Walk. Don't Walk.
I'm excited about my med school now, because they've asked us to read The Working Poor: Invisible in America. Maybe this really is the right school for me.
Yesterday was our 3-year anniversary. He bought me flowers. I took him to dinner. We saw Sicko (which is amazing, don't let anyone talk you out of seeing it).
I love our neighborhood. I can't believe we live here. Every street is adorable: brick rowhouses with flowerboxes and wooden shutters, coffeeshops and restaurants and antique furniture stores. I walk out of our front door and people say hello to me on the street. Craziness.
The crosswalks make Drew nervous. All that jaywalking. It does seem dangerous when you think about it. I just force myself back into my New York way of thinking and plow ahead without hesitating. Drew hangs back, waiting for a green light.
I'm alternating the Shipler book with a collection of John Updike short stories Jana gave me. I was really only interested in "Rabbit Remembered" but feel like I owe it to Updike to read the rest of the stories. Which is dumb. They're enjoyable, but haven't changed how I generally feel about short stories. I want more. So many of them just feel like tricks. Short films are like that, too. Some punchline to wrap everything up.
I rejoined Netflix because we're not subscribing to television in Philadelphia. I've done a couple long runs but no weight training since Los Angeles. I want to be able to finish the apartment, but we're waiting for furniture and also I've gotten to the point where I feel like a room full of boxes is tidier than what comes after I unpack them. So instead of unpacking them I read and surf the internet.
Yesterday was our 3-year anniversary. He bought me flowers. I took him to dinner. We saw Sicko (which is amazing, don't let anyone talk you out of seeing it).
I love our neighborhood. I can't believe we live here. Every street is adorable: brick rowhouses with flowerboxes and wooden shutters, coffeeshops and restaurants and antique furniture stores. I walk out of our front door and people say hello to me on the street. Craziness.
The crosswalks make Drew nervous. All that jaywalking. It does seem dangerous when you think about it. I just force myself back into my New York way of thinking and plow ahead without hesitating. Drew hangs back, waiting for a green light.
I'm alternating the Shipler book with a collection of John Updike short stories Jana gave me. I was really only interested in "Rabbit Remembered" but feel like I owe it to Updike to read the rest of the stories. Which is dumb. They're enjoyable, but haven't changed how I generally feel about short stories. I want more. So many of them just feel like tricks. Short films are like that, too. Some punchline to wrap everything up.
I rejoined Netflix because we're not subscribing to television in Philadelphia. I've done a couple long runs but no weight training since Los Angeles. I want to be able to finish the apartment, but we're waiting for furniture and also I've gotten to the point where I feel like a room full of boxes is tidier than what comes after I unpack them. So instead of unpacking them I read and surf the internet.
Labels: Books, Drew, Medical School
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