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.

All in all, I'm flying out to D.C. a much more peaceful person this year. No crying this time around, dammit.

Next car update—I get my little car back tomorrow morning, which has me very happy indeed. I'll have to get up early to drop the rental car off, then go to the body shop to pick up my car. Then I'll head in to work—quite a bit early, but I'll either go home a bit early or stay late and make up some more time. I'll miss the vrooom of the Stratus I've been driving, but I'm glad to have my own little car back.

It was an eventful September, and I'm awfully glad it's over.

Jeff says the cats are going to go berserk without me when I'm on vacation. I got to bed late last night after writing for a while. When I lay down to sleep, I realized that sleep wasn't going to be coming to me anytime soon. Edmund crept into bed for his nightly session of petting, scritchies, and general kitty-snuggling. After he hopped down, I lay there for about twenty minutes, tossing and turning, and then decided to go sleep in the guest bedroom.

Jeff had complained of being tired last night, and I didn't want to wake him. So I tiptoed out, and I heard the little "brrrr!" chirruping that means I have kitties following me. Sure enough, I crawled into the guest bed, and less than two seconds later, both kitties hopped up to investigate what I was doing sleeping on their bed.

Edmund snuggled up and slept in the crook of my arm, and that's the last I remember until about four a.m., when Jeff shook me awake. He was holding a purring cat—it was probably Tenzing. I don't remember most of the conversation, because I was coming out of a deep sleep, but evidently one (or both) of the cats had jumped on our bed at four a.m. and started meowing when they didn't find me where I was "supposed" to be.

I soothed the cat and everyone went back to sleep.

Flash-forward.

I generally get up at 7:30 a.m. (I work from 9:00 to 6:00). At seven-twenty-five, I awakened to Tenzing standing on my chest and purring very insistently into my face. Evidently it was time for me to get up, but when I did, he had this look of sheer innocence and surprise ("What? You just accidentally woke up? Oops! I didn't mean to, really…but now that you're up, pet me!") that cracked me up.

While petting him, a title came to me. Should anyone ever feel the need to gather these domesticat writings up and publish them, I think I know the title they should be published under. It comes from an old adage my mother likes to say:

"The Grass Always Grows Greener Over The Septic Tank."

Somehow, it's appropriate.

Time to go home.