This has been a contemplative break: lots to think about and decisions that are somehow necessary but not imminent. If you know me at all, however, you know that I unnecessarily make the give-it-time's imminent. For joy? For something that wouldn't be pretty coming out of my mouth.
I am about to go watch Notting Hill for the second time in a month, and I am thrilled to no end. Why? Well...wouldn't it be nice? Take a stroll, have a man dump orange juice all over my shirt, offer me his house and his shirt and his shower and his life, and never look back.
So far, 2011 is better. I will be real, though. It will probably not remain here in the realm of "okay," as I typically flit from high to djfhcjvxbnbr in .0463 seconds with no warning except for accelerated heart rate (and as I do not continuously hold my index and middle finger to my throat, it is not always immediately apparent). 2011 sits better with me, too. I have a weird thing with numbers. I never liked 2010. Ugh. Even to see it written there is bizarre. What a strange combination of numerals. 2011. Ah. Much better.
I just want to save you while there's still something left to save. Woah, oh oh oh. Oh oh oh, oh.
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