1. I was just asked to speak at a networking event at my alma mater. Just 9 months ago I was attending these events as a student seeking employment, and now my campus is asking me to return as a positive example of a successful alumna.

2. As of Friday's paycheck, I now have more money in my savings account than I owe on my credit card.

You guys. I've turned a corner. And you know what? To celebrate, I'm gonna have more tea, fill out this meme, and read more fanfic on this lazy Sunday morning because I'm gonna be an adult, but I'm gonna do it on my terms.

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This afternoon I will be sworn in as an Officer of the Court as a Volunteer Court Appointed Special Advocate (CASA) for abused and neglected children in King County Superior Court. CASA is a national program that started here in Seattle, and as volunteers we investigate allegations of abuse and neglect and advocate for the best interest of children (below the age of 12) during court proceedings.

I still don't have a job, and I'm living back home, but this is still something in the right direction.

I woke up in a pretty good mood - even though we had early morning PT, today is our very last day in Cave Junction. I am ecstatic to get the hell out of here. The project has been difficult and not satisfying, and I am edging closer and closer to hitting my break point. I felt so closed in yesterday I walked to town and had a Me Party at the mexican restaurant in town. I needed some SPACE. Living with 9 other people in a single room cabin has me slightly hysterically on edge.

So, I felt good. Only one more day to push through, and then we drive all day tomorrow back to Sacramento. And in Sacramento I will be reunited with my FRIENDS.

We get a food budget in AmeriCorps - it's about $4.25 per person per day all loaded onto a debit card. It's not the lap of luxury, but it keeps us full with all the essentials. Anything beyond the necessary I call a luxury item - and the team members are responsible for buying those for themselves. Example: don't like poverty brand cereal in the big bulk bags? You can buy your own box of nice cereal and write your name on it.

Since giving up meat and then six months later experiencing about 3 months of intestinal issues, I've also decided to give up milk. Not all dairy - just the cow juice kind because I tapered it off and it seems to be helping. And even if it isn't, my brain thinks it is. I've never enjoyed the taste of milk to begin with, and almond milk is so much better. So my luxury item every week is a jug of almond milk, on which I write my initials about 37 times just in case people don't notice the very large MCD on the lid. This week as an extra treat to myself for surviving my first project on my own, I also bought a box of Honey Bunches of Oats and some of my favorite chai tea. And one of the things motivating me through my morning workout in the sub-freezing temperatures was the promise of my favorite cereal in my favorite milk with my favorite tea on the side. YUM.

This is the point in the story where, as you can guess, things fall apart in predictable and spectacular fashion.

We ran out of cow milk yesterday. This morning, one of my teammates not only drank my almond milk, but they left a swig - a FUCKING GODDAMN TABLESPOON - of milk in the container and put it back inside the fridge.

I hit the roof. I remember says, "Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?" and throwing the empty jug into the recycling bin (because even in rage I recycle).

I blacked out a little bit and found myself huddled at my desk, earphones plugged in with Muse blaring, staring a hole into my computer screen and hyperventilating.

It's not the big things that can break a person, I think it's consecutive little things that build up until someone drinks your precious almond milk and then you end up in prison for the rest of your life because you stabbed someone with a butter knife and smiled while you did it.

Every time I get on LJ for a quick browse, I see spoilers for things that I am totes not caught up on, and it makes me extremely sadface. Not you, FList, you are good with your cuts and spoilers code. But LJ in general. Bad. Bad.

SAD.

So I go to bed early last night without checking anything online and hogwarts_elite decides to reopen?

OKAY. I AM SO DOWN.

I know most of you on my flist are already HE members, but sorting is still up at sorting_elite. And even if you've already been sorted and would like to be RE sorted, there's that option too!

Come play with us for one final term!

I opened up my mailbox today and inside, stuffed in there with my Entertainment Weekly (eep! fall tv preview OMG) and my credit card statement (JFC) was a package from the lovely thalialunacy.

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THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! You are ever so talented. And wonderful, have I mentioned wonderful?

This isn't the good kind of pain, she identifies, waking in the night.

It's not the slight dull throb of a headache, right behind the eyes. It's not the small, annoying burn of a paper cut. It's not the (oddly enjoyable) scratch of needle and ink across skin, or the aching bite of dental work.

It's a white hot blinding pain, and her eyes aren't even open. It's rolling her stomach, pounding her head, smothering her back into the mattress and weighing down her limbs.

She grasps for him in the darkness, and manages, "I'm...migraine."

And he's been trained and he's a veteran at this now. "Where?" he asks, already flopping the covers back and rising out of bed.

"Bathroom, I think." She buries herself under the pillow because even the sliver of light peeking through the slit of the bathroom door is too bright. He returns quickly, pill in hand, glass of water in the other, and it's a few minutes before she can sit up and force them both down. Her stomach wobbles and she can't quite remember when they got onto this boat on the high seas. She hunkers down and he slips back into bed.

And her sob is an unspoken (hold me) that deafens his ears. And he does and it's their bodies flush against each other, his body anchoring hers as the bed threatens to capsize. One strong arm securing her torso as further gulping sobs cut through the darkness and tears collect on her pillow.

In minutes (hours?) the drug kicks in (thank god) and nothing spills out (this time). The searing pain quiets and her shoulders relax and her breathing evens. The last thing she feels before the drug delivers a fitful sleep is the hand entwined in hers, tethering her to reality.

For an early Christmas present from my adored and adorable boyfriend, I have been gifted the joy of one kitten adopted from the Oregon Humane Society.

He's 2.5 months young, has longish grey/black hair, and has been dubbed Sir Winston Churchill, Prime Minister. He's the new love of my life. I think Winston is a bit anxious about being in our apartment for the first time, what with all the new smells and sights and noises and lack of sterile everything. And if the timestamp isn't working for you, it's about 2am my time as I type this out, and I just don't think poor Winston is ever going to quit mewing about his wretched life.


Hi, I'm Winston, and I'm too wriggly to hold still for a proper photo.

One minute, he's cuddly as can be, pushing into my hand and climbing all over me and my laptop. The next he is deathly afraid of me, quaking in his fur, shoving himself far under a dresser or bed or chair or whatever. I've never had a kitten outside of the two family cats we've had over the years, and I was under 12 then.

Meeeeeeeoooooooww mew mew mew mew mew mew meeeoow mew mew!!

Sir Winston! If you would please phrase your complaint in the Queen's English, this would be a lot simpler! You have water, you have kitty food, you have a potty that you have only successfully managed to use one out of two times, and you've got toys. It is attention that you need?

Meeow mew mew mew MEEEOW mew mew!

Perhaps. Thing is, Winston ol' buddy ol' pal, I'm exhausted and your mewing is too pitiful to ignore. I know the first night is the roughest but I had really hoped that your first sunrise in this apartment wouldn't be our first sunrise. Know what I mean?

Meeew mew mew MEEW mew meoooooow mew mew mew!

Thing is, you haven't stopped purring for about an hour, which either means you are enjoying this, or are about to die of fright.

Now you are sitting behind the toilet, sleeping while sitting up. If my heart didn't break each and every time you open your kitty mouth, I could get some sleep too.

Being a first time parent is hard, I'll say that. Good thing we started with a cat, eh?