Six years?

Like when Long Duck Dong goes, "Married?"

Six years.

And the obligatory breakdown: that's 2,190 days. Or 52,560 hours. Or 3,153,600 minutes.

I tried to do the seconds but my little ghetto calculator just ran out of space. It gave me a big "E". I'll take that as E for Excellent.

So I was talking about it with Raf this morning, still in a partially dreamy state, and I realized there are very few things I've done for six years - excluding things my body does all by itself, like, breathing and stuff. They included smoking, drinking, and being a mortgage broker. All inherently toxic things in some form or another.

I'm turning over a new leaf. This year will be different. Somehow, it feels more important than my birthday even...

There's stuff I'm learning from books I haven't picked up in a while, like when you're telling The Universe that "I need ________ " or "I want ________ " that The Universe makes you just that. Needing. Wanting. Even when it's good stuff - like wanting to be less self absorbed or needing more awareness. The Universe goes, "Okay. Then you can have it. Needing. Wanting. Go right ahead." So then I'm trying to pay attention to the statements I make about my self, about what I'm putting Out There. Apparently it's more about "I am"s. "I am open to change." "I am ready for a new job." And so on and so forth. I've gotten enough super obvious signals that I'm ready to listen.

Sock it to me, Universe.

So I get home yesterday to this office-taped bubble envelope from Kristin. Kristin, with whom I am emailing earlier that day. "Oh, is that tomorrow? What is it, seven years? Six?" All faux-forgetting and everything. And I open it up at the kitchen table with Raf, who at this point must think we're both certifiable. Love notes. Sparkly frog stickers. A Sub Pop random book of something that I haven't managed to figure out yet. Static window stickers of fish and blowfish and starfish. Flyers for Latin Night. A Tarkio poster. A magazine with a Tom Brosseau article. And a bunch of other random stuff that has nothing to do with anything and everything to do with everything.

Just like today.

I guess on my new shiny dewy turned over leaf of a day that I should do what I'm here for - Work.

Bon courage,

~V.