Lawyer, Store Owner, Housewife?

"The Christmas Wife." No, it's not the title of a Lifetime Original Movie. It's me. It's what I was thinking I would call a TV show or movie based on what I've been doing lately. Now that I'm not a "lawyer," and the idea of saying I'm a "writer" just seems ridiculous given how much time I actually spend writing as compared to cooking, I'm not really sure what my identity is. But "wife" will do for now, I suppose. How about "baker"?

My 2009 resolution was to make a perfect cream-based pie. I have to find a new resolution because I did it. It wasn't that hard. Just follow the recipe in Joy of Cooking exactly. That means where it says whole milk, you use whole milk, not skim (who knew milk fats were so important?). Where it says bring to a bare simmer, you don't let that bad boy boil. And for God's sake, where it says to toast the shredded coconut at 300, don't just throw it in the oven at 400 because you already have a freaking lasagna in there and you just figure you can get away with it if you watch it really closely. Nope. Do it EXACTLY like Joy says.

Now, I wish some people actually read this freaking blog, for instance, people who make Red Velvet cakes. Or people who just really know their cake and want to contribute their favorite Red Velvet cake recipe. Because unfortunately, Joy doesn't have a recipe for Red Velvet cake, and I made the one posted by Sara Moulton on the Food Network site. What a terrible disappointment. The icing was great (how can you go wrong with an entire POUND of creamcheese, and the cake was indeed very, very red. It was unfortunately dry, not as tall as I would've liked, and flavorless. I don't think I overbeat the cake, but even if I did, that wouldn't explain the flavorlessness.... I think the recipe just isn't that great. Quantities seem off. You'd be better off buying a Betty Crocker white cake and adding 2 tbsps of red food coloring and a quarter cup of cocoa than making this recipe. But by all means, make the frosting! Just put it on a more worthy cake.

Other recent firsts: first pork chops, first lasagna, first many different types of cookies. Not lemon bars though. Those I've been making for years.

Advice for cooking holiday favorites: play Christmas music really loudly. It makes you feel like you're in this fabulous holiday musical. Wear a holiday apron. Sing along to the music, even the really cheesy songs you don't like. Talk to your pets! You'll feel like Snow White meets It's a Wonderful Life.

Holiday stuff I did lately: a seemingly endless pile of Christmas cards. It took hours; enough to watch the Woody Allen movie Love and Death (very funny send up of Russian lit), two episodes of Emeril Green's cooking show (Cajun cooking was the topic of one. Can't remember the other.), two episodes of Wife Swap (horrifically entertaining), and one episode of a show called the First 48 Hours (unrepentantly grim with major gleams of bleakness). So, like five hours. And I already worked on it a few hours in the preceeding days. Wow. If you didn't get a Christmas card from me, then here's your big "Merry Christmas, Love Heather & Alex." Hope that'll do, because I'm not doing any more.

Previously: Shopping. I'm almost 100% done. Luckily I did it almost all ahead of time. That really, really helps make Christmas more fun. However, I do still have to brave the stores for one last gift. For those of you who haven't begun your shopping yet, all I can say is that I've been there too, and may the Lord have mercy on your souls.

Tomorrow: I have to stamp and mail the freaking cards, wrap the Christmas presents for faraway family, and ship them off. I can't stand packing the presents in boxes... way too much spacial reasoning for my pleasure. Boringly enough, I also have to do some menial chores: laundry, dishes, cleaning. But then there's the thing I really want to do, which is to make a gingerbread house. Guess which one I'm prioritizing? Gingerbread house, I'm gonna make you. I don't care if you're difficult and not all that tasty. A house made out of candy just sounds too sweet not to make.

Tomorrow is pretty typical of my days these days. Is it wrong that I actually kind of like it? I wonder if I should feel guilty that I'm "just" a housewife. Truth is, if there was no money worry attached, it would be a pretty greaqt gig. However, money is an object, and I do wonder if eventually I'd feel unfulfilled or regret leaving the workforce (though never will I regret leaving the public defender office).

So what to do next: I'm thinking of opening a clothing shop. That might be more interesting than being a lawyer. My worries about that are that we might not stay in Tacoma. It wouldn't make sense to start a shop here if we're moving back to Seattle (or elsewhere). But I have a lot of experience with retail and I do love clothes, and I love business, and it would be a great thing to be my own boss. But then there's that worrying voice in my head that says, "What about the economy? Are you seriously considering starting a small business during this terrible economic downturn?" and "You could make so much more money being a lawyer!"

Oh, and in case you've been reading long enough to know that I have been considering starting a wedding planning business, I still think it's a great idea, but my location is not ideal for it. I don't have many contacts in Tacoma yet, and I'm just a leetel to far for it to make sense to commute to my clients and vendors up in Seattle. Plus the economy thing again... who is seriously going to pay to have their wedding planned if they're worried about losing their jobs? So that idea's on the backburner for now to dust off for later.

There are some interesting law job prospects that I'm seriously considering. I am definitely not completely tossing out that possibility. It will be fascinating for me to see what the new year brings.

Movie Reviews: The Happening, Hancock, WALL-E

Tonight I thought I'd write some movie reviews interspersed, or even nestled, amongst some little tidbits about my personal life. Saving the best for last, we would of course start with the M. Night Shamalayan piece of shit that I was stupid enough to spend money and 90 minutes on... The Happening: Wow, it sucks. Not that I'm surprised. M. Night Shamalayan is the watchword for not-worth-watching, unless you're re-watching The Sixth Sense, which is permitted. So, The Happening should be called "When Trees Do Even Worse Things to You than Cause Hayfever, and It's Not So Much Scary as Really Annoying, and Even Mark Wahlberg Cannot Make the Insipid Dialogue Work."

Speaking of hayfever, I've got it bad. The 20-40 kleenex per hour (kph) kind, three kinds of allergy medecine at once, the kind where I have to breathe through my mouth for fear of upsetting my pathetic nostrils kind of hayfever. It's funny how it always coincides with the really hot weather. So it's 85 degrees and I don't have AC, and if I open the window it just lets in more filthy pollinated air which will kill me if I allow it to. If I were a magazine centerfold, perhaps my turn-ons list would be something like this: Hepa-filtered, anything hypoallergenic, air conditioning, non-drowsy antihistamines. Turn offs: Dextromethorphane, dust mites, grass, and picnics in the park.

Hancock: A run-of-the-mill Will Smith action movie. Which means that it was pretty good -- never terrible or amazing. It starts of very well and then just kind of ... meh? Charlize Theron plays a superhero too. What I don't get is why, when she goes into superhero mode, does that necessarily mean she has to wear so much additional eye shadow?

I watched the previous two movies with Alex in Aruba. So I was in an amazing place with my husband and we went to see two mediocre at best movies, but it was good because it was so nice just to relax and not have to worry about a thing. The one I watched today, WALL-E, was with Marcus at Pacific Place cinemas. We went to the movie theater just so I could escape the disgusting plant sex and microscopic dust mites that are plaguing me. And I wound up inadvertantly seeing a very good movie.

WALL-E: This movie is really great. It's got the dystopian nightmare scenario that I love, AND Robot Romance. It's one of the very, very few really interesting movies I've seen lately. Go Pixar!!

Alex is in Yakima for his job, which is prepping 3500 National Guardsmen for deployment to Iraq. He's a JAG lawyer, which means that sometimes he's doing desk work like a regular lawyer, but other times he's out shooting bad guys with machine guns and rescuing people from hostile territory by helicopter and infiltrating terrorist hotspots, where he wears a wire to collect evidence to get those terrorists! It's awesome. And then the rest of the time, he just really helps out these poor dudes who have to go to Iraq by getting them wills and helping them sort out their child custody/divorce issues, and other uber important stuff. So, I'm supposed to go to Yakima for a few days this week for my birthday. "Happy Birthday" and "Yakima" don't really seem to go together, but what can you do?

So, July. Really important month for me. Alex is in Yakima for the rest of the month, which is terrible. My biggest plans for July are to deal with all the wedding stuff, all the thank you cards, name change documentation, moving from Marcus's place, putting stuff in storage, and prepping to rent Alex's condo, and looking for a new place for us to move --all of this On My Own. I hate it. Newlyweds should not have to do this alone. But, me having things the way I want them isn't always good for me is it?

Besides dealing with the above stuff, I have a couple of other projects going on. I'm helping Ben & Libbe with their wedding, and I'm considering auditioning for some plays and movies, and I'm getting back into working out. I signed up for a half marathon for Labor Day weekend. Things are just humming along. It's basically the usual. Except I'm married now. It's
different, it really is, but I'm not sure why.

More will be revealed.

Things I Haven't Said Yet

Pearl S. Buck on being creative:
"The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: a human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive. To him a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create – so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, just pour out creating. By some strange, inward urgency, he is not really alive unless he is creating."

Now for some things I forgot to say or haven't said yet.
Things I forgot to say about plants:
The shrubs in the Arroyo Canyon showed me something about myself. Many of the same plants that flourish in Seattle would quickly shrivel and die in the southern California heat. But by the same token, some of the plants doing so well in LA would rot and grow black mold in the damp air of the Pacific Northwest. I am no shrinking violet, hiding from life in the shade. I am not an evergreen, either. I generally dislike the cold and I avoid winter sports. I am not a rose bush, requiring excessive pampering in order to thrive, though I'll take it when I can get it. I am a Heather. I will grow where I am planted. Each transplant takes something out of me but leads to new growth.

Things I never said about Maryland:
We moved to a farm in southern Maryland. I was eight and nine years old and I rode my bike down country lanes, past the farm where the Amish father drove a three horse team, past the other farm with the Brown Swiss cows looking forlorn with their liquid eyes. It was hot there in the summer, and the roads were dusty and dry. I rode through the inches of red dust, avoiding copperheads and crossing over culverts, to visit Little Jim and the other horses that livednearby. However, even though I liked dreaming and playing outside by myself, I also got a lot out of playing with other kids. I liked hosting events even then. Each summer I had my July birthday party, featuring hot dogs and hamburgers, ice cream cakes, and movies shown in our cool, dim basement. I always liked some boy. (Then, it was Scott. I was the only girl he invited to his birthday party. I got a bad sunburn because we all swam like crazy and played Marco Polo and I was very fair-skinned). I still nearly always like some boy but they are distracting and I have to watch out or they'll pull my hair.

Things I never said about Mississippi:
We moved back to southern Mississippi (a fun state to spell and to live in) to a part of the Gulf Coast that has since been completely destroyed by Katrina. My old house doesn't exist anymore. Back then, when I was ten years old, there was an old estate that had been abandoned after the plantation mansion blew down during Hurricane Camille. The lot was overgrown and then it seemed vast and mysterious. Daffodils still sprouted up in the spring, because no one told them that the garden was no more. In the sweltering heat, I climbed magnolias, had my feet stung by fireants, and scratched bites left by a million mosquitoes. I dreamed of the family that used to live there and their charmed life in the mansion.

And I still loved boys. I fell for Paul Gardener, who played Alexander Graham Bell in the school play. He sang this song that went "Dot-Dash-Dash-Dot" and he was a born star. I bet years later he went on tour with members of Wire. So ahead of his time.

My favorite pasttime was going down to the gulf and wading out for what seemed to be miles on the soft golden sand, the water barely reaching my knees some days.

Things I never said about Montana:
We moved to Montana when I was 11. We owned some 200 acres of land up in the mountains. I didn't really like the other kids at my school, so I retreated more and more into books and writing and making up elaborate fantasies about how amazing my life was going to be someday. I thought about it while I rode horses around in the fields. I took a million melancholy walks through the aspen-filled western section of the forest. (All those things people say about the cathedral of the forest, well, it felt like God was hiding everywhere.) I would wander around for hours and dream and dream. Sometimes I thought I would marry the beautiful Jamie Boyer from up north in Eureka (unfortunately, he was an Aries, so it was destined for failure), and resign myself to life in a small town. Or I'd marry Pat Triplett, a local cowboy who was too old for me, and we'd travel across the country togetherm and he'd be the 1 champion rodeo man in the country, which would somehow help me become a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader and a Doctor.

My favorite story for a long time was about Steve Howe from the band GTR. At the time, I was really into prog rock like Yes, Asia, Toto, and GTR (which featured members of my then-favorite Yes). Never mind the fact that he was already 40 years old or so and I was 12. I developed some pretty elaborate schemes for how I was going to meet Steve; I would win some national photography competition and get sent to New York, where I'd meet someone whose mom worked in the music business and she'd get us backstage passes to GTR, and then I'd meet this guy and he'd undoubtedly realize that we were meant to be together, and we'd agree that we would need to wait to get married until I was legally able to have sex with him.

That's the way I thought: if you can dream it, it could happen. It might need a bizarrely convoluted plot to get you there, but it could happen. (To tell you how much I liked this guy, I actually wanted to get my hair thinned so it would look like his. Now that's devotion.)

Lastly:
Here is something you may want to know about me: I still love being outside by myself, and my fantasy life is still AMAZING.

Los Angeles, I'm Yours

I have the above-titled Decemberists song stuck in my head. That song is actually not a celebration of Los Angeles, but a sort of ironically melancholy lovesong. But here in Seattle, exhausted and... grey-feeling, I sing it, meaning it, without irony. It's raining and cold and grey and miserable and damp, and it reminds me of that September when I first moved here eleven years ago, and it rained for months on end. What a terrible winter that was. None have been that bad since, but winter in Seattle is just not a good thing. So Los Angeles was a welcome change. The sun shone in soft golden rays that actually warmed me up, unlike the pathetically weak grayish rays that suffice as "sunshine" in wintertime Seattle.

Should I just say I had a great time in L.A.? O.k., I had a great time. But maybe you're more detail-oriented than that. Maybe you want to know exactly what went down. I'm going to tell you. Everything. (You already know that's a lie, don't you? I have many secrets…) I'm going to give you the PG version, o.k.? Read between the lines or don't, up to you.

Tuesday, Wednesday (South Pasadena):
My first night: warm air and car fumes waiting for the shuttle to EZ Rental. I could feel excitement shimmying down the cement pylons and up my spine, adventures waiting to happen. L.A. is waiting for me to live it.

I had my first experience driving the L.A. freeways, going from LAX to Pasadena at night. I was so thoroughly freaked out at the prospect of driving that I found it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be.

Dave Stone's house is in South Pasadena. The night was much quieter than where I live in West Seattle, and palm trees swayed in time with orange-scented breezes, dancing with their deciduous partners. Dave's room is cozy and dry, nestled in a rooftop, and featured a couple of great Beatles posters. We had delicious noodles at a place in Chinatown… I wish I could remember the name of it. We went back to Dave's place. I like Tosh; he's a fancy Japanese dog. I think Lily is maybe an Aries; I know she's part Chow and she scares me because she barks a lot and stinks. Dogs are fun, but they are very smelly and dirty. I was talking with a friend in L.A. about how I'm going to write a book called, "The Problem with Dogs." It was really funny at the time.

Anyway, the next day, we drove back to Chinatown and looked around. We checked out a cool artsy shop called Ooga Booga. We went to Old Town Pasadena. It's got an H&M, where I did a little damage. I seem to be powerless over jewel tones. This season it's sapphire and teal. Last season it was violet and plum. What next? Don't worry; I won't do something horrible, like wear yellow.

Griffith Park: Just as cool as I remember from before, except that I'm not a 26 year old idiot (I'm a wizened 29 now, of course), and they've dug out two whole floors underneath the observatory. There are some really cool new exhibits, including one where you can simulate what would happen if an asteroid, comet, or other object were to hit the earth (hint: sometimes the world blows up!).

The night ended with me not getting to hang out with Daniel House because I had to meet up with these other people that Dave and I know. It was imperative and hopefully Daniel House doesn't think I'm a complete douche.

Thursday (Downtown, Santa Monica)
I went running at the Arroyo Seco, which is a huge gorge in Pasadena. My run originated at a horse ranch, led me next to the L.A. River and under the graceful curves of the Colorado Street Bridge, and I finally turned back at the Rose Bowl. As I ran in the shadow of the bridge, the song "Everything in its Right Place" by Radiohead came up on my iPod, and my runner's high kicked in. Need I tell you it was a transcendental experience? It was genuine and empowering, unlike the acid I dropped on my last visit to L.A., which was exciting but also left me frightened and vulnerable and feeling a million miles from myself and everyone else on the planet.

Later Dave and I hit Scoops, this amazing ice cream place. I had the Brown Bread flavor. I know, it sounds disgusting, but actually, it was incredible! It was mostly sweet and carmeley with crunchy bits, reminiscent of brown bread without tasting like a glob of raw dough as I had feared. Dave had the Sesame Ginger. Spicy and refreshing, sweet but not cloying. (Just like me, right?)

Before I knew it, it was time to go to Downtown. For some reason, "going Downtown" seemed almost as intimidating as "driving on L.A. freeways," so Dave was kind enough to lead me to the very exit I needed, and then I forged ahead on my own. I looked about, wide-eyed, at what appeared to be a bunch of road construction and old factories, and nothing that possibly looked like it could be a place anyone would ever deem "home." Donihue (the second of my L.A. Daves, as I like to call them) didn't pick up his phone. I tried again. "Dave, it's me. I'm here. Where are you?" Sent a text. "I'm here. Where u at?" And again, ring, ring, no answer. Panicked, I drove in circles, going down increasingly sketchy streets, and occasionally completely ignoring road signs (such as No U-Turn, Stop, and speed limit signs of all stripe). Finally I gave up and parked next to the side of the road, with the engine on and in drive, hands on the wheel and right foot on the gas, just in case. I later found out that the place I parked was in EAST L.A. That's right, folks; I've been to East L.A. and I lived to tell the tale! Though I guess these days, people are moving there. Soon it'll be the new Los Feliz.

Finally I heard from Donihue and we met up. He lives in a really cool loft, or maybe I should say lived, because he was in the process of moving out. I hung out while he frantically dealt with issues involving trailers and European releases and situations in India and what seemed to be a million different time obligations. The combination of the moving-related chaos in his house plus all the work he so obviously had to do informed me that despite his generous offer, to stay there would be to get in his way. So, we went to Japantown and had sushi and sesame chicken. L.A. has such great restaurants. After, I walked down the street, my fuschia dress flapping in the breeze and me daintily holding it down, while Mexican construction worker dudes gave my self-esteem a big boost.

We walked back to my car, and Dave gave me one of the best hugs ever. Awww… Dave Donihue! He's the best! Such a friend. A joke, told by Donihue: "So I was dating this girl and she was smart, and funny, and drop-dead gorgeous, but I had to break up with her. I told her, 'I just don't want to be in a long distance relationship, you know? I mean, I live here in Downtown and you're all the way in Santa Monica. That's like seven miles from here!'" I told everyone that joke. Hee.

Off to Santa Monica. I was not excited to drive west to Santa Monica in rush hour traffic, but it wasn’t that bad. Of course, going from west to east must have taken those poor people an hour and a half to get home. Ridiculous. I wended my way through the wall-to-wall traffic and eventually saw the exit to Santa Monica. I like the road directions to Santa Monica… it's basically like this: "Drive west. When you get to the Pacific Ocean, turn right and park."

Time to meet Jamie and watch the sunset. I put my bags at his place and together we walked the across the street to Santa Monica Pier (yeah that's right. He's oceanfront…. Hot!). I went and tried to get perfect sunset pictures with seagulls flying in the camera's path. The whole Jonathan Livingston Seagull look, you know? I would've settled for some Christian inspirational card look, but the light was no good for that. But I got a couple of nice pictures of the ferris wheel and the octopus thing and Jamie.
They have these outdoor movies at the pier and lucky us, they were screening Roman Holiday that night. Of course it was freezing right on the waterfront, and even with all those layers, it wasn't warm enough, so we watched it back at Jamie's. Lovely film, that.

Friday, Saturday (all over)
Friday morning, I had a headache and so I laid there for two hours waiting for the storm to pass. Bad, bad headache. After that, I felt much better and so went for a run from Santa Monica to Venice Beach and back. Some wonderful views and some, well, hmm. I saw a lot of things, like a beautiful young woman who seemed to think it was a great idea to wear orange spandex stretch pants with a pink and purple tie-dyed spandex top, and her hair in a pink and orange scrunchie on top of her head. Awesome! Venice Beach is full of all kind of fat tourists and lean locals being awesome at beach sports. Hot guys spiking volleyballs, abs and pecs gleaming copper in the high noon sun, while chubby Midwesterners shot pictures of real, live Californians. I saw some of the best skateboarding of my life, one guy with that low key casual "who me? Oh yeah, I guess I sorta do rock" kind of thing, another who was more overt about his skatergod status, punishing the pavement like a dom disciplining her Bellevue businessman.
After running I had to go back and hot myself up for the super-special behind the scenes tour of Paramount. It was really fun but it would probably not be as interesting to read about as it was to go to. Let's just say that I'm now tight with Jesus the security guard, I know Jamie's boss secretly wants to give me his extra (yeah, extra) plum-colored Vespa, and I know where Lucille Ball liked to kick it back in the day. And maybe, just maybe, when I was on my way from Astroburger back to Paramount to get my car… maybe I saw a three name celeb. But I couldn't tell you about it, because that's not very L.A. cool to do so, now is it? So I won't tell you about illy ob ornton and his ig eesey-ass grin at me. I guess even big old stars still think a purdy girl is purdy. Well, at least I'd know he's not phobic about making a lifelong commitment – he's done it a few times now!

I hung out again with Dave Stone and our mutual friends in Los Feliz that night. Our friends rock. I thought I lost my shawl that's 90% knitted (that's taken me nearly a year to work on so far) and had to invoke the good old Catholic standby, the prayer to St. Anthony to intercede in helping find lost things. I found it! St. Tony is such a badass, awesome saint.

Afterwards I met Jamie and his friend Mary at Birds, this trendy place in Hollywood that film industry people like to hang out at. The best part was when it started raining and all the starlet wannabes and trendsters had to crowd under umbrellas, while their Uggs (yeah, people still wear 'em. Seriously, ladies. What's up with that?) got soaked and their make-up became mussed.

The next day, Jamie and I had delicious crepes in Santa Monica at the aptly named Café Crepe. Is there anyone out there who can make the case that the nutella/banana combo is NOT the best crepe ever? I think not.
Afterwards, it was raining. WTF?? In fact, it was raining so hard that the streets flooded. See, since it rarely (not never) rains in Southern California, they don't put drains in the streets. So, just crossing the street, my jeans were wet to the knee and my shoes full of water. Thus, we did the only sensible thing to do: we went shopping. At Planet Funk I got a really cute Tokidoki shirt which features all kinds of insanity, like little dudes in cow costumes with Tommy guns, and evil milk cartons with horns. Double awesome! High school kids go into seizures of jealousy when they see it. I also checked out the new Sarah Jessica Parker (hint: shop carefully. The clothes are inexpensive, but some of them feel even cheaper than they are).

Later, I met up with Ashley. The rain had stopped and we enjoyed a coffee and a walk and a talk. She so rules. I'm sure she's going to be a hugely successful photographer someday. Next I went to Benihana. I had the lobster and the fillet mignon. But then, so did he.

Grabbed Ashley in Hollywood and raced downtown to some gallery show with Dave Donihue and his friend, and unfortunately we were only able to stay for about 15 mins because it was getting late and we were late for Dash Snow's show in Chinatown, and the galleries there close at 10 p.m. We only got to be there for a few minutes as it was, but the cool thing was this. The entire gallery space was one huge lightbox with his photos lined up against it. Everyone except for me was wearing black and seemed to have darker hair. I had on this fairly hot teal dress and you know what my hair is like. It was an ultravividscene moment.

I had fun hanging out with my friend Melissa's cousin Steven and his cousin Shari. We watched The Thrones with a sinking realization that we were wasting a lot of hearing damage on something unpleasant to listen to. But we really wanted to stay for Abe Vigoda. Ashley was amazing when she pointed out that they were not, in fact, Jade Pagoda, which is what I was calling them. It's just easier to say, o.k.? So, they were these fun, noisy kids having a great time on stage. Reasonably listenable and unreasonably cute.

Sunday (western L.A. and beyond)
My last day. Met up with Dave at some place and ordered from the kid's menu (you can do that without raising eyebrows in L.A. Everyone's on some kind of diet. I love that.) Then we drove all over the western parts of L.A. so that I could start to learn more about some of the neighborhoods. If I could afford it, I'd like to live in the west. Santa Monica would probably be my first choice, but it's pricey… maybe I can come up with some sort of deal? We'll see.

In the meantime, I'm here. I'm working some overtime, selling everything I can, trying to save up money. I'm culling needless people and activities and expenses and time sucks from my life. Sorry if you don't hear from me. I still love you. I'm just busy trying to do something with my life. I'm writing again and I'll be doing even more soon. This is a difficult thing about writing and friends: I kinda have to be alone to do it, unless you want to get together with me for coffee and writing. In that case, we’ll avoid speaking to each other, listen to our iPods, and occasionally look up over our laptops like we're playing Battleship (thanks, Shawn).

I think I gotta leave. I love Seattle. You know that. But I'll write about that some other time. For now, know this: as much as I love it, I need to move on. I need to shelve my past and the future that I dreamed about that can't happen. I need to have new dreams, new dramas, hell, even new disappointments. A future of sunshine and smog.