24 February 2004 - 10:37 a.m.

Like Misia, I have nights when I can't stop hamster-wheeling about the roads not taken. Even though I'm solidly in my thirties, I still find myself saying, "When I grow up, I will become a professional-caliber singer/artist/hostess/writer/copyeditor/financial whiz, and I'll finally have a grip on the subjunctive in seven languages and be able to rattle off White Sox stats faster than you can say '1919'."

To give myself credit, I am beavering away at some of the bits - there's some walk to the talk - but, nonetheless, it's sometimes hard not to mope about time squandered through running away or not running far enough.

As I wrote to Kale and Sama, though, my current set-up is actually awfully good: some lettering here, some editing/accounting there, two churches that appreciate me, nice house, warm bed, and more projects and people than I know how to keep up with. At some point I'll either hit upon the proper balance or learn to be content with living permanently off-kilter. It's certainly no one else's fault that I haven't figured out the proper ratio of work:gabbling:surfing:sleep.

Anyhow. This morning's breakfast was Friday night's rice and squash, fried with Saturday's stuffed tomato and some chopped onion. Sunday night dinner was lamb and roasted root vegetables with the in-laws; yesterday we were treated to a splendid meal at The Acorn by a marketing executive and her fiance, a former soldier now attending nursing school. Very interesting, thoughtful people. The exec and I both opted for the New York strip steak special, which included mashed potatoes with truffle oil. Oh, my, mmmm.

One year ago: ". . .when the audience cheerfully broke into whoopin' and hollerin' for 'Mayor LaGuardia,' I found it kinda cute."