Revelations (often rendered as such in English from “apocalypse”, or the Greek “unveiling”)

Somewhere between an unfortunate mid-semester experiment and rewatching Garden State on a plane between my third home and my second (something feel-good had to displace my sobbing post-The Dead Poets Society) and receiving a note that straddled the many nautical miles between his rudeness and my sensitivity I realized that I’m not at all envious and actually very happy with who and where I am right now. A few clerical errors have been made, sure, and lest those I love love me less I really need to watch my absentmindedly argumentative tongue, and sure I’d like to have contact with someone else’s once in a while, I guess, but honestly, absent a perfect specimen or happenstance or some other rarity I’m really enjoying learning to be myself independently, maybe with some healthy footnotes and appendices in the storybook on the subject but certainly without the need for constant cross-listing.

(Above is a healthy dose of the teenage-love-induced angst no burgeoning blog could be without.)

Also, I was listening to the new TV on the Radio in the kitchen earlier and felt the irrepressible need to dance and did, of course, with my stepmother’s cancer-survivor boxer darting amongst my appendages in canine confusion, the other looking on and salivating absentmindedly at the dog food carton. Merits of these companions aside, I was immediately stricken by how tragic it was that there would be no public venues for parading my obviously formidable skills for another month and how lonely it was that there was no Emily Leach to glare at me for accidentally showcasing my private habits. Cue sigh.

But really apart from that I am glad to have limitless sleeping opportunities, though less glad that this political science final is due in 40ish hours, and so inevitably am blogging and facebooking and updating my music collection, my father’s Denver domicile being a much less obvious target for the RIAA than a suburban liberal arts college in the Northeast.

Slumber too has been accented charmingly by a cat curled in the small of my back—a forgotten but important variety of comfort—and the promise of limitless hummus and clementines when I awoke, the kind of fridge-raiding dining hall devotees can only dream about.

So I suppose life is good in its ever-changing kind of way.