it's a good thing I had my sights set on Starbucks, because my simple PROXIMITY to Market Basket had set me rolling. I had half a mind to hop out of my ride and curse the bitch back to grade school.

But, I didn't. Because I am nice. Or because she was bigger than me, I don't know. But I fucking hate Market Basket. And Staples. And showering and parking and almost everything else right now, I'm so annoyed. And I got home and the internet was down. So I'm back to scamming dial up from the neighbors. SIGH.

Full Disclosure

I was out at Drink with a friend the other night. We hadn't seen each other for a long time, since just after I got out of McLean, so there was a lot to catch up on. After settling in and putting in a mildly challenging bar order, he asked me, hesitantly, "So, are you like, OKAY now?"

It's an odd question, one that's hard for me to answer. I mean, yes, you know, I'm okay, I'm generally good. But when I think about how badly off I used to be, how badly off I was last spring, being this okay is like a miracle. Waking up every day and being able to get out of bed, not dreading every minute of waking life, not lulling myself to sleep with thoughts unfit to print, this is miraculous. Especially considering.

In November, Katsumi moved out. Two months ago, I asked him for a divorce. I've been living with my parents since just after Arizona, and am moving from Eastie to the suburbs box by box. On paper, this is horrible, my life is a mess. I wrecked my car, I have no job, I have no marriage or money or children, and I'm thirty. I mean, this should be the nadir of my adult life.

But it's not.

I really DO feel better now, I feel better than I've ever felt. I'm busy ALL the time - I'm doing free freelance on a new doc in production, I'm starting my own wedding videography business, I'm teaching myself Final Cut Pro and DVD Studio and Compressor and I'm seriously brushing up on my Filemaker skills. I see friends almost every night, I hang out with my mom every day, and I feel more connected and in control of things than I have in a very long time, despite the recent chaos. It probably doesn't hurt that I've also met somebody new, and am floating on that kind of puppy love you think exited stage left around age 18.

So that's my long answer, Chris. I'm doing great. Really. So great, it's just fucking ridiculous.

Arizona. Yup, it's still there.

So you heard all about my lovely flight TO Arizona, but what did I do when I was actually IN Arizona?

What, indeed.



Cooking.



I did a lot of cooking. I also did a lot of movie-watching and some sightseeing.



Can you believe they're selling that mountain? Call that dude - you could be the proud owner! GET IN ON THE EXCITEMENT!!

Wait, what?

So on Monday I drove in the rental car through mountains such as the one above, on a mission to get past Tortilla Flat and onto the dirt roads. It was a beautiful drive, photos are on Flickr, and I listened to a mix of 60s pop as I wound my way around hairpin curves. I got all the way out to Tortilla Flat and was stopped



by a small flood.



Not wanting to waste the afternoon, I visited their local watering hole (no pun intended) and sipped a Corona while sidesaddle-riding a barstool. They had no normal barstools. Only saddles. And I had the misfortune of wearing a skirt.

That's really pretty much it for AZ this time - no Sedona, no Monument Valley, no trips to the Rez grocery store for tampons and chocolate (wait, what? I didn't tell you that story? maybe later). But it was still grand, even without the canyon. I vote yes for vacation.