So. A little brain food.

XXXV.

No more be grieved at that which thou hast done:
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authorizing thy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are;
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense--
Thy adverse party is thy advocate--
And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence:
Such civil war is in my love and hate
That I an accessary needs must be
To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.


So.
In one week, I:
Have a new car. (bye Gray Falcon, hello Purple Cow)
Have a new living space. (bye Acton, hello Waltham)
Have a birthday. (bye 22, hello 23)
Have a graduation. (bye FSC, hello real life)
Have a project deadline. (bye sanity, hello white jacket that gives my hugs)
Have a project deadline pushed back, because the client dragged their feet. (welcome back, sanity)

So, yea. That's life up to this point.

-K.