In second year they told us that dreaming in Spanish was a sign that it was all coming together.

Dreaming in Chinese, however--that just means you're pretty much LOSING IT.

And that's exactly what I did two nights ago. I'm not sure whether to brag about this--Chinese dreams after only one year!!--or keep it to myself, for essentially the reason listed above. Oh well.

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Goldfish

I've found myself wanting to write things of a more and more personal nature on this blog. I want to write them so that they may be read, and, in being read, validated. I suppose I simply wish to be known. But the only way for this validation of sorts to occur is for people to actually read the blog, which is not common. I have about two hundred thank you cards to write at the moment, and briefly considered slipping a card with the address into each one. But there's a give and take here, too--one I've struggled with before: each additional reader is an additional person I cannot write about. And there's nothing more interesting to write about than people. Nothing funnier, either.

Speaking of funny, I had planned on watching Pink Panther again this afternoon. It seemed like a good routine, watching a movie every afternoon while writing thank you cards. Nearly on par with the Eat a Huge Slice of Chocolate Graduation Cake Outside in the Rain and Call it Breakfast routine, which was thrown off this morning by a lack of rain and the rush necessitated by a nine am doctor's appointment. There is always tomorrow.

When I started this post yesterday, it was much more centered, I promise. I got distracted, however, looking for my poor phone, which has been lost five days now. My phone is of course lost multiple times each week, but never before for this long, and I am beginning to worry. The act of calling myself, though, and hearing my own voice pick up and tell me to leave a message, caught me off guard. I was tempted to leave one--"Hey, Jobs. It's me. Just wondering where you've been the last few days. Go ahead and call me back when you get the chance. Bye." I wouldn't let myself do it, though, just in case someone found the phone and happened to listen to go through my voice messages. But the concept was inspiring, and I ended up writing a long, tearful letter to myself. Oh, summer. I would say I need to get a job, but I have one.

Maybe a little structure, at least. I think it'd be a good idea to start walking, or something, as well. To balance out the cake at breakfast. And sometime this summer, I want to take a morning pottery class. I'm not an explicit morning or night person--I am a flexible person--but I hate the feeling of sleeping in, and it feels like I've been doing a lot of that lately. Which is almost understandable, for someone who has begun to establish another routine of staying up till two listening to jazz and doing paper mache.

And so--to non-decopaged fingers and leftover cake!

Goodnight.