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memory banks deposit

The best thing about completing six loads of laundry is discovering clothes I forgot I owned. Or perhaps that’s the best thing about having really disorganized and goofy memory banks. burst

I also have a bedroom floor. Hello, floor!

The ides of March was positive this year, bringing a reward for my perseverance, diligence, and outright modesty from the universe to my doorstep: a small café bag from Tom Bihn. All of my essentials fit in it – Moleskines, fountain pen and ink, Sidekick 2, iPod, wallet, lip balm, ferry tickets – plus there is room yet for a book or camera or well-behaved iguana! Very exciting. I’m also tickled that it bears the famous inside label.

I wish I could say I’m up with the sun (for me) because I’m just that excited to see my dad, but really it’s because of yet another nightmare about yet another betrayal. The casting choice this time was rather poignant, further plucking at my infected and inflamed heartstring of jealousy. I thought I lanced that thing.

At least I woke up with Zen on my feet.

In happier news, I get to ride the BART train all the way to and from the airport today because my dad will be appearing there as if by magic very, very soon! That’s the best part of people coming to visit you: it’s like they were waiting backstage all this time, merely to make a memorable entrance. I’m the best kind of audience, because I’m always the person squinting and leaning and standing on tiptoe to look for the guests who are “sneaking up on me” by walking immediately into my field of vision and waving.

Yes, I am always surprised by surprise parties (even when I’ve planned them) and floored by the cuteness of kittens. Back to the memory banks thing.

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I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.