baroque heart and maple syrup

I don't remember the date other than it was some time in October. The weather was cold and dry. A classmate thought that the 44A would be a more direct route home. It wasn't. By the time we passed the Jordanhill campus everyone on the bus realized I was lost. Obnoxiously, aggressively, kindly they demanded to know where I lived. And then, in painstaking detail they explained which bus numbers I was to take.

I don't remember the date but that is when I decided to love Glasgow.

I stepped off the 118 knowing the general direction I ought to go but uncertain how I would find the house. Tired from my extended bus travels, hungry for dinner, I shivered, crossed over Drymen Rd. and headed east. Eight minutes later I halted in hopeless wonderment regarding my whereabouts. Absently my eyes wandered up to the street sign. Somehow I had stumbled onto my very street. 15 minutes later I melted into the hot shower.

I don't remember the date but that is when I saw that the house on Speirs Rd. was home.

I sat comfortably on the couch. And then I didn't. Cute and flirty quickly transformed into an anxious attempt to breath normally. "We need to go... now!" Keep calm, stay in control, breath in, breath out, repeat... Mentally, physically drained I drive past the illuminated monuments. How strikingly lonely this all is in the wee hours of the day. I pull into the parking lot, give a faint "morning" to the night receptionist, unlock the door.

I won't remember the date but that is when I accept that my bed is no longer a squeaky twin.

Despite having packed the box just over a month before I'm highly anticipative of what I'll find. I catalog in my head: a diffuser, a picture frame (or two), a snowglobe, my favorite sheets. What else? I wonder. Diffuser goes in the cabinet. The picture that epitomizes Glasgow goes next to the bed. The one that represents laughter on the wall. The old snapshop of my childhood inspiration kept where I can see it. Those sheets get a long hug before stowing away neatly in the closet. And then I pull out a slightly crushed, frameless, matted picture of a place that will always be familiar. A thousand times I overlooked that challenging valley.

I remember the place for that is where I found something special.

fine lines and wrinkles

Perhaps a wee bit late, I've determined that there might well be a certain amount of "crazy"in us all. The sort of insanity that wakes us in the muddle of the night (which is to be distinguished from the "middle"which is by a far a more rational state) and prompts actions that are slightly inappropriate.

It is of course common sense to stay away from the internet during this time of night since you'll be bound to self-diagnose yourself with some horribly incurable, painfully maiming disease. TV is another dangerous activity... infomercial executives could tell you (probably with a pie chart) just how critical the "muddle of the night" demographic is to their bottom-line. And speaking of pie, somehow, during muddle-times one feels compelled to consume all those healthy items in the fridge (i.e. the tub of butter, the raspberry cheesecake with white chocolate drizzle, the whipped cream, the $2.99 container of icing fudge). But even normal crazies know to stay away from hair dyes and mirrors...

bitii-byte-boo

Someone wise, somewhere, said something about the mind having the power to create reality. Along the lines of "mind over matter" albeit, significantly more intense. Though an appealing metaphysical, self-help concept, it is legitimately hard to understand how paper can beat scissors no matter how much positive energy is focused. Happily, like the best things in life, doubts can be easily ignored and neglected.

It is in this spirit that I have determined to join the ranks of the bright and shiny people. No more drama. Someone wise, somewhere, probably said something about "issues" being relatively self-generated. (Perhaps, I am the only one to make that claim... regardless, this is my newest pet theory. Be fair warned!)

But, I am rambling...

While it might be slightly difficult to conceptualize my sunny-personality with anything like a chocolate covered pretzel, my point is that dark and twisty Rachel is leaving for the bright and shiny upgrade.

seriously!

chips-a-callin'

When in the course of initiating exploration into the matter of actually working on a dissertation certain items are of utmost essence.

Namely:
a stable internet connection;
a blank copy book filled with hope-inducing pages;
a large quantity of peanut butter;
an even greater quantity of choc-o'-chip cookies;
soft pillows to encourage napping;
inordinate supplies of chips and salsa;
unquantifiable supplies of patience;
other matters more pressing and intimidating then the dissertation...

And of course, the ingredient I always carry tightly --- luck!