Part of me will always wish I was short enough to wear heels often, as they're so fucking hot.

That part of me is not my feet.

It's nice to be tall enough to reach your own shit on the top shelf and strong enough to open your own jars.

It feels as though I should mention something about my new place for next year, as this has been the focus of much of my attention recently. After a few sessions of checking the flagpole, driving around and writing down  phone numbers my future roommates and I had a moment of sheer luck. We were hoping to get a place within walking distance to downtown, as two of three occupants of the house will be working downtown (I'm the 1/3). As fate would have it, we lucked into a lovely place on Pulaski with a fellow who only wants someone in it, first come first served. The other people who called before us didn't follow up, and we've found ourselves in a dream house. It's the perfect old Athenian house I wanted to live in once before I left. Wood floors, high ceilings, washer/dryer and dishwasher and two of the loveliest ladies to live with I could have hoped for.