Full Circle

I’ve tried to stay pretty positive about what’s on my mind this summer, but truthfully, I have been very worried about my future. “Worried” isn’t even the correct term … I’ve been overwhelmed—consumed—about financing law school. Unfortunately, I don’t have much control over that, so it’s an infinitely frustrating and completely unproductive thing for me to focus on.

Though I’m not worried about law school—I’m totally excited about classes and learning, I think I’ll love it and will prosper there (Can you think of anyone else who is excited to study Tort Law and Civil Procedure in great detail? Me, neither)—I have even considered giving my slot up at Maryland these past few weeks. Fear can paralyze, and it has very nearly prevented me from moving forward.

Most people have to borrow from the government to finance their graduate and professional educations, and I’m no exception. I believe in education and I believe in myself enough to know that someday I’ll be financially successful enough to pay my bills (and eventually pay my loans off). But right now it’s terrifying to calculate the debt I will be burdened with before age 30, without anything to (physically) show for it. When most people have six-figures of debt, they have a mortgage payment, and a house. Mine will hopefully help me get a job I will be greater than awesome at. But there’s no guarantee.

And I can’t help but be reminded of a scene from a movie I love, Keeping the Faith. In this scene, the young priest is experiencing a crisis of conscience because he has fallen in love with a woman. He humbly tells his mentor about his situation, and abashedly admits that he would have left the priesthood if this woman had fallen in love with him, also. He feels guilty for this forbidden transgression, but most importantly, he is questioning himself, his calling, and his commitment to his choice of becoming a priest. He reminds the old priest of a memory from seminary, when the old priest lectured the students on the level of commitment required of a member of the cloth in maintaining a celibate life. If you can picture yourself being happy doing anything else, he said to the young men, Do that instead. This is hard enough.

I sort of feel that way about law school, sans spiritual commitment. Law school is enormously expensive. I will receive financial aid in the form of scholarships and loans, but I still feel that if I spend that much money educating myself, I am making an irrevocable commitment to that pursuit. And what happens when—not if—I have moments like the priest? What if I’m wrong, and I actually hate law? What if I decide I’d rather do something else? What if I realize, like I did with my MPP, that I have made a mistake? I will feel trapped because of my choice in law school, and my financial commitment to it.

What has made me come around is talking to three specific people, who know me well enough to talk honestly and be fully candid. One friend has been reminding me for weeks that I’m unlikely to start being an underachiever in law school; the odds are that I will get a decent job and eventually, money woes will fade. I am grateful to her because she has reminded me that this is a challenge I have sought out because I am capable of doing it.

Then I talked to my Mama. I was hesitant to do so because parents tend to be cautious and warn their kids about going into something they are not prepared to handle the consequences of. I was afraid that my mother would hear my doubts and go into protective-mama mode; she could advise me against going to law school because being that trapped is never a good option. But my Mama surprised me when she reminded me that you have to take great risks if you ever want to be great. I am grateful to her for overlooking any reservations she may have about the money because she can see that I am making the right choice for myself. It must be difficult to watch your children make decisions that could turn out to be enormously painful to them later, but she put my aspirations above any reservations she may have, which I appreciate.

Then I talked to another friend who is already in law school. She was surprised to hear of my hesitation because since I have known her, this has been a goal of mine. She leveled with me and acknowledged the fear and difficulties in my situation but then reminded me that everything I’ve done in the last two years—and arguably longer than that—has been in preparation for this next step. I’m grateful to her because she reminded me that, yes, this is my original goal, but moreover, she pointed out to me that what I am experiencing is fear; fear can be positive, but only when we use it to strengthen and prepare us, not let it intimidate or stop us.

Back to that movie I referenced earlier, with the priests—what happened there, you might ask. The older priest gently pshawed the younger priests’ absolutism—and naiveté—in his expectations on the rigid commitment required of him. There is never one thing you can be happy doing. Everyone has doubts, everyone has fears, he said. It’s what you do with that fear that matters.

What am I going to do with mine? I’m absolutely taking it with me to law school.

 

Five Times Five

I saw this on a friend’s blog, and I thought it’d be a great way to warm up to blogging after a kind of intense weekend away—I will probably write about the family reunion, but first I need to eat and take a nap. I’ve stolen some of the categories from the other post, but some are my own.

Five Things I Bought Last Week: Gas (Because at prices like this, who can refuse?), eyeglasses (My weird childhood desire for them has finally come true), chocolate soy milk (Because, duh, yum!), three books for $10 (Roots, The Woman at the Washington Zoo, and an Eleanor Roosevelt biography at a bookstore going out of business), and a haircut.

Five Things That Made Me Swear Out Loud Recently: The cost of gas, being cut off by an idiot at a roundabout (You asshat!), the cost of glasses, finding dog barf on the floor of my room (You little shit, you’re in for it!), and smelling a burger (Why am I pescoveg, again?).

Five Things That Are On My Mind: Paying for law school, law school loans, moving to Baltimore, scanning photographs, and training exercises in Hampton.

Five Questions: Is law school really the best thing for me (particularly when considering the cost of it)? Would it be possible for me to vacation in Hawai’i anytime soon? (A resounding NO on that one) Will my Daddy and brother assemble my new bed in Baltimore? How is it possible to cry so hard when a character in a book dies? Do I need to spell out why being single is actually pretty spectacular most of the time to those who pity us?

Five Movies/DVDs I’ve Seen Recently: The Dark Knight (Awesome! Just make sure to eat and pee before it starts, because it’s on the long side), The 40-Year Old Virgin (Funny, but not as much as Knocked Up), old West Wing episodes, Freaks and Geeks, and Weeds.

 

Little Girl Running from Bush

This is hilarious.

Jezebel said it best:

But at the latest tournament, one little girl named Emily — obviously wise beyond her years — approached President Bush and then, for whatever reason, hightailed it out of there, Forrest Gump-style. And she just kept running.

Emily has made my day.

 

Caipirinha Delight

A few of us decided it would be great fun to have a ladies night out last Friday under the guise of celebrating all the excellent things that have been happening to my girlfriends lately: two have gotten married, one had a birthday, one got into a great law school, several have started new and exciting jobs … and then there are those of us who are, you know, just happy to be alive. Because who needs a paycheck, right? Totally overrated.

But it turns out that this summer, we’ve all scattered like roaches when the lights come on, so our big plans materialized into three of us going out for drinks in D.C. Not to worry; we took it upon ourselves to have enough shenanigans for eight people.

Have you ever had a caipirinha? If not, you should rectify that immediately, and please invite me to come along with you. Caipirinha’s are sort a of Brazilian mojito, but way better. They’re made of lime, mint, and cachaça—which I can’t pronounce, particularly after drinking three of them, but Gaby can, which I found more and more amusing as the night went on—and will knock you flat on your ass, maybe literally. But you’ll enjoy it.

The night started out in the usual fashion, with shoe problems. After making a detour for Band-Aids and pantyhose, we were on our way to Bar #1, where we were hooked up with extremely stiff drinks, aided by my talking football trash with the brawny bartender. Next we went to the Rumba Cafe, where it took awhile for me to realize I was in the funhouse of intoxication: Munch-like faces floating near mine, supernatant and eerie noises above my head, freaky lighting, and a confusing as all hell language barrier.

The night was exactly what I needed: indulgence with two of the most fun people I know, with lots of laughs and zero drama. We missed some people (SW and JS—next time!), and we’ll also drag some of the guys next time, but it was excellent to be reminded how fun and awesome a night with the girls can be.

 

Yummy!

I’ve gotta brag, y’all.

My uncle hosts weekly dinners with two of his friends, and since I’m carpetbagging through this summer, I’ve been joining them. I wasn’t raised by wolves, so I always offer to contribute something to these very fine evenings; but since I am me, that something is usually very straightforward and store-bought, like wine.

You should understand that my uncle—in addition to being the creative and interesting person he is—is also a renowned foodie. He is one of the, oh, maybe twelve people in the universe that can actually taste the difference between locally grown or store-bought organic tomatoes in a stew and one of the even fewer who cooks with imported Italian flour because he knows it has a higher protein content and geniunely likes the way it makes the crust taste.

So you might understand why I am a little intimidated to cook for him. I, who have burned no-bake cookies, who have served frozen solid “fried” chicken, who have caused fires in the kitchen and sprayed food on the ceiling—my palate and his might possibly differ in our standards for flavor, delectability, and, let’s be honest, edibility.

This week’s dinner was last night, and as usual, I volunteered to bring something. My uncle suggested that something be dessert this time. Dessert is fun and easy! said he. No one can screw dessert up, and by that time we’ll have had enough wine that it’ll either be good enough to slip by or we’ll tell you how bad it is anyway. It turns out my uncle might be somewhat delusional, as well, giving me his unwavering confidence, though I very much appreciate the honesty.

Now, I think there is almost nothing finer than a delightful strawberry shortcake, particularly during a hot summer night, so I looked around and found something a little more refined—for my uncle and his friends’ well-developed palates—but hopefully attainable to my modest abilities in the kitchen. I found this recipe.

If it sounds like a fancier variation of strawberry shortcake, that’s because it is. About two steps in—while folding the cream—I found myself rolling my eyes and wishing I’d just bought a box of brownies and claimed them as my own. But I pressed on and—oh!—I am glad I did. And if I can do this, you can—the next time you feel bolder than Ben & Jerry’s or a molasses cookie, you should try it, too.

Each component of this dessert got rave reviews and could stand alone, I suppose. I don’t care for sauces or dressings—otherwise known as goo—so I didn’t try the cream, but a few individuals later gathered around the bowl in the kitchen to swipe fingerfulls of the stuff, so I’m going to take their word that whoever decided to mix cream with white chocolate and vanilla was pretty wise.

The brown sugar biscuits are fabulous on their own—I had one for breakfast this morning. Strawberries are always a good choice, and mixing them with lemon and mint is a brilliant and colorful idea:

I have to say I’m pretty impressed with myself. I don’t mean to be obnoxiously self-aggrandizing, but for someone who is pretty reliable about cooking out of a box, who considers frozen M&Ms a great dessert, I think this is pretty swell. And with all the positive feedback—I do hope they weren’t just being “polite”—I’m starting to think maybe I could actually be a little bolder in the kitchen and not be imprisoned for attempted murder.

Then again, I’m a little nervous. I’ve been elected to do desserts for the rest of the summer.

 

In Absentia

Friends have chided me in the past for pulling Leanne’s Great Disappearing Act. Life is going along fine and then—bam!—I go and pull a fast one, going AWOL for days, sometimes weeks at a time. Sometimes my absence has a purpose, like when I submerged myself in the law school application process earlier this year and told no one. I was busy applying, and it was all I could think about, too; so I confided in a few people and flew below the radar for awhile. And frankly, sometimes my absence is because I am depressed or lonely or afraid, and know of no other way to get back to normal than to recoil and go straight through the overwhelming emotional intensity on my own.

But sometimes I just don’t have anything to contribute. That’s kind of what this summer is for me: a summer of hibernation. I expect that law school and my transition into it will be enormously challenging on every level, so while I’m trying to prepare myself for my first year mentally, physically, and emotionally, I’m also trying to enjoy where I am now. But I always have to have something going on, or I start to think, maybe too much. And this summer of introspection is refreshing, but it can also be lonely and boring. And no one’s interested in those moments.

So for now, I’m trying to stay light, enjoy, and not over-examine things I can’t change or things that haven’t happened yet. My uncle is teaching me the finer points of cooking and—Alas! A surprise!—I have not burned down his beautiful house yet. I have even impressed him with some things. I am organizing what I hope to be an incredible slideshow for my grandfather’s 90th birthday celebration in August, and am being humbled in the process. I am working on a sometimes daunting temporary job. I am reading a lot. I am catching up on the years and years of television I missed by watching TV on DVD, and am discovering that some shows are too bloody brilliant to ignore. I am walking around Richmond thinking, Damn it’s humid here. I am daydreaming about what my acceptance speech for my screenwriting Oscar would have been, or what I can wear the first time I argue a real case in court. I am doing good for other people. I am exfoliating. I am wondering where we’ll all be in ten years. I am imagining.

And even though that’s what I need to do this summer, and I’m having a mighty fine time doing it, it’s not very interesting for me to tell you about. So short story long, that’s why I’ve been in absentia. When I’ve got something good to tell you—whether it’s tomorrow or in a few weeks—I will. Until then, I hope your summer is filled with as much fun philosophizing as mine is.

 

Just a Thought

Living where I do in Richmond gives me the great opportunity to take a lot of walks through stately old neighborhoods. This is one of my favorite things to do, and besides teaching me my way around, I have learned two important things from these walks:

(1) You can usually tell where the young people live because the grass on their front lawn is typically dead, they have a few clunkers out front (often with Obama ’08 stickers affixed to them), and the recycling bins are consistently full, and out for pickup. This is a demographic I fit in well with.

(2) The second thing I have learned is that as much as we might try not to participate in the practice of judging, we all do. We judge people and things based on a fleeting first impression, and in turn, we are judged on our own appearances. It’s a fact, but it’s not always such a bad thing.

I walk by some pretty imposing homes, many of which have perfectly manicured lawns and luxury cars tucked away somewhere, no doubt, but those are never the houses I walk by and think, Some happy people must live here. I want my home to be warm and inviting, and I never feel invited or welcome as I walk by the grandest homes. Their impeccable lawns behind magnificent fences make me feel shut out and small. I think that’s the point; that, and keeping up with the Joneses.

But I know this springs from my own insecurities, as do most of our feelings of doubt. And much of my assessment is drawn from a few unfair real-life examples and several pop culture examples (Bree from Desperate Housewives, for instance). I’m sure that if we got the chance, the owners of these stuffy houses and I would have a marvelous time looking down our noses at other people while we talked about our yippy dogs, old blood lines, and wore matching cardigan sweater sets. But I’d rather eat mud; these people seem like total snobs, and I don’t want to be stuffy and uptight like them.

I want my friends to feel comfortable with the mess that surrounds me, physically and otherwise. I want them to be happy riding in my car that is less than clean (Mission: Accomplished), and telling me that dinner was wonderful, but they saw the take-out boxes in the trash. I want a livable, warm, and welcoming home and life. My impression is that warm and welcoming does not happen in rigid, coiffed houses.

After a recent walk through the neighborhood, I smugly arrived at that conclusion only to realize that—gasp!—I was judging them. I was the asshole, not the residents of the ostentatious houses.

I definitely want a more lived-in look than some of these grandiose homes, but I really don’t care about the people who live in them; I would vaguely like for them to be happy, something I vaguely wish for everyone, so why did I draw such a conclusion about them? Could it be that they were clearly financially successful? (Will I ever be financially successful?) Perhaps I envied their position at the top of the food chain, so to speak? (Will anyone ever admire the accomplishments of my life?) Did I disagree with their employing minimum-wage workers to do their dirty work? (What I would pay to have a driver … ) Were their color schemes just a little too polished? (Will I ever get to try my hand at design?) They’re summering on the beach, in Europe, in the mountains … (When can I start to travel?)

So, like most dislikes and offenses, there is a kernel of myself in a characteristic of my dislike. I see my reflection—however wavy and indiscernible—staring back at me. Could it be that these houses put me off because I sometimes worry that my first impression is too prim and reserved? Maybe. Could I be a little jealous of their implied accomplishments because my own future is giving me much anxiety? Probably.

Anyway, it was just a deep thought on a walk. And as much as I sometimes think—and am sometimes proven to be 100% correct—that snobs exist all around us, especially in wealthy parts of town, I do love walking in their neighborhood. It makes for the most enjoyable stroll.

 

My Albuquerque

I’ve been inspired by Slice of Pink to do a special post on My Albuquerque. You can read the explanation on her blog. And I hope you do your own post on the same … I would love to learn more about your city!

I have to do the obligatory plug … of course y’all know I’m a native New Mexican, and you should all try to make it out there at least once in your life. You’ll probably have to fly into Albuquerque (unless you drive, or visit the southern part of the state, where I’m from, in which case you should fly into El Paso, Texas), a city I spent six happy years in and would love to go back and show you around.

Albuquerque is dead-smack in the center of New Mexico, and is only one hour away from Santa Fe, and may God strike you dead if you go to New Mexico and neglect Santa Fe: Where the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum is located, along with many, many fabulous bars and restaurants, a wonderful art/hippie/commune scene … and don’t forget the State Capitol (the oldest in the country!), the historic plaza, and the Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi.

Anyhoo. Albuquerque!

My Albuquerque: Leanne

My age: 27

Occupation: law student to-be

I lived here for: six years

I lived here because: I was a student at the University of New Mexico, and later worked in Albuquerque.

My neighborhood: mostly the Southeast Heights

My favorite restaurant: Padilla’s Mexican Kitchen for everyday, El Pinto for dates and special occasions (watch the virtual tour here)

If you go to this restaurant, be sure to order: anything with New Mexican green chili. They do it right!

My favorite museum: National Hispanic Cultural Center

My favorite tourist destination: the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta—book early and don’t miss the Mass Ascension. Second place: Sandia Peak Tramway.

Best insider spot: the Flying Star Café on Central and Silver. If you want to seem like a real Albuquerqueian, call it the Double Rainbow.

My favorite area: Old Town Albuquerque

Best place to go shopping: Definitely Old Town

When you visit, don’t forget to pack: sunblock

But leave room in your suitcase for: Sadie’s or El Pinto salsa!

The one local cuisine you should try when you’re in town is: If you come to New Mexico and don’t try the unbelievable and unparalleled Mexican food, you have wasted your money.

The best way to get around: Unfortunately, most of Albuquerque is still a car city. Traffic isn’t too bad, though, and the streets are mostly on a grid.

If I had to describe this city in one word, it would be: Cultural.

I tell my friends to stay at: Since I can no longer host people, Hotel Albuquerque in Old Town, or better yet, Casas de Suenos

The one thing most outsiders don’t know about this city is: that literally everything—city life, fascinating history and culture, outdoor adventures (camping, hiking, skiing, kayaking, etc.)—is in this one place. And you will never see a more beautiful sunset than in New Mexico.

They say “Virginia is for lovers.” So fill in the blank: Albuquerque is for lovers, adventurers, the hungry, and the curious. Albuquerque is for livers!

 

Summer Books, Part 1

I was tempted to write about some of the books I read for school this year, seeing as I haven’t blogged about books since January and I don’t want you to think I’m some sort of slacker. But as fascinating as Bioethics, Medical Ethics, and the Law might be for you, I suspect that very few people would actually find it fascinating at all. So here is a very belated analysis of some books I’ve been busying myself with.

All the King’s Men, by Robert Penn Warren: I’m glad I read this book because it means I’ll never have to read it again. Warren uses protagonist Willie Stark as a thinly-veiled fictional doppelganger of Huey “The Kingfish” Long, political powerhouse from Louisiana in the early part of the 20th century. The book is usually thought of as the quintessential book on modern American politics, and I admit that the prose is beautiful, the story is well-structured, and Warren has an exceptional ability to vividly paint his characters into your imagination. The basics are as follows: a local yokel (and presumed political puppet) from the backwater deep South is installed into a political role, outmaneuvers the powers that be, outgrows even his own good intentions, and grows to become just another narcissistic politician who is willing to—and does—sacrifice his soul in a self-aggrandizing quest for power and recognition. I did not enjoy the book’s using Willie Stark to be the lens through which a nihilistic tone and sense of utter futility in public service were presented; then again, the book isn’t really about Willie. The dark side of politics is told from the perspective of his protégé, Jack Burden. Jack is under no illusion about Willie and his true nature, but he is too far in to be surprised by the inevitable downfall of everyone he has surrounded himself with. While I would recommend the book to anyone interested in politics or literature, I would make that recommendation on the fact that it’s one of those books you will like to have read, not one that you will necessarily like to read again, and its outlook on politics and human nature can be, at times, bleak … even if you believe they are true.

Becoming Justice Blackmun: Harry Blackmun’s Supreme Court Journey, by Linda Greenhouse: Gloria Steinem said that Harry Blackmun had “saved more American women’s lives than anyone in our nation’s history” when she presented him with the Reproductive Freedom Award in 1995, a title that was deserved if unintentionally earned. Harry Blackmun is best known for writing the majority opinion for Roe v. Wade in 1973, and though he eventually became a staunch and powerful advocate for women’s reproductive rights in every capacity, his original support of legalized abortion was reluctant—and you should read this book to learn why. This excellent account of an unassuming Minnesota native follows his journey from boyhood, nearly failing out of Harvard Law, diligently pursuing a quiet career in health law, and onto his tenure on the bench of the U.S. Supreme Court. Harry Blackmun was so much more than a pillar of the court in terms of women’s rights, and Greenhouse does a fine job detailing his initial struggle with abortion, but also his growth as a justice, his personality, and his later advocacy. His judicial writings have shaped the course of American individual rights and privacy forever; his service is esteemed, and this book is extremely well written—never a drag, a true accomplishment considering it is a biography of an old guy who wore a robe for a living—and absorbing. I was especially fond of his thoughts on civil rights and the death penalty. Harry Blackmun is one of my new heroes, and this book is very highly recommended.

“Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria?” And Other Conversations About Race, by Beverly Daniel Tatum: This book isn’t an attack, but do not read it unless you are willing to undergo serious self-examination and have uncomfortable conversations, at least in your head. Racism is not a one-way issue, and serious conversations on race and discrimination are long overdue; Dr. Tatum recognizes the oppression wrought by the institutionalized and often impulsive racism we all participate in, but instead of creating a laundry list of wrongs, uses the injustices of racism to make readers understand the need for more dialogue. She acknowledges that racism is a problem, but so are other ways we identify individuals as ‘other’—by sex and gender identity, sexuality, age, ability, class, etc. She manages to address racism without making this white girl feel guilty, and makes a strong argument for fostering positive racial identity. These are conversations much better had in person, when you don’t run the risk of inadvertently saying one thing, meaning another, and not being able to clarify, so I will leave it at that. But this book should be read, probably by everyone. It has also reminded and convinced me that we need more multicultural education in schools. Recommended.

Infidel, by Ayaan Hirsi Ali: This woman is the bravest woman I have ever encountered: born in Somalia, raised as a strict Muslim, survived female genital mutilation, fled a forced marriage, wound up in the Netherlands, educated herself, became a member of Parliament, and incurred the wrath of Muslim extremists for co-producing a film criticizing Islam. When her filmmaking partner, Theo van Gogh, was murdered in a headline-grabbing crime, his killers used the knife stabbed into his body as a deadly “paperweight” for the note announcing the threat on her life. Subsequently stripped of her Dutch citizenship, Hirsi Ali now lives in New York and has become an advocate for women and refugees, and educates and speaks about Islam-Western relationships and policy. Her convictions are faultless and thoughtful (even if you don’t agree with them), her story is humbling, and her strength is remarkable. This book is not an easy read, but her story is powerful enough to give you goosebumps. I recommend it.

Native Son, by Richard Wright: This book is maybe the best argument to be a part of a book club. The last 1/3 of the book was a bit tedious, the lawyer’s closing argument was repetitive and obvious, and modern readers suspect what is coming; however, once I started discussing the story, the content, the writing, and the aftermath of Native Son with a friend, I started to appreciate it so much more. Its earlier relevance is easy for us to see now, in retrospect, but you begin to see contemporary relevance when you talk about the book with someone who has read it. Bigger Thomas is a largely unsympathetic character simply because he is so vicious even to those who care for him, and his crimes are so disturbing (yet he exhibits only flashes of remorse). But consider his life, his entrapment, and especially when you start thinking of the background events in the book—like Chicago’s South Side being essentially under siege by white militias—and that being okay—during Bigger’s (completely biased) trial—there really is no way you can not be affected, or infuriated. I recommend this book, but it is not going to be what you expect, or hope for. I would recommend reading it with someone and talking about it afterwards. You will probably be surprised, pleasantly so.

 

Update

The whole post-once-a-day-thing didn’t work this month. I have been distracted and busy and thinking, none of which are especially conducive to blogging. Instead of trying to elicit interest in a boring post, I’ll give you several brief rundowns on the last week:

• Unpacked. Dumped most of it into the chair in the corner of the room.
• Announced my deep-seated aversion to flip-flops and vowed never to wear them again. Just say no to the pajamafication of America! said I.
• Almost immediately regretted that. Envision myself eating serious crow for that in the future.
• Saw Ingrid Michaelson live. Was duly impressed. Said, Wow, I had ten years of piano, too, and I don’t sound like that. Subsequently felt jipped.
• Suggested to my uncle that his upstairs is haunted. Was informed that it is not. Thought, Yeah, right. I don’t believe you.
• Worked long hours. Felt depressed about not having anything else to do.
• Drove to work. Smelled the fires from North Carolina.
• Ate so much that it literally hurt to stand up for too long.
• Slept in.
• Watched The Incredible Hulk. Vowed that I will always love Edward Norton, even when his movies aren’t critical gold.
• Finished Native Son. Many feelings of a complicated nature ensued.
• With D., picked out July book club book—Lonesome Dove. Won’t you join us? We are a club on facebook.
• Went running. Took a mighty long time making my way back because the streets tricked me.
• Contemplated the distinct difference in “getting lost” and “exploring”. Exploring is when you don’t panic, or cry.
• Bought a map of Richmond.
• Scared the piss out of myself (almost literally) by accidentally setting the (ear-piercingly loud, wailing) alarm off as I walked through the kitchen half-naked, post-shower. Security called. Neighbors looked. Dog barked. Police came. Funny. To other people.
• Maintained a refined-sugar-free regime.
• Stayed up half the night, asking the ghosts in uncle’s upstairs Just please not to show themselves.
• Was whistled, leered, and yelled at by four men of a redneck persuasion, complete with gun hanging in the back of their crappy mudmobile truck.
• Wondered, Has that approach ever worked for anyone?
• Had a scary dream about saving dogs that were abandoned by their owners before a hurricane. Wondered where that came from.
• Got irritated that the inconsiderate yahoo who backed into my car didn’t even leave a note.
• Went bra shopping. Came home thinking, Men have it so easy sometimes.
• Led two meetings at work. Still feel like I’m missing something major but have sort of decided to be okay with that feeling until they inform me otherwise.

Obviously? You’ve not missed much at all.