From Amy to infinity

Sometimes things can be boiled down into a few photos:

Chocolate soup for the soul

On my way back down the stairs, I poked my head into the living room, where Brad was packing up his things. He looked up from his packing, undoubtedly expecting me to say something at least halfway interesting.

Instead: "Blue or purple?"

I held out my hands, indicating the newly-scrubbed nails that, up to a few minutes ago, had been painted royal blue. "Purple," he said, with that bemused, louder-than-words look that said I was being silly, and why in the world was I asking him such a question of a geekboy anyway?

Thirty minutes later, the nails were purple.

Such has been the weekend.

Is it silly of me to say that I 'miss' someone, when for the vast majority of the years we've known each other, we've been nothing more than screen-printed words and occasional phone calls to each other? I think not. I've missed Brad—enough to say it when I know that my saying it publicly will probably make him grimace in embarrassment.

Fear and loathing in metro DC

Those of you who are on the mailing list (end shameless plug!) know that my lack of posts lately has to do with my inexplicable desire to go on vacation.

Stout German squirrels

The squirrels are on notice. It's that time of year again; it's October, my birth month, so it's time to play the annual "Where will Amy pop up next?" game. This year's answer is one that many of you will recognize as a favorite previous playground: the metro Washington, D.C. area.

I'm not flying this year. I'm driving.Correction. We are driving it. Yep, that's right -- we. I shan't be going alone; I shall have my three stout, trusty German squirrels (Günter, Friedrich, and Konrad) with me this year.

I know this much is true

I've decided that the best way to handle such a deeply bizarre situation as this one is to treat it like the ludicrous thing it is; something so dumbfounding and jaw-dropping that, well, all you can do is just laugh, because there isn't a rule in the rule book for this sort of special circumstance.

Everyone over the age of twelve likes to fancy themselves the keenest, most astute judge of human nature to walk this earth, myself included. Luckily enough, most of the time, the fact that you're deluding yourself only sends you out on a couple of bad dates or leads you to bet on the wrong sports team in the Super Bowl.

There and back again

If I tell you that, right now, I'm sitting at Suzan's computer, nestled into a comfortably cluttered computer room in a small house outside of Atlanta, Georgia, you know where I am. If I tell you that I'm in my pajamas, with my hair disheveled and eyes still heavily shadowed with dark circles, you know how I look. If I tell you that my throat is painfully raw, and that most of my muscles are aching, you know how I feel.