For the past several years, keeping a journal has not been a priority; but it had and has its purpose. It is a connection with people, with friends and readers and myself. I do not yet know what I plan to do here as I restart. For now, let's say that I am happy and busy, and very absorbed with my final year of graduate school.

I have a scooter that doesn't like starting in cold weather. Tatsuko remains her lovely self, still bunny-furred but grown bird-boned with time. I do not climb so much -- I miss Stone Gardens and Peter and Mika in Seattle, and I miss Will Badger, who left Raleigh to attend Oxford, leaving me bereft. I would say I am wearing black in mourning except that I always wear black; this doesn't change.

I am writing -- fiction -- every day. I am preparing for the post-school job hunt. I am, um, eating a chocolate croissant and drinking coffee. And wearing a scarf and, let's see now, jeans; and, um, go Wolfpack! See, this is why I stopped writing a journal.