(no subject)

I've noticed how I seem to trade off at regular intervals between language/brain-based activities and sensory/manual ones: reading, writing, language study and schoolwork on one end; cooking, crafting, and music on the other. These days it's knitting (and I am planning on getting a camera soon, so pictures are forthcoming!) but I'm almost ready to take another look at The Novel. I think I'm going to change the title to "Road Trip With My Dead Best Friend," because that's what it's about on a literal level and it also suggests a sub-theme of being haunted by the people we used to be. I'd have thought that was too long, but "Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian" did okay.

It's good, getting to know myself better as I get older. I don't get too concerned over recent near-obsessive bouts of knitting; neither do I think I'm going to continue at this pace for the forseeable future; neither will I get mad at myself for being fickle when my interest shifts over to something else. And if I get some cold-weather accessories out of it, that's a nice bonus.

I was out today, just walking, and the thought came to me: I didn't know that I'd grow up to be this happy. So much of my time in college was taken up with being anxious about the real world, or avoiding dealing with the real world, or trying to deal with the real world and not succeeding.

I may not be all the way where I want to be, but I feel like I'm moving forward.