Jitterbug

I have had mostly-digested pizza crust vomited down my cleavage.

I have used a goodly quantity of Anglo-Saxon vulgarities during a technical presentation.

I have administered Pedialyte and a Q&A session.

Everything went down surprisingly smoothly. Saltiness is apparently better-tolerated than one would imagine.

I have renewed my FAFSA. I have been informed that my “estimated family contribution” is a quarter of my annual net income.

I have idly contemplated erecting a yurt in my parents’ backyard.

I have contemplated no fewer than sixteen different careers.

I have gotten two paragraphs closer to the most-desired and least-likely of the bunch.

I have wanted to run under cover of darkness. To walk two miles to the diner solely to warm my hands on a coffee cup. To curl up in the back of a movie theater with all the accouterments... bucket of soda, cargo container of popcorn, barely-suppressed memories of passing jujubes back and forth during giggly pre-feature kisses. To get a hot shower – a really hot shower, really, really hot, clouds of steam and all that – and press my back against the cool tile and try not to shiver.

I have performed the psychological equivalent of Tae-Bo in outer space : endless silly contortions, only to remain in exactly the same place.

I have not yet decided whether I’d rather get the things I want or stop wanting them.

I have fed my body on diet Coke and miniature brownies.

I have fed my spirit with wild speculation, morbid fascination and Chromacolor melancholy.

I have a headache.

I have faith tomorrow will be just as busy and a little bit better.