I'm totally positive.

I've been interviewing a lot this week which has taken a bit of a toll on me emotionally/mentally. Not to mention my poor appearance. Today I visited my parents after my last interview and my Mom asked me if I had looked in the mirror before I left the house. Apparently I am pale and sickly looking and my suit looked like it had been rolled in a ball before I put it on. Not sure exactly where it all went wrong because I swore when I left the house I looked like a pristine professional.

Anyway, I think I was just emotionally drained and it was written all over my ghostly face.

Good news though - I absolutely loved the last company I visited today. I just felt like the VP and I really jived and the HR woman and I seemed really comfortable with each other. I could see myself there. I won't get into details, as not to get too far ahead of myself, but there was a lot of room for growth at this place and that's what I'm looking for. I like to know I'm not stuck and that if I prove myself, I will be rewarded.

Anyway, I'm super psyched because I'm spending the weekend in St. Michael's with a group of my favorite high school friends. As I've explained before, I graduated from an all-girls school and I can't put into words the bond I formed with those I became close with. One in particular. The other two I feel like I've gotten closer with since we've graduated and I just need this time away. Sometimes a girl just needs her friends and I do not give myself enough time with other women.

I can't wait to gossip, laugh, reminisce and get some sun on this pasty skin. (And then go to my parent's house and show my mother my gorgeous glow). Hopefully upon my return I will have a job offer waiting for me so that I can divulge all details on this precious blog of mine.

Here's to a wonderful weekend coming up. One that I need. I'm such a homebody, I almost feel nervous at the thought of leaving my wretched apartment. How strange.

Babies, Babies Everywhere!

I'm expecting!

Just kidding. I forgot to pull a fast one on April Fool's Day this year so there's my late joke.

I worked for a few hours today though and for some reason, it seemed to be "take your infant to shop day" at the Republic. Namely, there was a 2 month old who cried and cried the entire time his mother was parousing the sale section but for some reason I enjoyed it. I hate toddler cries/young child cries. They are the equivalent of nails on chalkboard to me. However, an infant's whaling is like music to my ears. I think it's the fact that the sounds are coming from a human who has only been on this earth for months. Can you imagine? Being weeks or months old? Life is so freaking precious and a newborn baby exemplifies just how precious it is.

I found myself feeling extremely maternal as I watched the baby lull himself to sleep with his own whales and listened to his mother speak softly to him in French. I wondered what she was saying but whatever it was, it sounded so much nicer than English words. French is a gorgeous language and I studied it for 8 years but can only say one thing. Oh wait, nevermind. I can't say a thing. I just tried to spell out "my name is" and "what time is it" but totally butchered both. So I studied French for 8 years and learned a big fat nothing. Go me.

Anyway, I shock myself sometimes with how obsessed I am with babies these days. They just fascinate me. Their lives are a blank canvas. No real baggage. Yet. It will for sure come, we all have it. They smell like heaven and they look like angels. They kind of are. Especially ones with the Anne Geddes cheeks.

Yay for babies today. . . I'm such a freak, I know.

Either love me or leave me alone.

Random updates from the house of Adia & Madeline:

1. I'm running frequently now and lovin' it. Mostly I just like coming home and checking out my bod. A little bouncing around in the running shoes does a butt/legs good! Just kidding, kind of. I find that it clears my mind and helps me fall asleep at night. Clearly I didn't run today, hence the whackadoodle sololiquy below.

2. I'm interviewing for jobs recently. I have kept this to myself and haven't blogged about it because I haven't decided how I feel about selling out on myself. None of the prospective places of employment are offering positions that make me want to cry tears of joy over aka none of them are creative jobs. They're more like sales and executive analyst stuff. Snore. But hey, you can't always get what you want and when you are considering selling all of your belongings on craigslist to pay rent, something's gotta give. Right?

3. I'm behind on my e-mail writing. Specifically, I have one e-mail that's half written and it's recipient is one of my best friends and I can't finish it because I can't decide exactly how I feel and I owe it to him to be honest. But, as described below, I am a stranger to my own feelings these days. If he's reading my blog, I hope he gives me a few days to finish composing myself. He knows how it is, he writes too.

4. Last but not least, reasons for me slacking on my blog include finding out that some uninvited readers are snooping at my words and using them as fuel to add to their fire. This deeply affects and upsets me. This is a public blog, yes. But it's mine and it's a drama-free zone. I mean, I write about a lot of my own personal drama but I never, ever write venomous words at other people (at least not by name). I do sometimes write letters to insects though, but they can't read so they don't count. This is merely my outlet, my life and my thoughts and I like to think I'm rather anonymous and free. Those who choose to read are those who enjoy knowing what I think. I am grateful for them though I question why they are remotely interested in my psycho-babble bullshit. I love my blog though and I don't want any negative, mean eyes on it. So, go away, if you could. Because apparently my blog makes you angry and upset, rather than happy and/or indifferent. And the best advice I could give to myself or to anyone else is to do what makes you happy.

5. I think I'm going to start nannying. That is, if I don't take or I'm not offered any of the executive jobs I'm interviewing for. I just realized that there's a small goldmine waiting to be tapped in Main Line families who need a chick to drive their kids to lacrosse practice. I'm their girl.

Ouchhhhh, the truth bit me and it really hurts.

Have you ever thought the same thing, feared the same thing, stumbled over the same stone so many times and never realized it until it comes to the straw that broke the camel's back scenario and you're like, "shit, this again? I've had it up to here with this. I am never getting myself in this position again. I am never doing this again." And you close your eyes and repeat your mantra 20 times until you believe it. You will never, ever make that same mistake again.

Oh wait, just kidding. It might be next week, next month, next year or three years later, but you're back to this same scenario again, wondering why you feel deja vu.

In my life, I've done this the most with drinking. Waking up after a blackout night, only being able to open one eye, and feeling the weight of impending doom blanket me with darkness and force. Nursing a hellish hangover all day, looking at my call log/text log and clenching my jaw in embarrassment, forcing myself to apologize for my misdeeds. By mid-afternoon I often made bargains with God, (a God I spent many drunk nights verbally doubting his existence after feeling "enlightened" by the chemicals I was under) asking him to take away the mental/physical torture in return for me promising never to do this again. And I believed I was being honest. Until Wednesday came around, and I was off to the races again. I didn't change because I was incapable of being honest. I was powerless over alcohol.

Anyway, I find myself in this position sometimes lately, 3 years after I put down the sauce. Except now it's different because I can see exactly what I'm doing because I'm finally aware and alive on earth, rather than Adia's Dreamworld (my previous residence of 23 years). I have become, in a sense, more honest. Honesty kind of sucks though, because that means that I can't lie to myself like I used to. For example, I tried telling myself this afternoon, "You couldn't clean the apartment because you were busy all day and what you spent the day doing was more important than cleaning your place." Wrong. I picked up one thing off the bathroom floor today and decided I just couldn't bare to pick up another. I grabbed the keys, the dog, my sneakers and my sunglasses and spent the day outside on Kelly Drive, exploring nature and talking to strangers. I even picked up one of my favorite people and forced her to eat lunch with me, hang with me and chat with me until dinner time. I knew eventually I would go home but I left myself just enough time away from my mess to convince myself that it was too late to start my spring cleaning today so it would have to be put off. I've done this everyday for about a week and a half now. The honest truth is that I just hate to clean. It activates my allergies and it involves hanging clothes on hangers, which makes me want to bash my head into a wall. I. Hate. Cleaning.

But I have to do it, ya know? I can't keep sleeping on the couch because I hate my bedroom so much. I'm a grown up. This is no way to live. And I specifically remember how fabulous it felt the last time I cleaned my place perfectly. I even asked for help and had three friends join in and we made a little party out of it. Now look what I've done. Trashed it, like I do everything else.

I mean, I'd like to get a little deeper here but I'm apprehensive about unleashing the dragon I like to call my personal life. But, everybody likes a good self-sabotaging rant and rave, so here I go.

I cannot, for the life of me, handle myself in a normal, respectful manner when it comes to my personal life. I did not realize until after I put the drink down, how sensitive and attached and real my feelings are. I have been single for .2 seconds basically. I say this because y'all know how it is when you break up with someone. My break up has lasted, in itself, a year. We spent one year together, one year breaking up. No wonder I'm having trouble patching my heart up. The trouble was/is that he is so friggin' devoted to me that even if I stray at all, he knows just how to lure me back in. It begins again as simple friendship, then it gets personal, then he convinces me to try again, I do for a minute, I then freak out because I know it's not what I want, and then I have to mend again, and so does he. Even when I think it's totally donezo, I find myself feeling guilty for moving on and wonder if he's alright. I think in therapy they call this co-dependency. Add this to my list of mental illnesses.

I have enjoyed spending time with some other gentleman callers but let me tell you something about me - I have conveniently chosen to spend time with men who I know, I know, are not going to give me anything great at the end of the day. And ya know what? I allow myself to go there because, guess what? I won't be giving them anything great at the end of the day either. I'm not capable. I don't know how to act normal anymore when it comes to the opposite sex. I'm a freaking wreck.

Now, when I say I'm a wreck, I mean mostly in my head. I'm not going all "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days," on anyway. I guess mostly I'm just indecisive and confused to the extreme. I want someone one minute, the next I want to ignore them. I like what they're saying one day, the next day I read their text/play our conversation over and decide to read between the lines and don't like what I've come up with. I become frightened that I'll fall back into another relationship before I'm ready, so I remain mysterious and allusive. This does nothing for me, the guy usually ends up resenting me and telling me I have issues. Duh, I know. I warned you. Or didn't I? I can't remember half the time.

It comes down to this - I have no idea who I am when it comes to relating to a man these days. Do I keep it casual? Do I want just a physical connection? Do I want a friendship? Do I just want a flirty text conversation to keep me with butterflies in my stomach and a smile on my face that you can't see? I have no idea. I really don't.

I do know that I promised myself that this time, after this break up, I would never allow myself to compromise who I was for someone else, and although I haven't compromised myself for someone else, I think I've compromised myself period, just by entering the dating pool/single world before I was ready. I should give credit where credit's due actually - my last therapist, Linda, what a beautiful woman. She's the one who suggested keeping myself off limits from all men for at least 6 months. That was a year ago when the ex and I first called it quits. If she could only see me now. Linda, I completely ignored your suggestion, but I'm sure you knew I wouldn't. You still got my $60 a session.

I don't know how many times I'm going to tell myself that I'll never do this again before I actually never do this again. What I need is a big sign on my head that reads, "Do not talk to me if you're interested in me. I'm not ready. Even if I say so, I'm not. Even if I tell you it can just be casual, it can't. Even if I say we can just be friends, I don't mean it. It's in your best interest to run, run far, far away. And don't look back, because I have a way of luring you in with my eyes."

If I knew what was good for me I'd keep myself occupied by doing something useful - like clean my fucking apartment.

Think, thank, thunk.

i know how to live, and not just survive. i consider living an art.

so i know about the existence of art as well, and its extreme importance. i believe love is an art as well. it may be that i see the god and the art in everything. therefore, i know how to be happy.

- Suzanne Finnamore (finnablog.blogspot.com)

I'm reaching for some inspiration tonight and rely most on beautiful words for comfort. There is no substitute for honest writing that doesn't read like anything you've read before. I dig this author (Suzanne Finnamore) and this excerpt is a little piece of one of her posts that I featured on my blog in its entirety back in January. Tonight as I read over all my past blog posts (yes, sometimes I do this. I liken my blog to a patchwork quilt. Each post is another little piece that covers me and keeps me warm when I need it to), and was touched once again by the above ideas.

Okay, and there's one more line I'm going to add.

unhappy people are problematic: you can't take people's suffering away. that's the last thing i know, for now.

Damn.

“Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more.”

~ Erica Jong

Nobody puts baby in the corner (or hiding under the covers).

Yikes.

I woke up to the sun streaming through the curtains and the smell of spring. A lovely entrance into the day.

Until I checked my cell phone and my e-mails.

They were the bearers of really bad, sad news. So I pulled the sheets over my head and fell asleep until now: 2pm. Disgusting.

When I woke up this second time, I expected the sad pit in my stomach to have dissipated. It didn't. I feel annoyed at the world, at people who disrespect others, at those who make a mountain out of a mole hole, at myself for occasionally adding to the problem instead of the solution.

For me, I have to consciously tell myself to push all the negative BS away and it's such a process. My mind is just naturally overactive. Out of nowhere, I'll begin analyzing a situation that bugs me and then have an internal conversation with myself about it. Before I know it, I'm in full blown anxiety mode.

I've already wasted a precious 5 hours hiding from reality and "sleeping it off". Sleeping what off? The realization that people are fallible? That I'm fallible? That some days are good and others are bad? That this is life?

Grow up, me. Balance yourself out. You're better than this game you play - the hiding game.

Go out and enjoy this lovely Thursday afternoon while it's still light out.

Your love is better than ice cream.

This song I've attached below pairs well with the delightfully yummy afternoon I had with my friend James today. We traded mix CDs, took a trip to Center City, ate great sushi, scarfed down awful frozen yogurt, checked out a video store so that James could add to his collection of great films, visited some books at Barnes and Nobles, and laughed a lot. The following Sarah McLachlan ditty is one of the tunes I put on the mix I made for him and it evokes images of a sunny afternoon, strolling along city streets...perhaps eating ice-cream rather than artificially flavored frozen yogurt.

PS - How bad do you wanna squeeze the shit out of the picture above? Definition of ADORABLE.

Don't quit your day job.

Today I screamed at the top of my lungs while on the phone. I haven't actually yelled in quite a long time. I rant and rave on my blog often. I even text some wildly inappropriate texts full of expletives when I'm feeling full of rage. But for some reason, I don't raise my voice.

It was bound to happen though. I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Correction. I woke up on the wrong side of the couch. I'm back to sleeping on the long end of my sectional because my bedroom looks atrocious and I can't sleep well in a room that looks like it was ransacked during a burglary.

I then had to work the longest shift I've ever had at the Republic. Boo-hoo. Unemployed me can't bear to work more than 5 hours a day. It wasn't even busy though, so I basically spent 6 hours dancing around to the horrendous music playlist they blast on repeat each day. Then came the straw that broke the camel's back: it was raining cats and dogs and I didn't wear a raincoat. Because my one and only raincoat doesn't even have a hood. I have no idea why I felt it was necessary at all to buy a raincoat without a hood but it was no doubt a vain fashion purchase. Damn you impractical fashion.

On my way home from work (as I blasted the HEAT), I began to analyze my mood. Why was I so god damned pissed off? Nothing horrendous happened. Nothing actually happened at all, which was part of the problem. But not all of it. What was it then? I had to dig deeper.

What I came up with was a case of unknown fear. Otherwise known as anticipation. Also known as the realization that I may be on my way to working again. Be careful what you wish for, because this week I've received three invitations to interview for three different positions. Somehow, someway, after 5 months of receiving no feedback at all on my resume, a purchasing group, an insurance firm and an office supply corporation are interested in me.

Truth be told, I half feel like I'm totally selling out on myself for even considering these traveling saleswoman-like positions. But I am a true believer in the "everything happens for a reason" philosophy. Nobody else has responded to my resume, yet three sales/corporate firms have asked to meet me within a 3 day span. Maybe this is where I'm going to have to be for a bit.

I'm getting ahead of myself per usual. I've only had one interview so far. It went well, I think. I put on a spiffy suit, wore mascara and even painted my nails a nice muted color. I think I represented myself well but always feel ridiculously uncomfortable and small when they ask that horribly intimidating question: "So, give us a little bit of background on your work experience and what makes you unique."

Hmm..let's see. What makes me unique? I can really only see out of one of my eyes but you can't tell. I'm left handed but kick with my right leg. I hate scary movies to the point where I have to "ear muff" myself and close my eyes when I see a preview for a horror flick on TV. I used to drink a lot but I don't drink anymore. At all. I'm single, 26 and don't even feel like I want to mingle. Ever again. I have a tendency to pick my fingernail skin and cuticles to the point where I bleed all over myself without knowing it. I'm afraid of the dark. I like to be heard so I will wait patiently for my turn to speak and force you to listen to me. My college nickname was "Hurricane". I am not a morning person and I'm not a night person either. I'm a mid-day kinda gal so don't expect me to be cool until 2 pm. I am ridiculously competitive so I guess you could say that you might want me to work for you because I won't sleep at night until I figure out how to be the best at a task at hand. Unless it involves ordering the office supplies. I always forget who needs what and won't ever request the right color pens. I'm much better in writing but my Dad says I'm better in person. I wear nice looking clothes so you will never notice what a secret slob I am - unless you somehow get a look at the inside of my car. And I smile even when I'm upset at work because I learned a long time ago to never let your boss see you cry.

I wish I actually said that in response to their question but I played it safe and spoke of my work experience, my personality type and my competitive edge. I told them I'm a people person and about my past successes. What I've learned and where I see myself going. I could have done a lot better but hey, I'm rusty. It's been a while since I've been in the good ole' suit, sitting at the good ole' conference table. Ugh...

So, I have some fears and anxiety brewing deep down about a future job. That's natural, right? All I wanted to do tonight was take a shower and relax on the couch, fall asleep to some Sex and the City. Instead I picked a fight with my ex, who then called me ofcourse. And boy did he set me up good. I verbally wrecked him with a barrage of F-bombs and then the inevitable hang up. He done messed with the wrong girl on the wrong night because he said the wrong thing.

Worst part is, I actually feel much better about life now. I'm not even that sorry. Here are some additions to my list of unique traits: Unafraid to verbally attack and run. Has the tendency to be a horrible human being. Unable to speak on the phone about personal matters when the couch and Sex and the City is waiting. Will say things she doesn't mean if buttons are pushed. Yikes.

Faith & Heart

Tangerines are hanging heavy, glowing marigolden hues

Teasing a half-pale moon

And I feel a pull to the blue-velvet dark and stars.

Pink Magnolia, blushing and coy

Savors the sun while she shines

You've got yours and I've got mine

Together we glide through the blue-velvet dark and stars

All it takes is a little faith, and a lot of heart

Back and forth we ply these oars

They move in time and get entwined

Green with joy then gray with sorrow

Ripened fruit that falls tomorrow

Filling us with brilliance

Branches are bare with a pulse underneath

Flowering slowly inside

Your hands are warm and my body is wide

To hold all the promise of blue-velvet dark and stars

All it takes is a little faith and a lot of heart

Sweetheart

- Weepies, "Stars"

...I love stumbling upon an old mix CD filled with songs you remember getting you through really tough times. My friend MK made this for me only a few months after we had met because she was a music enthusiast just like me and we loved to trade tunes. This song's words always made me feel hopeful.

Gone Baby Gone.

Maddie and I took a trip to the dog park a few days ago. We actually take trips to the dog park everyday, but this particular trip inspired me.

The park is located next to the local high school. Truth be told, the "dog park" is actually the baseball field, but since no one ever plays baseball at this high school (reasons unknown), the local dog owners have claimed it as theirs. I love this park because it's not overly crowded with pit-bulls and other aggressive dogs that scare both Mad and I. On this special day, Mad and I actually had the park to ourselves. She had freedom to zip around like the cheetah she thinks she is.

I was bored.

Until I heard the distinct sound of a gunshot in the background.

I wasn't scared, nor did I duck for cover. Because this gunshot sound is very familiar to me. When I say familiar, I mean that the hair on my forearms instantly stood and I felt goose bumps forming. I knew what I would find when I followed the sound.

A track meet.

I don't talk about it often because it causes unresolved feelings of regret and remorse to fester within my gut...I was, at one time, a very talented track runner. As early as I can remember, I was running. I totally relate to Forrest Gump in this way. My uncle played football at Villanova University and during half time, the children were allowed to play on the field. It was my genius idea to challenge all the boys to a race so that I could kick ass every time. My father tells this story often and beams with pride as he recollects upon watching his oldest daughter smoke a bunch of adolescent boys when she was 10 years old. My parents made me join a local track team within weeks of discovering my first (and probably only) talent: I was fast. Even when I wasn't racing, I was running. It made more sense to me to run to a destination than to walk to it. Who wants to walk to the bus stop? Run there and be the first in line, right? That was the way my mind worked, and still does. My family and I took a nice family trip to Hershey Park a few weeks back. I sprinted in front of the pack to get a good place in line for the roller coasters. Because I have to. And I'm not even fast anymore.

Back to my story.

There I was, 10 years old, practicing daily with a team of very gifted African American runners, and a few of the local kids from my area. I was deemed a sprinter because I had lots of speed and not so much endurance. I was fine with that. The long distance runners looked like they were on their death beds at the end of practice, while I was flying high and fancy-free when my parents came to pick me up at six.

I won nearly every race I ran in for years, made it to the Junior Olympics and won the 100-meter dash in the Archdiocese of Philadelphia Track Meet when I was in 8th grade. This accomplishment has stayed with me since it happened; there is only one other time in my life I felt as proud as I did that day. In high school, I ran in the Penn Relays every year, and broke lots of records for the 100 meter and 200 meter dash. This helped me win a scholarship to Saint Joseph's University for track. I was recruited! I'll never forget how proud this made my parents feel. My two younger siblings have gone on to play Division I sports as well and I feel that the only positive example I've left for them is that I started the trend. And that I am the definition of hilarious and they should all try to be as funny as I.

I wish I could say I went on to win tons of college accolades, or at least went on to become a Captain of the team because of my determination. But it wouldn't be true. I realized early on that I was no longer big-woman-on-campus when I reached college level track, even though I pushed myself harder than I thought was humanly possible during every practice. For a while I didn't mind because I ran with heart and I ran because it made me feel like I knew who I was. But eventually the truth got to me: I would not be winning a damn thing as a sprinter at Saint Joseph's University.

This became okay after a while because I was simultaneously learning how very talented I was at drinking. Social events, boys and the fast life became very important to me. So important, in fact, that I began to lose my love for running altogether. I stopped trying in practice even. There was a senior on my team who was a Captain, but not because she was a top runner on our team. She was a Captain because she had heart. She had drive. She had a look in her eyes when she practiced that gives me chills even writing about. No matter what, she did not give up. She finished close to last place in many meets. In four years of college track, I'm not sure she won any important races at all. But she pushed us so hard in practice and took a particular liking to me because I was a runner with heart as well. When she watched me run, she screamed my name in a pitch that sparked something inside of me every time; I instantly began running faster. But even she could not bring me around after I had begun partying like it was 1999. I was done with track. I quit halfway through my 3rd year of college.

I went on a downward spiral for a couple years following the ending of my track career. For a while I thought maybe I would never, ever put on a pair of running shoes again. I was so secretly ashamed of how easily I gave up that one gift that brought me so much joy as a child.

But it's become increasingly more important to make peace with that regret of mine. To try again. To spark that love all over.

What I miss most about track is the way a rubber track smells on a hot day. The sound of running spikes tip-toeing on gravel. The smell of Icy Hot. (How strange, I know). The announcement of my race over the loud speaker. The mental preparation for a race. The deep breaths of focus that put me in the zone. The ineffable anticipation I feel as I wait in line for my race to start. The process by which a race begins:

"Runners, to your marks." (I slowly walk to the line, swing my arms back and forth, shake the nerves out of my legs and send a quick prayer up. I then place my arms along the starting line, my one knee in front of the first step on the starting block, my other one stretched out on the second step of the starting block. I wait).

"Seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet." (I am now no longer myself, but a bullet. A bullet that knows it's being cocked in a gun and it's about to be rocketed).

"BANG." (Gun shot).

And I'm off. I can't feel, I can't see, I can't do a damn thing but run as fast as I can.

And sometimes I win. Sometimes I lose. If I lose, I'm usually upset unless I beat my own personal best time. If I beat myself, then I won.

I think running will always be a part of me. It's funny, even figuratively, I'm a runner. I can run away from a situation that scares me at the drop of a hat. Like a committed relationship, for example. Or someone challenging me to change. I'm off.

It's only recently that I've decided I'm ready to put the running shoes on again and get out there on the open road. I won't race, I won't sprint like I used to. That's okay. I just need to get my runner's legs back and try again because there are very few things in life that still give me goose bumps.

Tis' True

“We do not believe in ourselves until someone reveals that deep inside us something is valuable, worth listening to, worthy of our trust, sacred to our touch. Once we believe in ourselves we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight or any experience that reveals the human spirit.”

~ E.E. Cummings

From me to you.

Most days I wake up envisioning a bullet-point list of self-focused items.

• What is the latest possible minute I can sleep until before I feel ashamed of my laziness?
• How many times did my Dad call me before dawn this morning?
• Do I have enough cash on me for a Grande Black Cherry Mocha?
• Does Maddie really need to go out this morning? I don't feel like it.
• Must begin envisioning outfits to wear today that make me look like less of the slob that I am.
• Will I actually apply to new jobs today?
• Must open Gmail and cross fingers that a prospective employer liked my resume and wants me to start working....tomorrow.
• Must check Facebook to check if I've received any comments. Any attention at all boosts my dwindling early morning confidence. Same goes for early morning text messages.

However, today that's not the case. I woke up forgetting about my sorry excuse for existence and instead began thinking about a few special people in my life. I awoke in a strange state - the kind where you're still half way in between dreaming and awake, and you're convinced that the person you're dreaming about may be laying right next to you. In my case, I was dreaming about my first love. Not in a romantic sense, just a familiar one, and thus began my mental list of wondering about others.

• I wonder how Gentle Giant is doing. I hope the new relationship he's begun is fulfilling and makes him happy. He deserves to be happy even though he doesn't think he does. I hope he stops drinking that crazy herbal drink he's addicted to; he's better than that.
• Do I need to keep in touch with KvF more often when we're not together? I remember my early days of the program. I needed others to reach out to me very often, because I refused to reach out first. I would love to show her more support and stop forgetting about it.
• Francis...there's too much to say about Francis. Francis is so deeply immersed in the darkness that light seems to scare her. I wish I could steal her away from the harsh reality of Manhattan and have her live with me. Not to say that I live much better here, but her loneliness is palpable when I speak to her. We're not getting any younger, I wonder when she will want more for herself. Must call her ASAP.
• Dad, what the heck happened here? We never talk about "it" anymore. You are the reason I'm where I am today. Without you, I would not have found it. Let's get dinner tonight. (This was quickly shot down. The NCAA Championship game is on tonight. How could I forget?)
• Broseph, I'm proud of you. You're growing into a man and a respectable one at that. Remember our talk in the car - we've got strength. Make this final year at school one you will never forget. Don't look back and regret like I did.
• Maddie, it's time for some more training. You're bored, I can tell. I think I'll teach you to roll over today. If you'll actually listen. I miss your long hair. Love, Mom
• Zeus, stop loving me so much. You're too good to me and I legit can't handle it.
• Entire Family - we didn't fight once over Easter weekend. I'll never forget it. Most of you bother the sh*t out of me, but I am beginning to realize how freaking important you are to me. When I have no one else and nowhere else, I have Marlin Drive.

I love lots of people in my life, truly. I just hardly ever sit down and think about them before I obsess over me. Today was different, however. I cherish you all a lot and if you read my blog, hope you enjoy my little personal messages about you.

That's all for today kids. My allergies are GD killing me but I'm going to get out in the sun and enjoy nature. I want a new job so bad, but it's days like this that I will not be able to take advantage of while I'm in an office environment all day, so I better use this time wisely.

I will begin by blasting Beatles tunes throughout my apartment at very high volume, cleaning the disgusting kitchen, brushing Mad's hair and then taking a walk through the park.

Who's coming with me? (I'll give $10 to anyone who caught that movie reference).

Adia, 1. Mama Roach, 0.

I have an announcement to make.

Mama Roach has passed.

Because I ended her with my shoe at 4am. (This is the one and only time I am happy about being an insomniac. I keep the same hours as the insects of the home. This is something to be proud of).

Let's take a moment of silence to reflect upon the glorious life she led - scurrying away from me along the corners of the bathroom floor for months. Hiding inside my cabinets. Running at the speed of light behind my toilet. She was a fast little (by little I mean big) thing.

I'm sorry to report that she met her demise in the form of my gold strappy sandal, but somebody had to do it.

I'm well aware that there's usually a family of little roach buggers hiding in the rafters. They will come out and haunt me because I've killed their Queen. But I'm good and ready for them.

By the way, if you've noticed the photo accompanying this post, let me just say this: how bad do you feel for the guy who was forced to model that costume? A picture of him in sunglasses and a brown, humungous cockroach costume is now plastered all over the internet. Poor him.