It is 1 February 2011, and I have been away from this for awhile now. The break has been good, and now it is time to come back... I think.

In nineteen days I will be hitting my upper-twenties. When I turned twenty-one, being 26 seemed so far off, but now I am anxiously awaiting my twenty-sixth year. I have no idea what will happen, and I don't want to always wait for the future, but right now I am excited about what will happen this coming year.

Since moving to this small town in August, I have felt pretty restless and antsy; I don't know why. I enjoy this kind of life--time for cooking, crocheting, quilting, reading, crafting, etc. etc. whatever. But I miss plays and concerts and coffee with friends and kayaking. There is so much more that I want, and here I don't even have the drive to find it. I fell asleep this afternoon while reading Frankenstein. I had lucid dreams of being as lonely as his monster (which is ridiculous! I may be antsy, but I am not lonely), and I woke-up with a start: "I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MY LIFE!!" So here I am, on the second snow day of the week, writing to no one in particular about my coming year. I have hope for it.

This, unfortunately, has been the winter of my discontent, and "Spring seems far off, impossible, but it is coming. Already there is dusk instead of darkness at five in the afternoon; already hope is stirring at the edges of the day." (Kathleen Norris, Dakota)