I was all about blogging, and then I lost my taste for it.
But nothing soothes the soul like talking about one's self, and these days my soul could use some soothing.

So we're back to square one: Sitting on my floor surrounded by dirty laundry and new music scores. The kittens are napping on my bed, the neighbors are chanting about vodka, and I still smell like work(tabasco sauce, limes, and degreaser). My happiness gets a B+, my productivity gets a C-(thank you hulu.com), and I'm fighting the urge to finish off the milk duds. I'm beginning to accept that this is a really good place to be, here on the floor, surrounded by information, smelling like expendable income and battling sugar addiction.

I've gotten disgustingly introspective since I realized that being an adult means that all your happy stuff is twice as wonderful as it was before, but the sad stuff is infinitely worse than when you were younger. That's not good. Give me back the days of meaningless conversations, free meals, no bills, easy sexuality and that endearing, infuriating sense of invincibility.

I need a plan.
Step one: get the hell out of here.

Any suggestion for step two?