Over the years, I've asked myself many, many times why I do this. Why I feel this need. Why, at random times, it galvanizes me into packing a bag, calling up a few friends, and bartering cooking experience for crashspace.

Other people call it "wanderlust." That's probably as accurate a term as I'm ever going to find.It's best described as a quiet ache—of looking at the same four walls and knowing that you've looked at them before. Knowing that you've explored them from top to bottom, inside to out, and that there's not much left to discover.

I walk outside in sock feet and my toes get cold. Nice. It's gone from unseasonably warm to quite chilly. Today's high was around 46, and I have to wonder if that was one of those "daily high reached at midnight" temperatures. It certainly felt like it.

Had a frustrating realization today at about 4:30. I got an email from a client saying, "We're a bit disappointed—we asked you to design us a site with a look and feel similar to the Williams-Sonoma site, and this looks nothing like it."For the first time, though, she included the URL of the site. It took about ten seconds for me to figure out that there are two Williams-Sonoma sites—the kitchen store site and the corporate headquarters site. My design was based off of the store's site and theirs off of the corporate HQ site. Once that discrepancy was resolved, thigns were a lot more chipper over in the design department.

I got my car back this morning. I doubt that many people would rejoice over the return of a six-year-old underpowered purple Sundance…but it's my car, and I've actually rather missed having her around. I always thought people were joking when they said that their cars developed character as they aged; now that I own an aging car, I understand.