Hard to believe that I'm leaving for vacation in eleven days. I guess I should get busy, no? I told Andy that I'm sure he wishes that he could send a snapshot of me now back to the person I was a year ago. I was so miserable at the time that when he said, "I promise that things will get better," I made him write it out on a post-it note and sign it for proof.

I kept that post-it note in my wallet for a while. By November or so I knew that I'd have to bail out of my job sometime in the very near future or risk an emotional breakdown of some kind; unfortunately I lost the piece of paper before I had a chance to scan it and do something goofy with it.

He was right. Things got better. Jeff's having a better semester, so I actually get to see him and talk to him. I changed jobs, which eliminated about 90% of the stress in my life. Through changing jobs I met several new friends, which have had an enormous effect on my personal life.

In the past six years I've come to count Brad Cavanagh as a friend. It's funny to think that someone I started chatting with because of my late shift in the computer lab and a two-hour timezone difference is now someone I communicate with on almost a daily basis.

I jokingly referenced him in an entry here a couple of days ago (regarding U.S. politics) but didn't really expect an answer. I was a bit surprised this morning when a thoughtful, full-fledged answer arrived in my mailbox. I asked him if I could quote bits from his letter to me, because it made me think, and he was gracious enough to agree.Originally I thought that I'd quote snippets of what he sent, but I think I'd rather quote it in a large chunks, so that I don't accidentally misrepresent his words:

Lots of thoughts going through my head today. I spent most of the day at the computer, working on things that I wanted to work on for a change. I spent a good hour or two revamping how I do archives here on domesticat, and I'm pleased with the results. While it requires a bit more effort on my part, I think that it will make more sense to you, the reader.

Some of you might remember that, long ago and far away, I was a literature major once. Despite the fact that it seems altogether a different world, my love of the written word remains.

I may not have a favorite actor or actress, but I do have a favorite poem. It's not terribly well-known, unless you're familiar with twentieth-century American poets, but it's a piece that I have loved since I first read it. I know virtually nothing about the author, and have read nothing else of his. Sometimes I wonder if they live up to the high standard he set here:

I was humming this song this morning. Couldn't possibly have anything to do with Sunday's trip:

up on the airplane
nearer my god to thee
i start making a deal
inspired by gravity

I've been pleasantly surprised by how well things have gone so far. My flights were all on time, my baggage arrived safely (well, mostly, but the $16 bag[tm] needs some TLC) and Andy was waiting on me in Baltimore to pick me up.

I didn't realize how much I needed to get away for a short while. (I had an utterly different start to this, and then accidentally lost it. Then I realized that Andy was looking over my shoulder, so everything I had in my mind has now gone away.)

It has felt so strange to sit in front of a computer all day today. I keep expecting to have to get up and start walking long distances at any moment.

I was a bit shocked when I looked at my arm just now—my bruise is much larger than I originally remembered it being. I thought it was a 2"x2" bruise, but it's actually more like 3"x4". There's still a lump under the skin. I'm just grateful I didn't break anything; I would've felt really stupid if I'd broken my right arm for the third time.

What I'm including below is the text of a letter I just sent to Andrew Granade, an old friend of mine. Over the years, when I've gone places, the process of sitting down to tell Andrew about the trip has often been the moment where my thoughts about my traveling experiences coalesced into something coherent and worth telling.

For a bit of explanation—he wanted to hear about my experiences in New York, about Rent (which I saw on Broadway), and my thoughts on finally seeing the Holocaust Museum.

The photos are here.

Andrew -
Don't feel bad. If I wanted a big fuss made of my birthday, I would've said so months in advance. I try to make it a day (and if I'm lucky, a week) that I do things that I want to do. I'm not much hung up on other people remembering—though it's nice when they do.

I've been trying my best to have a quiet—almost boring—weekend. I think I've managed. Between laundry and cat care and visiting a few friends, what is there to tell? Not much.