These last few weeks in review.

I want to write, but I can’t find the words. It’s like the words have started bubbling forth from my mouth and taking them from my fingers. Never mind that I keep mixing up letters and vowels so what I meant to say sounds like it’s been forced from a dyslexic hand. I’ve become absorbed in living, not so much watching, not so much anticipating and wondering and contemplating. Simply, there just isn’t enough time anymore.

I leapt for joy when a restaurant buzzer went off, meaning that it was time to be seated – a sign of the old me. I’m no longer exhausted from seeing people or being social, though I could still do with a night in for self-preservation. I maintain that daylight savings destroyed my concept of time, as I can never sleep properly anymore – and by properly, I mean past 7:30 a.m. every morning.

I’m back in oatmeal mode. Oatmeal and grilled cheese makes a daily breakfast, which is probably not the healthiest, but is definitely yummy. I miss my old brunch haunt in Berkeley, simply because french toast brioche dipped in orange water batter is always amazing. Always.

I flinched when I found out D and his girlfriend broke up. The last time this happened meant everything started for us. It won’t. But I can’t help but think my life is circular in so many ways, and we seemed destined to be for so long that it will again. I wouldn’t call it hope. Just an understanding of the twisted way my life grows roots.

The cold should bother me, but it doesn’t. It feels as though I wear it as a second layer, preventing me from being too warm, too happy, too exuberant. When someone hugs me, I wish I could stay in that hug all day, but then I squirm out, a child again who punched people when they got too close. Apparently, some things don’t change.

I’ve learned that I hate ambiguity but I require flexibility. Is there a way for the two to ever be separate? Also, I’m slightly sado-masochistic in that I decided a master’s is not enough. I want my doctorate now too. More school! (Even though I took a year off to be away from school – I’ll try to do that again in between master’s and doctorate so I don’t randomly flee the country this time.)

I wrote 19 pages in two days when I realized my flash drive ate itself. Fourteen of those pages were written in five hours. I’m still not finished, but I’m so excited to do more research. (Again, why I will never be happy at a job that doesn’t let me do lots of research on things I’m interested in.)

Shrimp with linguini somehow tastes better the second time around than it did when I was served a fresh plate.

I don’t miss him. I thought I would. But I miss our friendship, and sometimes find myself wanting to talk to him though I know it’d do more harm than good.

I go to bed when my cat tells me to go to bed. She’s pretty obvious about her demands; when she starts kneading my blankets and curling up and giving me plaintive meows, I’m well aware of where I should be.

New York is an option again.

I love my coworkers more than I love my job. But it’s only for a few more months anyway. I hope to stay friends with them when I leave.

I’m content. And I don’t remember the last time I felt like that. At all.