It's a terrible shame, I'm realizing, that the real world doesn't have summer break. Summers are like little retreats. They always end up making me feel complete again. This summer has helped me complete the sketch of my identity by teaching me that:
I'm okay at dishwashing and kitchen cleaning; pedestrian-friendly housing is definitely the way to go; we all really do need to live in the same place once kids come along; but we probably won't; I love big cities; Being in one place for too long makes me a little restless; Angela wants me to email (and marry) that boy, and I totally understand why, but I can't bring myself to do it; Cooking is fun; My sense of direction is very trustworthy; I want to be best friends with the forty or fiftysomething addictions counselor at work; I'm a really good typist; High heels always look nice, but they are emphatically NOT my thing; I may even have a moral opposition to them; It's possible that if I could be anything in the world, I would choose to be musically talented; Maybe I don't know where exactly I'm going, but there's a good chance I'll like it when I get there.