The blanket's back.



I love fall colors, but I don't keep this blanket out year-round. When I look outside and see the leaves so vibrantly green with life, I don't want to be reminded that their vigor will be short-lived. I hide the blanket as soon as the ground thaws. Sophie understands how it is, but that doesn't make it any easier—you see, she loves that blanket.


If I didn't know better, I would say that Sophie has become clingy, always sitting with me on the couch…but I know better. I know that I've got nothing to do with it. I know that I've just gotten in the middle of an attraction bigger and stronger than anything I could have imagined when I bought that plush throw.

Meanwhile, I harbor jealousy toward a blanket: she's loves you more than me…wwaaaaanh!

Tuesday was November 15th. Throughout the entire day, I had this nagging feeling that something about November 15th was significant. I have an amazing memory for dates which counterbalances my forgetfulness with refilling the cat's water bowl—so I was extremely irked that I couldn't figure out what happened on November 15th. I was getting ready for work the next morning when the light bulb lit.

I don't use a bathrobe regularly, but I have one hanging from a hook on my closet door. That morning, I decided that my need for coffee exceeded my need for propriety in the form of non-nakedness. I decided to grab my robe and head toward the coffeemaker. As I yanked down the robe, I got a glimpse of my gold honor cords that were disturbed from their resting place.

November 15, 2010 was my last official day of school. I can't believe it's been an entire year (but I really should, because I've been paying on that student bill for several months now). I pet one of the golden tassels and shook my head. Earning those cords once seemed so important…and there they hung, completely forgotten.

I looked behind me to the top of the desk where my degrees sat, collecting dust in their leather portfolios. I gave three years of my life to full-time studentship while also working full time…and for what? In that moment, I realized that the real token that I was awarded for my work was confidence.

My classes did not give me new-found skills—I had those skills before. What I didn't have was the guts to use them or the global understanding to use them to the best benefit. Completing my degree expanded my world and gave me breath.

I know that I want my MBA. I've looked into programs, and I've purchased materials to study for the GMAT. I completed my BS for my career—but when the time comes, I will complete my MBA for me. (As such, I certainly will not be enrolled full time!)

I look back and wonder how I survived with so little sleep, so little downtime, so little…everything. A friend told me that we get through what we have to get through simply because we have to. Nothing important is really impossible, you know. My outlook is still shiny and like new, unlike those expensive pieces of paper. I may not be smiling as big as I was a year ago (if I was, I'm sure my face would have cracked and fallen away by now), but I'm definitely smiling.

If only she had learned to read a clock instead of listening to her tummy, Sophie would not have been so perplexed over the time change this morning. She could not fathom why her humans were still in bed when they should have been up and feeding her. She decided to sprawl on the food giver's head until she got the hint, but she was more dismissive than Sophie bargained.

When the slackers finally stumbled downstairs, they acted as though nothing was wrong. Sophie jumped to the perch where she receives her morning treats and bayed. The food giver finally snapped to, but Sophie did not want the tardiness to go unpunished. She gave the food giver a firm but harmless nip on the finger: the food giver needed to remember her place.

When the alarm clock in Sophie's belly sounded later that afternoon, she was disappointed to see that the food giver had not, in fact, learned her lesson. She kept telling Sophie some gibberish about a big hand and a little hand. Sophie decided that she must be a complete idiot—she had paws not hands, and they were all pretty much the same size.

Moron.

When the food giver finally DID HER JOB, Sophie was so worn out from giving her hell that she collapsed on the couch. Keeping those humans in line is a draining, thankless job.

Look, I don't try to hide it: I'm not a fan of Halloween. If I had children, I would probably have a lot of fun with it (if nothing else, I would make it fun for them), but Halloween and I have never jived. I think I was in second grade when I told my mother that I didn't want to trick-or-treat anymore. I wish I could pinpoint what it is that spurs this massive abhorrence…maybe I'm just a killjoy.

Fall is my favorite season. There's not much to dislike: hearing rustling leaves, seeing beautiful colors, feeling stillness, breathing crisp air, smelling spicy cinnamon, appreciating the coziness of home…such a delicious season. The only real mar is this silly Halloween thing. (Well, I am kind of charmed by really little kids in adorable costumes, but that's it.) I don't care for spiders, bats, ghouls, or vampires. Is this what people aspire to be!? Why can't everyone just be sweet little kitty cats!?

I've spent the day with a fake smile plastered on my face…now I'm off to sit in the dark until I'm sure the candy-beggars are all gone. I am a killjoy, aren't I? This is really my only scroogy holiday...aren't I allowed one?

Boo. For real.

Everybody has quirks. The trick to living with someone else without turning into a monster is either finding someone with the same quirks or who doesn't mind yours all that much (and vice versa, naturally).

Well, Nick's had it in his head for years now that he is going to be able to reform me of a few of mine. I think he's getting a little frustrated that I'm not the malleable ball of clay he thought I was. I can be just as stubborn as anybody, I just store the cement wall behind behind an acquiescing smile. (It's very effective in the business world.)

I have been spending a lot of time with my cousin Michelle over the past year. At first I was awed by how quickly we reconnected and how deeply we bonded. Now that I've had time to think about it, the connection is obvious. We were raised with the same role models, our heartstrings are played to the same tune, and our logic speeds along the same zip line. Even with ten years of little communication, we recognized a part of ourselves in each other.

Nick has grown close to Michelle over the last year when he really didn't know her very well before. He's been trying to get her to contradict me on something just to feel like he's got someone on his side (the side that believes my quirks to be stupid). Her uncoached answers to his questions always tickle me because they are almost verbatim what I have already answered.

• Months ago, on a date weekend out of town, he wanted to go see a stand-up comedian. This doesn't particularly interest me because I have zero desire (probably even negative desire) to be heckled. Michelle was going to hang out at the condo while we were away to Sophie-sit. He was worn out trying to convince me to go, so he tried to reenforce his reserves by asking Michelle her opinion. She replied with the same immediate distaste, asking, "Why the hell would you pay someone to pick on you!?"


• He likes the sensation of falling. He loves roller coasters and wants to go skydiving one day. I would prefer not to fall, ever. I don't need to mimic the feeling of plunging to my death to know that it wouldn't be a pleasant way to go. We were all in the car together when Nick asked Michelle if she would go to Great America with him. She choked on her Diet Coke and told him, "I'm patient. I'll wait until my number is up to feel like I'm going to die."


• As the season began to change, Nick went on an on about doing a corn maze this year. He goes on and on about this every year. If there's anything worse than falling, it's being lost and too small to see your way out. My anxiety begins to rise just thinking of that, so no thanks. Michelle and I have gotten unintentially lost in actual corn fields before, and we didn't find it entertaining. He asked Michelle if she'd go with him through a corn maze. She looked at him for a long while before asking, "What is WRONG with you!?"


• Now, there are several types of quirks other than rational fears, and this last one is more habit-based. Nick does most of the driving, and he tends to get distracted looking every which way but forward at traffic lights. For the longest time I tried to be helpful and let him know when the light had changed. After enough of his diva tantrums, I've learned to curb the urge. Let him irritate the cars behind him; I'm sure road rage is a myth anyway.
  
  Yesterday, the three of us were in the car together, stopped at a light. Nick was looking out to the left when the light changed. Michelle, completely innocent and unaware, piped up, "It's green." He whipped around to glare at her and she looked at me like, "What the hell!? He wasn't looking!" I tried to hide my smile. In talking later, she found it absurd that he wouldn't prefer a friend prodding him along instead of a honking car.
  
  Dude, I know.

I think Nick needs to seek an ally elsewhere.