Homelust

Dress was a hit last night, if underappreciated. I kept my coat on the entire time due to frigid northeastern Ohio temperature.
Date left time for only 5 hours of sleep, 1 hour on the treadmill, and 2 hours of what felt like remedial packing for dummies.
Eight hours later I am back in Vegas.
Tired.
Dehydrated.
Annoyed that I was forced to eat a hamburger on the plane in vague, misguided attempt to block out the crying baby sitting behind me.
Annoyed that my bedroom was turned upside down today for the new carpet and not turned right side up.
Annoyed that I paid a $40 fee to check two bags. Since when is luggage optional when traveling?
Depressed that I have no more valid reasons to eat Christmas cookies.
Depressed that school is back in session in 32 hours.
Very depressed, actually.
And don't even get me started on the sad goodbye I made at the airport today. It seems as though my chronic wanderlust* is morphing into... what is the word? Homelust*?

eLLe speLLs wanderlust: noun, sounds like wonder lust--German word for the irresistibly strong desire to wander.

Homelust: my own coinage. I'm sure you can figure it out.

Tomorrow--I really am going to get to that B list.

I met my friend Delilah (a bona fide New Yorker per her fervant and consistent pursuit of shaved white truffles and Helmut Lang sample sales) for coffee in order to review her personal mission statement for 2009. Her statement consisted of 11 bulleted goals ranging from running a marathon to doubling her numbers in sales. Delilah and I were roommates for several years on the Upper West Side and let me say as a reliable reference, this girl doesn't mess around. I have no doubt in my mind that the .001 % of Americans who actually keep its resolutions is an elite group with one member-- Delilah. When she urged me to compose a personal mission statement for myself, I chose efficiency over responsibility for self and piggybacked my main goal on to her list: Bullet Point #12-- Find ms.eLLe a job in the city. Delilah will get it done. Even as I type she is shooting an email to her J.Crew friend to see if he will have a need for someone to write about pointelle sweaters or monogramming options. I told her to be sure to mention that I can come up with like 30 different words for the color blue in less than 60 seconds. Leaving Las Vegas has nothing to do with securing another teaching job, just another job. My goal is more likely to be met in Delilah's hands rather than my own. As proof of this, consider my I'M NOW THIRTY resolution list, which I simultaneously composed and countered the morning of my birthday while lying in bed staring at the ceiling. Running late for date...I should win an award for getting ready in 5 minutes flat. And, I'm wearing a dress. With a zipper up the back. Perfect for a second or third date except that it is, by design, the kind of dress a woman needs her husband to zip up for her. More later...

home is where the pen is

Depending on the time zone, I either have or have not already broken my single New Year's resolution-to post daily on this nascent* blog of mine.

Eastern Standard Time, the zone in which I am actually writing, is 12:14 a.m., January 2. Pacific Standard Time, the zone in which I live, pay state taxes, and receive mail, is 9:14 p.m., January 1.

Let's go with PST for the sake of momentum.

Now that that's taken care of*, I'm assured a warm, fuzzy feeling of smugness when I put my head down on my pillow tonight as I think of all those poor souls who didn't make it through Day One without using the Lord's name in vain or a quick run through the drive thru.

eLLe speLLs nascent
nas*cent--adjective--begininning to exist or develop.

good grammar is the new black
As an aside, I am fully aware that "of" is dangling. Everyone else ought to be aware that I have been on hiatus from teaching for nearly two weeks in addition to the fact that I had quite the evening last night and therefore, must be given at least a bit of the slack I give to all of the non-English teachers of the world every single day of the year.

Tomorrow: Wanderlust and the B List