In which there’s so much going on that it’s totally like there ain’t nothin’ goin’ on. Know what I mean?

I’d like to write something brilliant and witty today.

But I’m not going to, because I’m currently one of those useless, in-a-new-relationship, cheesy, goofy, drippy, self-absorbed peeps who can’t think about anything other than her own condition. (It’s baaaaaaad, my babies. You’re so lucky you’re not a fly on the wall ’round here lately, because you’d get freakin’ diabetes. Srsly.)

On the surface, everything is pretty normal. I work my day job. I eat and sleep and talk on the phone. I could make a laundry list of the things I’ve been doing – work, drive, drink, eat, talk, laugh, cry, cuddle, sleep – but the shit that’s really been going on is intense. We talk all the time, we’re still not getting enough sleep, we eat at odd hours, we’ve been known to kill a bottle of vodka in two sessions, and we’re lucky we haven’t been arrested for smoking naked in his driveway in the middle of the night. (Okay, so we only did that once.) We’re hopelessly geeked on each other and it rawks.

I am completely neglecting my Gramma and my dog. I spend nearly all of my free time at K’s. When I swing through my house, I’m there to shower or pick something up. Gramma’s given me some good-natured shit about the fact that I’m out all the time, but at least in the following breath she allows that I’m “old enough to make [my] own decisions.” It’s SO WEIRD to be only a few months from my 40th birthday and in a living situation that makes me feel vaguely naughty about coming home the morning after to shower and change before work. Hah!

Tomorrow I fly out of ALW at 11:20 AM, off to Seattle to spend five days with Mother. I will eat Indian food and meditate and get darshan and drink chai and spend money at the bookstore and attend the retreat and it will be wonderful.