Last week – I turned 27. I was tested for mono (negative). Got an “atta girl” at work. Was accepted to a master’s program at Georgetown.
“Oh good,” my mom said, “now you can be an education snob like everyone else in D.C.!”
I was also accepted to a professional development program at American University that meets on Saturday mornings once a month. This will be the year of education. My cabeza will get so big, my brain is going to hurt. I’m going to network like a mother fucker.
I’m mostly excited to have an excuse to tote around a backpack.
I’m moving for the second time in less than a year next week. To a house back on the other side of the Hill with two different strangers off Craig’s List and a Costa Rican mural on one wall in my new bedroom. It’s obscenely bright and busy and probably a great thing I don’t do hallucinogenic drugs. But it has sentimental value to the landlord, whose father painted the wall, and I find that endearing.
Thanks y’all for the birthday wishes. And for being my friend. And for the ill-advised birthday shots of Jameson. Last week made a girl feel quite loved. And I paid for it dearly on Saturday after a final birthday/grad school acceptance celebration.
No thanks ever again to Former Roommate B though – he had a shot of tequila waiting for me when I arrived at a very family-friendly restaurant Friday evening and told the waiter he wasn’t allowed to take my order until I drank said tequila, so he’s forever on my shit list.
I’m off to Minnesota on Friday to spend a couple of days at the cabin. I’m going to let my mother cook me breakfast and pat my head and take naps out on patio looking at the lake. Then off to Duluth to celebrate my cousin’s wedding and spend some quality time with this man – who at 97 years old still reminds me that life is very sweet.
It’s amazing what can change in a year. My world seems so much larger these days.