Stand Up 2 Cancer

Today began rather insignificantly. It's a working Friday, so I assume thoughts of the weekend were floating through my head. In a chain of emails with D.D.M., a coworker and old neighbor, Gabriella Miller came up. Gabriella Miller, another (old) neighbor, was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor last November; at age 10, she's fighting cancer for her life. I hadn't heard the latest. I honestly hadn't followed Gabriella's updates too closely since last December when I participated in the Make A Wish with Gabriella campaign by writing a letter to Santa. Macy's turned these letters into dollars contributed to the Make-A-Wish Foundation.

This is the latest, heartbreaking update from Gabriella's mother:

Mark & I started our day at a cemetery looking for a burial plot for our ten year old daughter. We had to make a decision as to which funeral home we wanted to use. Our day ended with Gabriella asking us if she was going to make it. She wouldn't use the word die. We held her hands & looked her in the eyes & told her that there were no other options to help her. We had to reassure our Sweet G that she was going to be alright. That our love doesn't disappear, it goes with her. Gabriella asked us how much time she had left. With Mark & I sobbing & Gabriella hyperventilating & crying she shoves her lovey - a stuffed animal, Baby Turk from Tarzan - at me & says she wants me to have him. This is her stuffy that always makes her feel better. She wants ME to have it!

Oh, God, I HATE cancer! We, all of us, have failed our children so miserably. It is criminal that our beautiful, innocent children are going through these out-dated & tortuous treatments with such bleak outcomes. No child & parent should have the conversation that we just went through. Devastated beyond words.  

A few months back--late this spring--I fell for Gavin Rupp. Mathias Giordano, Latte Woman's son,  shared Gavin's story with me. Through early summer, I read everything I could about this Northern Virginia Cancer Warrior until the ugly disease took Gavin's life on July 30, 2013. After a three year battle. I never met Gavin and yet he inspired me. And I wasn't the only one he inspired, not even close--he was touted as "a hero" of Bryce Harper's (on his Twitter account) after they met.

And then there is my superstar--Mathias, battling osteosarcoma, and demanding the majority of my heart! Before clicking for a status on Gabriella, I stopped off to read the latest from Team Mathias. I scrolled down to a day-old post from Latte Woman.

Her stark words caught my attention:

I have entered this "cancer club" all my news feeds are cancer related,  families fighting cancer, talking chemo, radiation, clinical trials, hospital stays, surgeries, amputations, relapses, hospice, beautiful kids gaining their wings... 

This is insane. Kids should be kids! Kids should be at school, play sports and just live a carefree life. I want that for Mathias, I want that for Gabriella, I wanted that for Gavin... I want that for all the kids that are fighting. This is not fair. We need a cure and we need it now. What is wrong with our society, why are we "accepting" that childhood cancer is the number one killer of our kids? How are we ok with that and how are we not doing anything to change that NOW.

So now that I'm a sobbing mess, I'm passing some of the responsibility to you. These parent's are right--cancer is unfair; we all need to stand up. These three children of extraordinary qualities come from a first-rate community. But this is not the only community with a story; children everywhere are fighting. And each one of them deserves to be heard, to be rallied behind. 

I personally feel helpless. What can we do to make a difference in the lives of these children? In the life of each child fighting from his or her corner. I spread childhood cancer awareness through Mathias' story each chance I receive. But I can't stop there. 

I know I should do more. We should all do more. I'm consumed by this illness, almost paralyzed--scared. Gabriella and Mathias battle right through their fears. And Gavin battled through his too.  

In November of last year, I hosted a blood drive in honor of Mathias. And while the turnout was a great success, my efforts were thwarted by the Red Cross. There were so many wonderful, willing donors last year. Should we give again--through a better, more organized service--to show we believe there is hope? Because there is hope. A lot of hope. And donating blood helps save lives! Their lives. 

A few weeks back--during the furlough days--I strolled through my parents' neighborhood early one morning with Latte Woman. And while I think about her all the time, despite seeing less and less of her (after moving out of the neighborhood); the time together revived me. She is a wonderful, wonderful being. I can't speak highly enough of her, of the courage she's shown her son. She is an unstoppable force. This woman, my dear friend, spent the majority of our walk listening to my woes and worries when all I intended to do was give her my fullest attention. She wouldn't even speak of herself or Mathias until she heard my story. That's right, my story. I had updates to share, but they were trivial in comparison. I fought through my hard time, and while there are still rough days, I was pulled out of the weeds by my community. It's my turn to give to hers. 

When I realized how insignificantly today began, it made me feel awful. These children do not have--they are not allowed to have--insignificant days. They rise and fight for their lives 24/7. Through agonizing treatments, with reduced strength because of medication, these children are fighting battles we can't fight for them. We can--together--fight for a cure. And we need fight that battle now. These words are woefully insufficient. But at the end of the day, my heart wants more for these children. And I know yours does too.  

A Clemson Tradition

It’s over.

The Clemson Tigers football season, that is. Now that it has happened I can actually speak it out loud. I had a depressing feeling the Tigers were going to lose to the Florida State Seminoles. After the Georgia Bulldogs were upset by the Vanderbilt Commodores, I just knew somewhere deep inside that we were going to be next.

But, naturally, I proceeded to go to Union Bar – a Florida State bar – with all my cheering gusto, hoping again hope that the sinking feeling in my stomach was from the something I’d earlier consumed and not because the Tigers were going to blow it.

Sure enough, in spite of my best efforts to help Dabo Swinney, Clemson’s coach, by not voicing my concerns, we lost. And I’m only mildly despondent about it because, frankly, we’re the Tigers – the school where “pulling a Clemson” originated. Now consider Florida State plays in the same division of the Atlantic Coast Conference as the Tigers... it doesn’t bode well for the remainder of the season.

So I will gracefully say well played, Florida State.

It helps tremendously that I have lived through darker days than this with the Tigers. I mean I proudly yelled C-L-E-M-S-O-N T-I-G-E-R-S all through the Tommy Bowden era. I know what real pain feels like and this isn’t it. There is potential in Clemson’s future as soon as our offense remembers scoring points leads to wins and our defense learns that tackling means you stop someone from running into your end zone. Oh, and turnovers are bad. Very. Bad. Especially those on the first play of the game. That's a lesson that might have been of value pre-Saturday night. 

And I will love Sammy Watkins forever because he is a warrior.

I wish I could say the rest of the night was delightful. But the Tigers of Clemson were not the only Tigers to go down; Detroit ended it's season as well. Boyfriend would be real upset, if I expressed any boo hooing over this. He simply doesn't understand all my loyalties. If the Boston Red Sox destroy the St. Louis Cardinals, I'll be much more apt to find a place in my heart for them. 

I shifted gears to the NFL on Sunday, where the Kansas City Chiefs picked up their seventh win… and the Denver Broncos went down in epic fashion in Indianapolis against Peyton Manning’s replacement – Andrew Luck.

Oh sports, I hate and love you so.  

Hartland Orchard

Today,  I headed to Markum, VA - not exactly close but not exactly far - for an apple picking experience I'd been deprived of my entire life. This is a true shame, Mom and Pops.

From my garden experience this past summer, I knew just how fun it was to eat the fruit of my labor. The fruits of labor are especially sweet when it's someone else's labor. The picking selections were slim. I guess hardcore apple pickers get to the crop before fall weather reaches perfection, as it was on this particular day. Anyway, after picking--and then feeding millions of (rotten) apples to cows, we hand selected a bushel of pre-picked apples to bring home. Probably more than a bushel.

There was fresh cider. Like a grandfather and grandson grinding apples into some apple sauce resembling mash right in front of me with what looked to be a hydraulic juicer. So we're talking very fresh. If I hadn't been tarnished by Crescent Ridge, some best-of-the-best farm outside of Boston, MA, this would have qualified as the most delicious cup of cider in my life.  But alas, Crescent Ridge outdid themselves, unfairly ruining my appetite for chocolate milk, cider, and apparently soon--egg nog, elsewhere. It seems I'm left to settling for second best cider from Hartland Orchard here in Virginia. Boyfriend and I splurged for a gallon. And pretty much devoured the entire thing on Sunday night.

There were also fresh carmel apples for purchase. I opted to have mine dipped in nuts though I'm normally against tainting desserts with nuts. After watching A.J.S. make that wise decision, I was sold. Those peanuts were the glue that kept the carmel wrapped around my apple, instead of my fabulous new jacket.

There was also honey. And apple butter.

Then, perhaps best of all - a pumpkin patch. And sugar-coated donuts.

So wholesome and fun. And now an annual tradition.

Today I Tackled Showering

I was dreading Saturday with all my being. The stress (i.e., my biggest fault) being I don’t deal well with change. I like routine and stability and control and things of those likes. And I follow a pattern, be this pattern good or bad, of creating comfortable situations and habits. In high school, my parents uprooted our family – exchanging a quiet Midwestern upbringing for a bit of southern charm. This moved was hard to accept for a l-o-n-g time. I recovered, went to college, and proceeded (as most probably do) to move every year, twice during my freshman year. Those college moves were slightly easier – from a dorm to an on-campus apartment to an off-campus apartment to a house in the downtown. So though I stood grounded in South Carolina working my way through the rigors of college, my family remained in motion – switching their residence from Georgia to Michigan and eventually to Virginia; I was never certain as to where I might be spending my summers. Following college, I of course opted for a unique ‘next step’ – forming a home in Africa. That, like the high school move, was an adjustment, though this time one chosen by my own doing. In college, Peace Corps, and my young adult life, I never knew where to tell people I was from… Kansas? South Carolina? Or – being family oriented – where my family happened to be located during that particular moment?

So in all this, moving lost a lot of luster. And while if only me, this past move could be considered one of the smaller ones – one apartment in Washington, DC to another, it was compacted by the fact Boyfriend and I were moving in together. Moving two apartments into one and in doing so melding two lives into one; this qualifies as a big change. And while it’s super exciting, it’s also terrifying. 

For this move, I enlisted my parents’ help. This ended up being a wise decision as the four of us worked from 8:00 am to 6:00 pm without stopping, moving belongings from my parents’ home in Northern Virginia and Boyfriend and my apartments into our new space. For 10 hours we piled heavy boxes and bulky furniture from in our new home. After bidding my parents a thankful farewell, Boyfriend and I returned our borrowed UHAUL from which we had unloaded three full loads throughout the day. Then, exhausted – to the point Boyfriend was called out for being so (at the Uhaul drop off) – we headed to Rice Paper, our favorite restaurant, for a celebratory dinner. And not quite ready for what awaited us, I convinced Boyfriend to go for a post-dinner bubble tea. With the sole goal of getting the bed set up, we paved our way through boxes and built a bed-assembly workspace. Boyfriend constructed while I busied myself elsewhere – out of his way. And that was only Saturday. 

The Red Panda on the UHAUL truck made his day. 

I drove out to my parents early the next morning. Rain fell the entire hour cruise as I relished in my silent, clean car. Boyfriend was left to himself with a million unpacked boxes. After the baby shower, I went to “collect forgotten items” (i.e., hang out with Old Roommate). Upon returning home, I was in a less than good mood. Because nothing says happiness like a disheveled home. While away, I had been to my parents’ cozy, puppy-filled home, my parents’ neighbors decorated, candle-lit home, and my old apartment – restocked with the replacement roommate’s belongings – in the early staging of creating her life there. I loved that little apartment – the oversized windows and the balcony over looking the park; it’s been my favorite home to date. I shall not discount Boyfriend’s effort – our place was becoming more livable; I was pleasantly surprised that was possible for when I left, it was as though we just had too much stuff to make this place work. 

(I admit I was disgusted by the amount of “cherish-ables” I’ve accumulated. I can’t blame this on Boyfriend; my junk is doing the cramming.) 

I forced my sour attitude into action, hoping to give my deserving man some relief.

There was some fun amidst all the work - homemade pumpkin seeds.

Monday was a holiday for me, the irony being that I’ve essentially been on holiday since returning from Lesotho; I do not thank you Government Shutdown 2013 – I am about to lose my mind. I celebrated Columbus in style because I feel it’s what Columbus would have wanted. I kid. I occupied my time organizing and unpacking the bathroom, then preceded to make grand progress in the bedroom. I also grocery shopped and prepared a meal we both love – pizza on my new pizza stone(!!!). And if you don’t have a pizza stone and enjoy pizza as much as we do, go ahead and make that purchase. It makes all the difference. It took 45 minutes for the oven to reach 500 degrees but the pizza a.m.a.z.i.n.g. Boyfriend doesn’t see beet, goat cheese, red onion, and spinach pizza as a complete meal so I whipped up a tortellini pasta salad, recipe courtesy of the Barefoot Contessa, to accompany the dish. After working all day for a company that clearly has zero respect for Columbus, Boyfriend further slaved away trying to get cable up and running. To no avail, though we are able to hardwire Internet. So not all was failed.

And today I tackled showering. There is something about showering that makes everything real. I can’t shower in a new place until I’m in the beginning stages of sure. Tuesday, being four days in – ready or not – it was time. The shower did not sell me on this place. No, not even one bit. But Boyfriend claims, it’s gets better with time – he’s taken at least six showers, including two on move-in day. I’ll hold on to the hope he’s given me. So there you have it, 1000 words on my accomplishment – showering. 

Links I Like

This is called procrastination. This is called I'm losing my sanity piece-by-piece with each day the Government remains shutdown. This is called laziness. I still have unpacking to do,  I'd rather write though. I could write about my summer vacation or closing the chapter on Lesotho, but procrastinate further, I will. I would like to share with you two polar opposite but equally fascinating articles I came across on the World Wide Web. I'm by no means an internet wizard. I stick to what I know--email,  perusing the New York Times and Twitter, and blogging--and beyond this scope, family and friends alike keep me in the loop with article forwarding. This is how I ended up at BuzzFeed Sports reading about the joys of being a Kansas City Chiefs fan.

The first article: 11 Reasons You Should Start Loving the Kansas City Chiefs 

If you're not a football fan or don't have a team to pull for, this might lure you to my favorite franchise. No. 10 had me recalling fond childhood memories, while point 11 made me sigh Chiefs amongst a fan base that has weathered it all. Boyfriend fell for the Chiefs at seven--the story of Eric Berry's fear of Warpaint; he's shared the story with all ears as soon as the news broke sometime last year.

The second article: Moose Die-Off Alarms Scientists

This is an extremely sad piece of writing. It's no secret that my heart is in Montana. I absolutely love the way the animals roam freely. And while my biggest passion is for the wolves--snow-covered baby buffaloes being a close second--there is something indescribable about moose; it's a see-it-to-believe-it phenomenon. So winter ticks, brain worms, liver flukes, snails, heat, pine bark beetles, and hunters be gone. Yes, hunters. There are people obtain hunting licenses to kill moose. Would you conceive it?! I do not believe that is necessary, no not one bit. And wolves, be kind to the moose. For you know what rapidly declining populations are like.

In Minnesota, there's an ongoing study monitoring dying moose. Jim Robbins of the New York Times quotes Dr. Bulter, who leads the study, in his article, “If the heart stops beating, it sends a text message to [Dr. Butler's] phone that says, ‘I’m dead at x and y coordinates.’” It's just all so terribly tragic.

I Love You Through and Through

Have you read the book I Love You Through and Through by Bernadette Rossetti-Shustak? It’s a childhood gem. And also the theme of the baby shower I attended to celebrate S.J.M.’s soon-to-be third baby. 

The honoree, the host(s), the attendees – everyone – agreed a baby shower for the third born was over the top. Even still, we had to party. I’m delighted we did. It “forced” me to block off my calendar and – when the time came – allowed me to spend a morning with the neighborhood gang after not seeing them for oh so terribly long. In lieu of gifts, there were donations collected for the Loudoun Abused Women’s Shelter. This is actually the second collection held by this group this year; S.J.M. gathered donations in June during one of her “hormonal episodes” after learning the number of struggling women and children in Loudoun county – the supposed richest county in the nation according to Forbes. To continue this effort, S.J.M. intends to hold biannual, off-season donations to help the shelter because, as we all know, Christmas is often the only time of year do-good organizations are provided any relief.

Aside from doing a hare of good before football on a rainy Sunday, there are few things more perfect sharing brunch, including a crepe and cappuccino bar, with friends in a sweetly decorated home to celebrate new life. 

Growing Together

Things are about to get personal. Boyfriend and I are in a wretched place right now. That’s uber fantastic because we’re moving in to an apartment together on Saturday. I must say, stellar timing. And I can’t really let anything we’re dealing with right now go. So naturally, being a lover of words, I want to delve deep, to fully process the root of the issue.

I love the man I fell in love with. The man who fought for our relationship. The man that never made me question anything. I could ask him to go for a walk and he’d lace up his shoes as the words came out of my mouth. I could ask him to fix my computer, knowing full well he hates the Apple brand, and he’d do his best to resolve my issue. I could cry on his shoulder when distraught over something personal. I could lash out to him in confidence about life. He never made me feel crazy, not once. This is a man I would run to at the end of the day, elated to share the dumb things - the “I had Jimmy Johns for lunch.” things (i.e., happenings nobody cares about, not even him). He’d never admit that, of course; he’d listen with ears wide open and be just excited as I was about whatever. Frankly, it was at times too much. This man fawned over me. I bragged about him because he seemingly had no faults. (I was glad to learn that he had faults because that made him real. And added the character.) He truly adored me. He never left me doubting where we stood at the end of the day, and his actions always spoke even louder than his kind words. As we fell in love, things were new. And they were certainly easy.

More than a year in with a foreseeable future ahead, the fights have been catastrophic. Particularly because, as it always does in the moment, every words counts so much. Mean words have been exchanged. The bickering has been often. And the fights, well, they’ve been l-o-n-g.

I hate the petty fights. I hate the way they bring out the worst in us. I (sometimes) hate that we’re both so fiercely independent because when face big, real life things, we make a great team. Just 10 days ago we returned from Lesotho, where we faced the man accused of murdering a mutual friend. A place I almost lost my life.

It’s as though we’ve created a dependency on one another than neither wants to admit. And I don’t know if that’s wrong. Or right. Or normal. We’ve begun carving a life that seems right together. From plans to go apple picking this fall to building dream a homestead in Montana. And while it’s obvious we’d be lost without one another, lately we’d rather roll the dice, than play a hand together.

The big fights scare me too. The unknown after the “what if” this and that.

It’s scary to open up about my past. To be brought to near tears while expressing what it was like to be called Hamburger as a child, in hopes of explaining why I’m so weight-conscience today. It’s terrifying to put so much trust in another person. To not be afraid to further change and grow (together) as we move into the future. After more than a year, I’m weirded out by the silly things I want to share with or do for him. After seeing my parents’ place decked out for Halloween, I felt compelled to run to Target to pick up some Halloween decorations for us. Instead of feeling like decorations are a waste of money, space, and time, I thought they might help create a home… instead of a white-walled, décor-less space for us to start and end our day. (And I thought it might show that I’m making an effort to gear up for his abundant Christmas cheer!) As well, these little things – finding pleasure in the kitchen when it means cooking for my man; being excited to run our new vacuum to keep our place cleaned for him, for us; and that kiss at the end of a tiring day, the one that feels like we’ve been apart for days, when the clock says it’s only been nine hours – bring me so, so much joy. From the start of our life together, to what I hope will be our entire future.

I don’t want to grasp for straws. I don’t want to have big or little fights. I don’t pretend; I know there will be tough patches ahead. There will be disagreements. I want to believe we can and will manage those situations as they arise. I don’t want to belittle the one I love. I don’t want him to tell me he feels as though I’ve intentionally push him away. I know our real selves are still there. They’re just hiding right now. They’re afraid. They’re excited. They’re adjusting to change. Instead of bringing out the best in one another, we’re provoking one another’s worst side.

We’ve reached a point where we can no longer shake our issues with a hug. It’s time to sit down to talk through each issue (and all the underlying ones that will be unveiled during the conversation). Then we will have to develop an action plan to repair some damage. To get us back on the same team – appreciating the quirks and imperfections – where we value ourselves and our relationship.

Holy Sports

I'm not a statistician. And I'm particularly awful at remembering stats for athletes, whether the sport be baseball or basketball. I rely on Pops, C.D.H., or Boyfriend for knowledge that might be of interest to me. This year, though, I was aware of one prominent fact: The last time the Atlanta Braves won the World Series was also the last time the Government shutdown - 1995.

From the first pitch in April, the stars seems aligned for the Braves. This is the year. 

Until 12:56 am on Tuesday, October 8 when they weren't.

In the bottom of the seventh inning, the Braves were up 3-2. I felt hopeful. To force that Game 5 in Atlanta, where victory in the National League Division Series would be SO sweet, we needed to close out Game 4.  In the seventh, Louis Avilian (of the Braves) took the mound. The announcers told me he's held left handed batters to a 0.144 batting average. With two runners on, A.J. Ellis was up to bat. And from the announcers I learned he leads the league with 39 RBIs against left handed pitchers. The Braves prevailed, there; the Los Angeles Dodgers stranded those two runners.  At the end of the seventh, the Braves, still up by one, needed just six. more. outs. to solidify a fifth game. Then in the bottom on the eight, there stood David Carpenter, already having given up one hit to deep right field. My worry set in. I haven't been a fan since we acquired him from the Boston Red Sox, however, I try to treat all my Bravos as equals and put full faith in Carpenter. Then in the blink of an eye the 2013 Season was gone. Juan Uribe of the Los Angeles Dodgers hit a towering, two-run homer... and the Braves wouldn't come back in the top of the ninth.

Our Super Star closer - Craig Kimbrel - never even saw the mound.

The season was a particularly fun one. I got the see the Braves in action several time, including once at Turner Field. I finished only eight articles behind in my challenge to read as many articles as there were games this season. I learned how to keep score. And I'm not as depressed as I ended 2011 and 2012. I'm certainly disappointed. I really wanted, as any fan does, to see my Bravos play in the World Series.

Assuming Brian McCann doesn't ditch us for greener pastures, I should be a confident fan going into 2014 and beyond.

Summer Heat in October

Somehow summer weather made its way back to Washington, D.C. around Wednesday of last week. And the 90-degree temperatures lingered into the weekend. My heart melted a little as I pulled tank tops from the bottom of my dresser drawer.

Friday I was essentially furloughed... so I seized the day! I rode the metro into the middle of the city and had coffee--blissfully alone--at M.E. Swing Co., a coffee shop I've been eager to try. One that has unfortunately restricted its opening to business hours, when I've commuted far from the city. There I sat and read chapter after chapter in my book. I thought about heading home after I had slurped down my final drop. Then decided, rather brilliantly, to do the opposite of what one is probably supposed to do on your unpaid vacation--I walked over to Georgetown for shopping. I hit up Gap, Banana Republic, Anthropologie, and J. Crew. I was on a mission for a properly fitting, work appropriate pair of jeans. This has been ongoing hunt for several years now. I always procrastinate until I no longer need them. I thought Friday would be the day. I ultimately ended up with a well-priced jean jacket and a pair of red shorts. The shorts paid for themselves as I proceeded to wear them all weekend; my normal shorts repertoire wound up at my parents house after my bi-annual clothing switch. (I might have been preemptive in that move.) Once I had all the shopping I could handle, my walk continued to Dunkin Donuts for a lunch of champions--a pumpkin donut, then home.

Following a showered, I headed toward Bethesda, MD to meet Boyfriend at The Barking Dog for a Leukemia & Lymphoma Society fundraiser held by K.S.D., my roommate. There we sipped adult beverages and watched the Atlanta Braves hold off the Los Angeles Dodgers in Game 2 of the National League Division Series. Tired, we were in bed promptly at 11:00 pm. When morning came, Boyfriend and I were up early for no reason as is always the case on the weekend. We took advantage of the quiet streets with a morning walk that became more focused on food and less focused on exercise with each step. The first stop was Brooklyn Bagel for egg, onion, and cheese bagels. From there, we headed over to the Court House Farmers' Market.  We struck it BIG. I purchased beets, the most beautiful--vase worthy--rainbow swiss chard, and kale. In the seasonal department, I got a loaf of pumpkin bread and pumpkin yogurt. Then I might have gone back to Dunkin Donuts for another pumpkin donut and been convinced (by Boyfriend) to instead go with 50 munchkins (for the weekend). I clearly have no willpower; it's an issue.

From there, sweaty and hot, we changed clothes for Oktoberfest at The Village at Shirlington in Arlington, VA. This was something new and totally different for me and ended up being an awesome spontaneous date. I truly enjoyed the peak into Boyfriend's world; it was really fun to step aside and bear witness to him in his element--watching his nerd fully bloom. See image, note--the lanyard with an attached glass holder, the paper, and pen. He was clearly prepped for the ample note taking. This being my first beerfest, I had no idea that took place after each pour. Also, he later had me run to the grocery to purchase pretzels for stringing to his lanyard. I'm not sure if he was hungry, trying to impress or embarrass me, or clearing his palate between samples. I do know he received several compliments on the pretzel necklace. Bizarre.

Then I had all these ideas productive indoors ideas, since I could not longer tolerate the outdoor temperature, but those lost out to the superior plan of sitting on the couch watching football--Go Clemson Tigers! Georgia Bulldogs! Michigan Wolverines!--the rest of the afternoon. There might have been a late nap that wound me up until well past midnight.

Sunday morning was an easy one... until convincing Boyfriend we should walk to Buffalo Billiards in DuPont for the Kansas City Chiefs/Tennessee Titans game. He wound up getting more out of the Chiefs game while simultaneously watching the Green Bay Packers/Detriot Lions game than me. H.M.O. and I could not be bothered as we caught up on all things this and that. I left the bar and relished away the rest of the day in the fashion I began the weekend--alone. There were NO roommates. There was NO Boyfriend. I bounced around from the reading on the balcony. To wishing both Tony Romo and the Denver Broncos could lose the same game. To walking around my neighborhood. To writing. To deciding the Braves would lose and ultimately settling in to bed before 9:00 pm. That was a winning decision last night; it will absolutely not fly tonight.

This was the kind of weekend that gave me a chance to catch my breath before another week hits me with high sports drama... and life.