something really must be said, even if there is some sort of inflamation creeping up through the crevices between each vertibrae on my elongated chronically weak and under-excercised upper torso.

outside, Nam sits with Phoenix sweat working its way down her sleeves. Or maybe that is me. I am enjoying myself, even if, on the first vacation I've had for six months, my back gave out and has caused me repeat attacks of panic whenever I think about the fact that, not only do I have to take the 3-hour flight from AZ to WA, but in a week and a half, I will be making a 24-hour journey from Seattle to Guayaquil, Ecuador, and really don't need to worry about how I'm going to bend down and take off my shoes at all the feel-you-up custom stops along the way.

But blogs are not for the whine, or at least I'd like to believe this. Instead, I'd like to note that I'm pointedly, violently, pro-actively (etc.) leaving one year's worth of grieving behind me in order to bely the cliche that a depressive needs to cling to their sadness so as to feel that life is Real. I'm going to turn humid and gatheresque like a tree-topped orchid....