I guess that there is a wonderment that surrounds childhood, something that anyone past the age of 12 cannot understand unless they try really, really hard, and even then, it's pretty hard to grasp.

Three little people. One bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough. Four teaspoons and a white bunny rabbit in a bath tub. The makings of a very interesting few hours this evening. Enough said.

I have learned that my choice of music varies according to my present company. It's not that I'm trying to please them, I don't think. It's that I'm simply not in the mood for They Might Be Giants or Dean Martin when others are around. Give me Duncan Sheik or Ben Harper or the Beatles and a person or two in the car and I'll be okay. Phantom Of the Opera or Les Miserables? Decidedly by myself. I learned this tonight. On the way home. Singing You're Older Than You've Ever Been [and now you're even older...] and laughing to myself, knowing no one else could appreciate anything about this moment except me.

That's the thing about melancholic tendencies though. We always think we're the only ones in the world with such a malady. I mean, if it were a malady at all. Because, of course it isn't. And I'm just fine. Right?

Yesterday found me embarrassed and somewhat uncomfortable with a situation beyond my control. I drove in the driveway to see five or so vehicles that don't normally belong there. Hmmmm. It turns out that they were all there to celebrate my birthday. Now, I'm not at all fond of surprises and particularly surprise parties for myself, but it turns out that this is the whole reason, so says Danica, that I am the receiver of such things so seemingly often. Which causes me to wonder why it is that the things which we dislike, or even just try to avoid, are the things which inevitably bite us eventually. [Eventually I will either love to be tickled on my feetor no longer be ticklish at all.] So I'm easy to surprise I guess.

Well the real reason I was easy to surprise, guys, is because you gave me a party last year, in case you forgot.

In any case. I had a lovely day with the people I love most in the world. Thank You.

I read something tonight which made my heart ache. Heartaches aren't always bad, but most of the time they're unpleasant. And so I feel a bit unpleasant. Sick to my stomach, but knowing that it's only a temporary feeling, as most unpleasant feelings are. I read it and reread it. Perhaps I ought to read it once more. I think my tendency to overanalyze comes off as a bit extreme. Yes. I do think that.

I had an extra hour in-between jobs this afternoon so I went to see Jackie and Lael. This was nice.

I am reading the book Rosie by Anne Lamott. Continually amazed by good, clear writing. Whenever I pick up something written by someone who considers writing to be an art form, instead of simply media, I am spurred on to greater and deeper thought. It makes me wish that I knew more and could use the written word to clearly communicate, artfully and simply the depth of the things that I think about. Just saying things isn't creative. After all, everything I've said has already been said and probably better than I can say it.

I guess there's more to be had.

There usually is.